Felix Christmas

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

Drei Jahre Ehe - und ich war zufrieden mit meinem Leben. Mein Mann, Felix Weber, war nicht nur attraktiv und wohlhabend, sondern auch unglaublich liebevoll, geduldig und immer ausgeglichen. In all den Jahren hatten wir nie wirklich gestritten, nie ein böses Wort miteinander gewechselt. Bis zu dem Tag, an dem ich ihn sah - den sonst so ruhigen und kontrollierten Felix. Er hatte eine Frau, offensichtlich seine große Liebe aus der Vergangenheit, an die Wand gedrängt. Mit einer Stimme, die vor Zorn und Schmerz bebte, „Du hast damals selbst entschieden, einen anderen zu heiraten! Mit welchem Recht kommst du jetzt zu mir?“, fragte er sie. Erst da begriff ich: Wenn er jemanden wirklich liebt, dann tut er das mit einer brennenden, ungezähmten Leidenschaft. Ich zog mich zurück, ließ mich scheiden und verschwand - spurlos. Bald darauf hörte ich Gerüchte, dass Sebastian den Verstand verloren haben soll. Angeblich habe er jede Ecke der Stadt durchforstet, als würde er die ganze Welt auf den Kopf stellen, nur um mich zu finden. Dieser selbstbeherrschte, disziplinierte Mann, verrückt - und das ausgerechnet wegen mir, seiner unscheinbaren Ex-Frau? Es schien absurd. Doch dann traf ich ihn wieder. Ich stand an der Seite eines anderen Mannes, als er plötzlich vor mir auftauchte. Ohne Vorwarnung packte er mein Handgelenk, seine Augen voller Verzweiflung, fast wahnsinnig. Mit einer Stimme, die kaum noch zu ihm zu gehören schien, flüsterte er: „Lena, ich habe einen Fehler gemacht. Bitte komm zurück zu mir.“ Und in diesem Moment wurde mir klar: Die Gerüchte hatten nicht übertrieben. Sebastian war wirklich außer sich.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."