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?