Finally, Thomas and Emily had their own flat. They’d bought it, fulfilling a long-held dream. Their daughter Lily was nearly five, and until now, they’d been drifting from one rented place to another.
“Tom, I’m so happy,” Emily said, waking up on their first morning in their new home, snuggling closer to her husband. “I’m sleeping in our own flat—well, ours and Lily’s. It’s wonderful.” She spoke with all her usual emotion.
“I’m glad too,” Thomas replied, his tone steadier. He was far more reserved than Emily, and that restraint had saved their marriage more than once. Her fiery temper needed his calm to balance it out. That, and love, of course—what else could hold a marriage together?
“Still,” Thomas added, “we’ve got the renovation to get through. The place needs work.”
“I know, but we’ll manage,” Emily said. “We’ll make it lovely. The trouble is, we’ve spent everything on the flat itself. We’ll need more for the renovations.”
“What if we took out a loan?” Thomas suggested. “We managed to buy the place without one, but the refurbishment will cost a fair bit—especially looking at the state of this bedroom.”
“Oh, another loan?” Emily sighed. “We’ve only just paid off the car. But where else can we get the money? We’ve already leaned on our parents for the deposit. Fine, Tom, if we must.”
“We’ll take the loan, do the place up, and then we’re free. Maybe even book a holiday after,” Thomas mused, and Emily nodded.
The decision was made—a loan for the renovation. The flat hadn’t seen a proper refurb in years. Emily had always said, “When I finally have my own place, I’ll know exactly how to make it perfect.”
But now that they’d actually bought one, it turned out to be far trickier than she’d imagined. The flat wasn’t small—three bedrooms, a decent-sized kitchen (just as Emily wanted; she hated cramped kitchens where everyone got in each other’s way)—and, best of all, Lily had her own room. She was thrilled, finally able to spread out her toys and arrange her dolls properly.
Emily had grand plans, but reality kept tripping her up. Doors were awkwardly placed, pipes stuck out where they shouldn’t—everything seemed to fight against her vision.
“Tom, do you know how much an interior designer costs?”
“A fair bit,” he admitted. “They charge a lot—more than we can afford.”
That evening, they sat on the floor together, flipping through paint swatches. They settled on a warm beige for the bedroom, cosy and inviting. They planned to visit B&Q on Saturday to pick up supplies.
But on Friday, Thomas came home excited. “Em, the lads at work were talking about renovations, and guess what? Dave knows a designer—really good, did the boss’s place.”
“You said we couldn’t afford one,” Emily reminded him.
“That’s just it—Dave reckons she’ll give us a discount. Still, it’d be about five grand.”
“Five grand? Just to tell us where to put furniture and what colour to paint?” Emily scoffed.
“Shh! But think—we’d get a professionally designed home,” Thomas countered. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to invest in it. Anyway, I’ve put the idea out there. Up to you.”
The temptation was strong—a beautiful home, just like in the magazines. Eventually, Emily agreed. The designer, Anna, came the very next day.
“Hmm, small space. Not much to work with,” Anna mused, scanning the flat.
“I’ve got some ideas already,” Emily ventured. “I’d like a wardrobe here—”
“No, that’d clutter the room,” Anna cut in. “Not the right spot. Let me think.”
She paced, Thomas and Emily trailing behind. She disliked the laminate flooring (“Tile and metal accents would be sleek—but fine, keep it if you must”) and grimaced at the new light fixture. “That has to go. Doesn’t fit the aesthetic.”
Emily bit her tongue—Thomas kept nudging her to stay quiet—but she could feel her dream home slipping away.
“She wants to turn our place into some showroom,” she muttered to Thomas later.
“But she’s a professional, Em. She knows what she’s doing.”
Emily stayed silent, not wanting to argue, but the thought nagged at her: *The hardest part of renovating isn’t the work—it’s not letting it wreck your marriage.* She’d wanted advice, not a complete overhaul.
Soon, the only thing they could think about was the renovation—until Lily piped up, “Daddy, how old will I be when it’s done? I want my pretty room now!” They laughed, but the pressure was mounting.
That night, Emily sketched her own layouts. When Anna returned with her plans, she wrinkled her nose. “Beige is outdated. Steel-blue with pale grey—that’s the modern look. Very tech-chic.”
Emily hated it. Cold, impersonal—nothing like the cosy home she’d imagined. She said so, but Anna barely acknowledged her.
Once the designer left, Emily exploded. “Tom, are you mad? Steel-blue? This isn’t an office—it’s our home! And I don’t care about ‘tech-chic’—I want warmth!”
“But she’s a professional—”
“Stop saying that! If I don’t like it, why should I have to live with it?”
They argued, didn’t speak for days. The builders got conflicting orders and stalled. Finally, Emily snapped.
“I told them to paint the walls beige tomorrow.”
“But it’s supposed to be steel-grey—I’ll call the foreman.”
“Do what you want,” Emily said quietly, voice trembling. “But I won’t live here. I’ll take Lily and stay with my parents. You can have your cold, blue flat and your precious designer.”
“Em, calm down. Last thing we need is a divorce over paint colours.”
“I mean it, Tom. I thought you wanted a home, not some sterile showroom.”
Thomas rubbed his neck, lost. “I don’t even know anymore. She kept going on about the boss’s place, and I just… Em, fine. Do it your way. I just want you happy.”
They fired the designer. Emily directed the builders herself. When it was finally done, she smiled.
“Funny—I’m almost grateful to Anna. She made me realise exactly what I wanted.”
They all breathed easier once the dust settled. Renovations are like that—you never know how they’ll end. The most expensive part isn’t the materials—it’s the strain on your nerves. Your head’s full of decisions, emotions run high…
But the most important thing? Not letting it break you apart.
