Would You Divorce Over a Cup of Coffee

I was dying from my fear of heights, but my husband, Don Vincent, was busy with his assistant, savoring the latest coffee flown in from Hawaii that morning.

"You're a grown woman, Bella. What's the big deal? You're stuck on a roof, figure it out."

Then he hung up on me.

I collapsed onto the hot tar of the roof, my body shaking uncontrollably before everything went black.

It was two hours before building security found me.

When I got home, I asked Vincent for a divorce.

He rubbed his temples, his patience worn thin, looking at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.

"Over a cup of coffee? I told you, the heights are all in your head. You’re perfectly safe now. Stop making a scene alright? What's this nonsense about a divorce? I have more important things to deal with. Calm yourself down."

I stared at his back as he left, tears already streaming down my face.

Something important?

Did he really think I couldn't hear his assistant, Sophia, murmuring in the background?

Did he think I didn't know he took her to the last family gathering?

I had loved Vincent for three years. Everyone knew he was the center of my world.

They all thought an orphan like me could never leave him.

But now, all the love I had was eclipsed by a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion.

I was done.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three long years.

"Uncle, book me a flight to Seattle. I'm ready to leave Vincent."

...

"That's great, Bella. You're finally coming back. I'm so happy for you. You know that old swing in the garden? It’s been waiting for you."

I could hear the undisguised joy in my uncle's voice.

Before I could reply, a cold voice cut in from behind me.

"Who are you talking to?"

It was Vincent.

I turned around. His suit was rumpled, his tie hanging loose around his neck. The sickly-sweet scent of jasmine perfume clinging to him almost made me gag.

"A friend."

I hung up the phone, trying to control my racing heart.

"What friend?"

He stepped closer, raising an eyebrow with a lazy, casual smile.

"Who would an orphan like you have to talk to? You have no one. Only me."

My breathing grew shallow.

I suddenly remembered three years ago. I was a curator and went out for a work dinner, but my phone died.

That night, Vincent had unleashed his men, ready to tear the city apart to find me.

He pinned me down, his kisses covering my skin like bruises, like he was trying to swallow me whole.

"There's only room for me in your life, Bella."

Back then, I thought he was just so in love with me, that his possessiveness was proof. I even let him think I was just some orphan with nowhere else to go. All I wanted was to be by his side forever.

Until Sophia became his assistant.

Until he planted Sophia in my art gallery, like a snake in the garden.

"No one. Just a client I met at the gallery."

I didn't look at him again, just got up and walked toward the bedroom.

The old Vincent would have stormed after me, grabbed me, demanded to know everything.

But now, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the caller ID, and his expression shifted as he answered.

"Vincent," Sophia's syrupy voice cooed through the phone. "The diamond necklace you gave me is absolutely beautiful!"

"All my girlfriends said I have such good taste!"

Vincent instinctively lowered the volume, but I heard every word.

A diamond necklace?

I remember last month he said money was tight, that we had to cut back on spending. The painting I wanted? Too expensive, he said.

But he had no problem splurging on a diamond necklace for his assistant.

"Okay, I get it," Vincent said quietly, glancing at me. Then he quickly hung up.

Back in the bedroom, I blinked back the burn in my eyes and started packing.

It was obvious.

He has someone else by his side now. He shouldn’t need me anymore.

There was no reason for me to stay.

"What are you doing?" He saw my open suitcase and rushed into the room.

"Packing."

"Packing for what? Where are you going?"

"I'm divorcing you. Of course I'm moving out."

Vincent froze for a second, then his tone softened. He moved closer, trying to sweet-talk me. I forced myself not to look at the bright red lipstick stain on his collar.

"Bella, stop messing around. We've been married three years. You know my temper, Bella. Don't test me."

"I've made myself perfectly clear." I folded a shirt, but my voice was already choked with tears. "I want a divorce!"

"Because of yesterday?" His voice was laced with impatience. "I told you, that fear of heights is all in your head. Two hours on a roof isn't going to kill you."

My hands stopped.

Two hours.

He knew I was on that roof for two hours.

And he never once came to look for me.

"Besides, do you have any idea how much important business I had to deal with yesterday?" Vincent went on. "The family business needs me. I can't just drop everything for one of your little episodes."

Important business?

Picking out diamond necklaces with Sophia, having coffee with her.

Right. Very important.

I stopped what I was doing and tried to keep my voice steady.

"Vincent, starting tomorrow, I'll have the maid iron your suits."

I put down the clothes and looked at him.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes. "I'm trying to be nice here, and you're still giving me a hard time? What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I'm not giving you a hard time. We're getting a divorce. It's not my job to iron your suits anymore."

"Bella!" He walked over, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look up at him.

"You're my wife! It's your duty!"

"Ex-wife," I corrected him.

"We're not divorced yet!" He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. "Until then, you are still my wife!"

The heat from his palm was so familiar, but now it just felt like a burn.

I wrenched my hand from his grasp, fighting to calm my racing heart.

Then, I pointed to the lipstick stain on his collar and met his eyes.

“Care to explain where this came from?”

He glanced down, following my finger.

Not a flicker of panic crossed his face.

Instead, he scoffed.

He loosened his tie with one hand and swiped the smudge of red away with his fingertip, as casually as if he were brushing off a speck of dust.

“Some woman who couldn’t keep her hands to herself, I imagine.” He looked up at me, his eyes like ice. “Stop it, Bella. This game is boring.”

“Game?” The word stabbed me like a knife.

Seeing the color drain from my face, he lost what little patience he had.

“The game is over.” His voice dropped, a warning that left no room for argument. “Don’t forget your place. Without the Salvatore family, you are nothing!”

It felt like he was trying to crush the last of my dignity.

He saw the tears welling in my eyes, let me go, and pulled a black card from his suit pocket.

He tossed it onto the table in front of me.

“There. I’ll have my assistant take you shopping in Paris in a few days. Now stop causing me trouble.”

With that, he turned and walked away without another glance.

I expected him to slam the door.

He didn’t.

He just stepped out and pulled it shut.

Click.

The lock turned from the outside.

His cold voice came through the wooden panel, delivering his final ultimatum: “Bella, threatening me with divorce was the stupidest mistake of your life. I’m not coming home tonight. You will stay here and reflect on how a Mrs. Salvatore is supposed to behave.”

I stared at the closed door, then sank to the floor, unable to stop shaking.

Vincent had proposed on a massive hot air balloon, a grand, ridiculous gesture.

That was the day he found out about my fear of heights. He ordered his men to get the balloon down with a helicopter, holding me tight as I struggled to breathe.

"It's okay, Bella. I'll never let you go anywhere that makes you uncomfortable again."

But now, he was calling me dramatic. Saying I embarrassed the family.

I cried myself to sleep, my eyes swollen.

Late that night, my phone buzzed with a text.

From Vincent: `Midnight Club. Pick me up. Now.`

I stared at the message and didn't reply.

The phone buzzed again: `Don't make me say it again, Bella. You're still my wife. That comes with duties.`

After a moment, I put my phone down and threw on a jacket.

One last time.

I drove to the Midnight Club, a high-end private place Vincent always went to. Before I even got out of the car, I heard familiar laughter.

Vincent's laugh, and Sophia's giggles.

In the car, my mind flashed back to the family gathering last month. Vincent's brother, Marco, had said to him, "Vincent, you've got it made."

"With so many women throwing themselves at you, aren’t you afraid your wife will get angry?”

Vincent had just smirked, full of himself.

“A man needs his diversions.”

“Bella? She’d never get angry with me. She throws herself at me more than any of them. She’s so in love with me, she wouldn’t dare to defy me. Besides,” he’d added with a smug grin, “a little jealousy, a little tantrum… it adds a bit of spice, doesn’t it?”

I was standing just outside the door. I heard every single word.

Thinking about it now, my heart felt completely numb.

I pushed open the club door and saw Vincent and Sophia in a corner booth, her head nestled on his shoulder.

When he saw me, Vincent frowned.

"Are you following me?"