The kitchen

He'd said it before and he'd say it again. Redoing the kitchen was a sure sign that they were about to break up. And sure enough it had come to pass.

It had all started off innocently enough. He and Michael had bought their deluxe apartment in the sky four years ago and slowly but surely had changed it as the money flowed in (more out than in, truth be told). First they replaced all the windows and the air conditioning. That'd cost almost forty grand right there. Shit was expensive in South Florida. And then came the call from Sarah Rogers downstairs -- "your shower's leaking into our shower!" Eleven months and two hundred headaches later, they'd blown forty-nine grand on new bathrooms. One snowball and led to a larger snowball.

And then came the affair and the almost-breakup. They'd decided to stay together after the affair but as part of the deal, they'd redo the kitchen so they'd both feel like it was their apartment. New cabinets, new countertop, new floors. That was the agreement. And then the little things got added. New ceiling with recessed lighting. New appliances, even though the ones they'd had were only 3 years old. Tearing out one wall and moving the opening to another wall. Tearing out another wall for better access to the den. New steps up to the den. A railing across the opening. Why not new furniture too?

Before they knew it, the fifty grand budgeted for the project had swelled to an estimate over one hundred grand. So he decided he'd rather get a divorce. Would be cheaper.