The only wrong answer is it will not

An upholsterer in Amman keeps every order, every measurement and every customer's number on one phone. Ask him how that might fail and the likely answer is that it will not. The phone is new. It is backed up, probably.

That is the one answer to the question that is always wrong.

Phones get dropped, stolen and locked. The supplier of the good fabric retires. The van gives out in the week of three deliveries. The lease on the workshop comes up and the landlord has other plans. And one day, many years from now, he will close the door for the last time, by choice or not. None of this is gloom. It is simply what happens to things that exist.

So the real question is never whether. It is how, roughly when, and who it lands on.

Declining to ask does not make any of it less likely. It only means the failure arrives with nothing ready: no copy of the orders, no second supplier, no list of the customers who are owed a sofa. The damage is mostly in the surprise.

Asking how something will break is not a vote against it. A shop, a product, a partnership or a plan is better loved by someone who has already pictured it going wrong and quietly prepared. The cost of that is an hour of honesty. The cost of skipping it arrives later, all at once.