When they got married, his wife convinced him to buy a sprawling house in the suburbs. The bigger, the better, she said, her heels clacking on the hardwood floors, her long nails clicking against granite counters in the kitchen, marble in the bathroom. Two sinks, she decreed, though they never got dressed at the same time. It was the least she could expect. Didn't he want the best for her? He went along with it, because he thought she was too good for him and he couldn’t believe she had ever agreed to marry him in the first place.