The Sweet Romance Ended—So Did We

On my twenty-ninth birthday, my husband gave me a bottle of perfume.

I sprayed it on without thinking—and ended up in the ER with an anaphylactic reaction.

After surviving that close call, Wesley came to visit me in the hospital, bringing along his childhood sweetheart, who was carrying a basket of flowers.

Calmly, I asked for a divorce.

His little sweetheart rushed to shield him, crying as she apologized, "Emerie, please don't blame President Abrams. The perfume was my idea. I just thought the scent would suit you."