Mark never liked diners. He always said they weren’t our kind of place… too noisy, too greasy, not his vibe. But a month ago, something changed. Out of nowhere, he started going to that little diner on Highway 12. Every Tuesday and Thursday. Right after six. LIKE CLOCKWORK!
At first, I didn’t think much of it. He said he needed space, time to think. I wanted to respect that… but every time I asked to come with him, he’d shut it down. Said it was just HIS THING! Something didn’t sit right.
Last Tuesday, I followed him. I stayed out of sight, parked a few cars away. I watched through the window… He wasn’t eating. Wasn’t drinking. Just sitting there like HE WAS WAITING. And then she walked up – a waitress. Smiling like this was routine. And then… she took his hand.
It felt like stepping into one of my worst nightmares. A nightmare I’ll never forget… and one I sure as hell won’t let go unpunished.
Mark said that diner wasn’t my kind of place—too greasy, too loud. But then he started going every week—alone. One night, I followed him. Through the window, I saw him smiling at a young waitress, her hand on his. My heart sank before I even knew the truth.
