I Paid Off My Boyfriend's Debt, Then He Betrayed Me

I looked at the mutton on the table. The oil had solidified into an unappetizing white mass, and just the sight of it made my stomach churn. I knew, deep down, this wasn’t bought for me.

It was the leftovers from Deacon’s lunch with his friend, Daphne. I had seen them together earlier today when I was rushing between deliveries, running into the restaurant to pick up an order.

There he was, peeling shrimp for her—meticulously, tenderly—placing them one by one on her plate. Daphne's eyes sparkled with laughter, her smile wide and carefree.

Later, I saw the same image again, but this time through her social media. The caption cut deeper than I expected: "The happiest girls never have to peel their own shrimp!"

But then, I saw the comment below Daphne's post:

"If possible, I’d peel shrimp for you for the rest of my life."

The words were simple but laced with affection, and in the picture, Deacon and Daphne were nestled close together, like the leads in a romantic Korean drama, surrounded by an invisible aura of pink, dreamy bubbles. Even the couple at the next table glanced over, eyes filled with envy, and the girlfriend playfully punched her boyfriend, as if wishing for the same attention.

I stood there, wearing my yellow delivery uniform, and turned away quickly before they could see me. My reflection caught my eye for a moment—skin roughened from long days in the sun and wind, hands worn from endless work.

Inside, it felt like a flood of grievances was building up, so thick and heavy that I didn’t even know how to let it out.

I grabbed the takeaway from the front desk and walked out the door. The moment I got on my bike, the tears I’d been holding back spilled over, running down my cheeks in heavy drops, blurring my vision. I didn’t care about the puzzled glances from the people around me—I just wanted to cry, to let it all out.

So he could peel shrimp for someone else.

The realization hit me hard. Every Saturday and Sunday, Deacon and I would go out to eat. I remembered once, I ordered shrimp and playfully asked him to peel them for me. I thought maybe it would be a small, tender moment between us.

But he just looked at me, his tone ice-cold. "Why? Don’t you have hands? I can't peel them. I'm allergic to shrimp. Eat it or don’t. If you don’t want to, leave it."

I had felt the sting of his words so deeply then—my eyes reddened with shame, my face flushed with embarrassment.

I only remember eating that entire meal through my tears. Every bite tasted overwhelmingly salty, mixed with the pain I couldn’t swallow. After that day, I never ordered shrimp again when I was with Deacon.

But now, he was offering to peel shrimp for someone else for a lifetime.

What about me? I wondered bitterly. What am I in your heart?

As I looked at Deacon’s face, doubt crept into my thoughts. Was I ever more than a convenience to him? Before I could sink deeper into my own questions, he spoke again, his tone casual but demanding.

"How much have you earned these days? The repayment deadline is coming up. Don’t forget to transfer the money on time. And if you have time, take on more orders. A few hours of rest a day is enough. I’ve spent a lot recently to treat the bosses."

His words sliced through me, stripping away the remnants of hope. I blinked away the emotions welling up in my eyes, forcing a bitter smile.

I wanted to respond, but the weight of my exhaustion, of everything I’d given up for him, was too heavy. The bitterness stuck in my throat, and for a moment, I was too broken to speak.

What does he mean he has no money to treat the bosses? The truth was painfully clear: he had spent it all on Daphne. I felt so foolish for believing his lies about going out to "network" every day. In Deacon's eyes, I must be a complete idiot.

I kept my expression neutral and continued to nod in agreement, even as my heart sank. His satisfaction was evident as he noticed my obedience, a smirk creeping across his face.

As he walked into the e-sports room, he began sending voice messages, his tone dripping with a sweetness that cut me deep. “Thank you for waiting for me. I’ll be there soon.” It was the same gentle inflection he used when he was smitten with someone.

I knew exactly who that someone was—his game character’s partner.

He hadn’t even been much of a gamer before. Back when we were still in a good place, I had begged him to download games so we could play together. He would frown and dismiss me, saying, “How can I waste my time on such a stupid game? If you like it, just play by yourself.”

But now, he had secretly downloaded that game and was playing it every day with someone else.

He often played late into the night, and sometimes I'd knock on the door, urging him to go to bed early. In response, he’d throw a pillow at me, his irritation palpable. “Why are you so nosy, like an old mother? I’m annoyed even if you’re not!”

I was momentarily taken aback, but I quickly retreated, hurt but silent.

After leaving his room, I opened my phone and logged into the game with a secondary account. My heart sank when I saw Deacon’s game status. His character’s lover was at level 99, and that person was definitely not me.

When I confronted him about it, his face lost its color for a brief moment before he regained his composure. “It’s just a stranger. I’ve never seen him before,” he said dismissively, trying to downplay the situation. “Don’t worry about it; I know my limits.”

At that moment, I wanted to believe him, to trust that what he said was true.