It wasn't until I saw him with Daphne at the restaurant today that everything fell into place.

So, it was Daphne all along.

Had their relationship already reached this point?

I couldn't hold back any longer. "Are you planning to play games with Daphne now?"

Deacon froze, his back stiffening as he slowly turned to face me. His eyes were hard, cautious. "Are you spying on me?"

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. "I saw you when I was delivering food today." My voice cracked as the words slipped out, my throat tightening. "You were peeling shrimp for her."

I forced the words out, my throat tight and heavy. As expected, Deacon's face twisted with anger the moment they hit him.

He stormed toward me, his expression a mix of shame and fury at being caught. The pot of leftover mutton on the table sat there like a cruel reminder, mocking him. His face flushed red, and his only way out was to lash at me.

"Madison, you followed me!" His voice trembled with rage. "I had dinner with Daphne because I needed her to introduce clients! I’ve been out there every day, bending over backward like a beggar—and you! You actually spied on me! You doubt me?"

He paused, the bitterness of betrayal sharp in his voice. "How did you become like this?"

I stood there, watching his anger flare, but inside, I felt only a deep, quiet disappointment.

Had I changed?

No, Deacon. It’s you who changed.

Just mentioning Daphne’s name made his anger flare. I lowered my gaze, trying to hide the emptiness creeping into my eyes.

Since I came back, he hadn't once asked about the wound on my hand, never asked if I was tired after spending all day running around.

My hands stayed buried in my pockets, fingers clenched around the unused condoms I hadn’t had the heart to throw away.

What if I told him I already knew everything? That I’d seen it all?

After delivering the takeaway earlier, something made me turn back. I’m not sure what I was hoping to find, but instead, I saw it—the car, rocking.

Deacon always treated that car like it was his most prized possession. I still remember the first time he drove it to pick me up, how proud he was.

I had pulled out a bag of potato chips from my bag, and before I even had the chance to open it, he snapped.

"Madison, this is a new car, and you're going to eat in it? Are you going to clean up the mess? Will you pay for the car wash?"

I panicked, stuffing the chips back into my bag, stammering out apologies.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t know. I won’t do it again." My voice was small, desperate to fix things.

But Deacon’s lips remained pressed into a hard line, his anger palpable. He stayed silent, eyes fixed on the road.

I hesitated before gently tugging on his sleeve. "Please don’t be mad. I won’t eat in your car again, I promise. I’m sorry. Just... don’t be angry, okay?"

Without a word, he suddenly jerked the car to the side of the road. The seatbelt snapped open as he roughly unbuckled it, yanking the door open.

"Get out."

I froze, staring at the blur of traffic speeding by, my mind struggling to catch up. "What?"

"Get out!" he barked, his voice cold and unfamiliar. "Don’t make me say it again."

I don’t remember much after that. Just the shock, the disbelief.

I walked for what felt like forever—through the sunlit afternoon into the dark, starry night. My feet ached, my heart even more so. Eventually, a kind stranger found me and called the police.

I remember breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably in the back of the police car.

All I did was open a bag of potato chips. And for that, he threw me out onto the highway.

But now, he can tolerate doing that with Daphne in the car.

It wasn’t about keeping the car clean. He just couldn’t stand me.

I looked up at him, swallowing the bitterness that lingered in my throat. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I won’t make the same mistake again."

Yes, I won’t make it again.

Hearing those words, his expression softened, as if that was all he needed to hear.

"Good. I'm just exhausted," he sighed, his voice almost casual. "I didn’t mean to lose my temper with you."

With that, he turned and walked into the e-sports room. Moments later, I heard the familiar sounds of his game starting up. The door wasn’t fully closed, and through the small crack, his voice floated out—soft, affectionate.

"I'm sorry for making you wait so long. It’s just her being paranoid again. Can I get you a milk tea to make it up to you? You’re not fat, come on. Even if you were, you’d still be my little princess."

A pause, then a chuckle. "Fat people are just more lovable. You know I love you the most."

I listened to his voice drifting from the other room, then closed my eyes, sinking into the sofa, exhaustion washing over me.

A laugh escaped my lips—dry, bitter. What did he just say?

He said even if she were fat, she’d still be his little princess.

And me?

What am I?

I couldn’t help but think back to when we first got together. I’d dressed up beautifully that day, full of excitement, eagerly looking forward to seeing Deacon. I imagined his eyes lighting up when he saw me, his face full of admiration.

But when I finally stood before him, shy and hopeful, I was met with his frown.

"How dare you dress like this? You’re so fat. Lose some weight."

The words hit me like a punch. I nearly cried right there. After that, I stopped eating full meals, terrified of gaining another pound, terrified of seeing that disgust in his eyes again.

Yet here he was, telling Daphne that even if she were fat, she’d still be his little princess.

A sharp, hollow laugh escaped me.

What am I?

I’m nothing but a joke.

I glanced at my reflection in the faint light from the TV screen. My hair, disheveled and tangled, framed a face hollowed by exhaustion. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes like bruises, and my once-full cheeks had grown gaunt, sharp enough to resemble a ghostly figure.

I almost laughed at the thought—children would probably burst into tears if they saw me now. My clothes were wrinkled, lifeless, much like the woman wearing them.

I stared at myself, dazed, fingertips brushing my hollow cheeks. How long has it been since I cared about my appearance? Since I took time to feel like me?

I thought back to that day, the day I stormed out of my parents' home, full of righteous anger and certainty. I had vowed to them—confident and proud—that love could overcome anything. I believed in Deacon, in his character, in us.

We would build a life together, a happy one. I could see it so clearly back then.

He held my hand, hugged me tightly, and promised with sincerity that I felt unbreakable, "I will treat you well for a lifetime. We'll have a beautiful, happy family."

But the truth is staring at me in the face now, clearer than ever.

I was wrong.

Love can withstand difficulties, but only when it's real—when both hearts are in it. Deacon doesn’t love me.

I feel a strange calm as the realization sinks in. If they’re the couple in love, then so be it. I’ll give him back to Daphne.

Deacon, this is where our story ends.

All these mistakes, all this hurt—it ends here.

I stared at the half-eaten mutton on the table, the oily spots reflecting the dim light. Daphne's voice floated from the e-sports room, sweet and pampered, while my mind replayed the images of the condoms and lace underwear I’d found in Deacon's car.

I couldn't take it anymore.

With trembling hands, I dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time. The moment the call connected, I heard my parents’ familiar voices. It hit me like a wave, and all the hurt, the anger, the humiliation I had bottled up for months came rushing out. My throat tightened, and I could barely speak past the lump.

Tears streamed down my face as I listened to their worried voices.

"Mom... Dad... I was wrong," I finally choked out. "I think... studying abroad and enjoying life sounds good."