My second marriage ended in this very melodramatic way. Melodramatic if you weren’t involved with it, and dramatic if you were. I was pregnant, and my husband had fallen in love with this extremely tall woman who was married to the British ambassador, and it was very painful and horrible at the time. But then a few months later, I found myself at a typewriter working on a screenplay, and instead I wrote the first eight pages of a novel, and it was a novel that I knew if I could — you know, when I was going through the nightmare of the end of the marriage, I absolutely knew that there was — if I could ever find the voice to write it in, that someday it would be a story, someday it would be copy. But at the time, I was way too distraught to ever feel that. But you know, time heals, especially if you had a mother like mine. So I started writing a novel that became Heartburn, and that was the thinly disguised version of the end of that marriage.