When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes.

That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death.

From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me.

So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango."

She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well.



On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company.

That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me.

...

Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal.

At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink.

After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks.

I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice.

"But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says.

I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away.

Some things are never a joke.

Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.
Chapter 1
"Mr. White, your stomach condition has flared up due to stress-induced triggers.
"From now on, don't consume any food that you dislike. Otherwise, it might not just be a stomachache the next time. You could end up having part of your stomach removed.
"Stay in the hospital for a day's observation, and make sure to let your family know to come as soon as possible."
I went quiet after hearing the doctor.
For a new project, I worked day and night abroad for 39 days straight and finally made it home safely. I never expected that a glass of mango juice from Irene Johnson at the celebration dinner would send me straight to the hospital.
I instinctively opened the pinned WhatsApp chat. I had just typed two words when something felt off.
After taking a careful look, I confirmed that it was Irene, but she had changed her profile picture to a green mango.
Just as I was staring blankly at the chat window, Irene's call came through. Her voice on the phone was icy. "I'm home. Where are you?"
I stayed quiet. In the past, I would have forgiven her immediately, pretending nothing had happened and moving on with the conversation.
But tonight, I had no idea what to say.
Irene grew annoyed. "Jason White, how long are you going to keep making a scene?"
"I'm at the hospital."
She fell silent. She had never cared about my health, and she could never have imagined that a single glass of her mango juice would land me straight in the hospital.
"Wait for me at the hospital. I'm coming right away," she said.
I didn't want to deal with her, yet my weakened body kept me from moving.
Time slipped by.
The doctor came to check on me three times, but Irene still hadn't shown up.
Just before falling asleep, I checked my phone one last time and saw Steven Carter's Instagram story that said, "Every time I get hurt, my little princess shows up like magic. It's so nice."
The photo showed Irene putting a bandage on him.
Steven's profile picture was a yellow mango. It was pretty, yet it made me feel sick.

Chapter 2
We had known each other for a decade, and Irene had always known my limits.
She had spent years in the business world and always knew how to handle herself around other men. But now, she crossed the line again and again.
If that was how things were, then our relationship was over. The latest project I had been handling was no longer needed either. It was a billion-dollar deal in Eurentia, one that could decide the company's fate.

When I woke up the next morning, Irene hadn't sent a single message, nor had she called.
I wasn't angry either. After the checkup came back fine, I went straight home. It was a five-thousand-square-foot luxury villa that Irene and I had fully paid for last year.
Seven years ago, when we graduated, we squeezed into a basement and shared a single bowl of instant oatmeal.
Five years ago, when we got our marriage certificate, we grabbed some cheap street food from a small vendor and then went home with a tiny four-inch cake.
And now, I could only tend to my wounds by myself in the empty villa.
I assumed I would get used to it eventually.
Just as I was going over the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me, Irene came home. A strong whiff of men's cologne followed her through the door. The scent made me pause for a moment.