Exit 12

A Lunch Date Tinged With Unease

On April 11th, Jocelyn felt a rare spark of joy. She’d won a radio contest gift certificate to a luxurious spa in Atlanta, a treat she’d eagerly planned to savor while her son, Samuel, was at school. The day unfolded like a gift—pampered at the upscale spa, she felt lighter, indulged, and alive in a way she hadn’t in months. The world seemed to hum with possibility as she drove home along the sprawling Georgia highway, the glow of self-care still warming her heart.

Then her phone buzzed. Mitchell’s name flashed on the screen, and her breath caught. He rarely called—his voice a stranger in her day-to-day life. But today, his tone was different, almost warm. “Meet me for lunch,” he said, a request so out of character it sent a ripple of surprise through her. Lunch with Mitchell? It was a rarity that felt both thrilling and unsettling.

“I’d love to!” Jocelyn replied, her voice bright with hope. “I’m just a couple of exits from your office—maybe fifteen, twenty minutes away.” She imagined pulling up to his workplace, a chance to bridge the growing distance between them.

“No,” Mitchell cut in, his voice firm. “Meet me at the Wendy’s around the corner.”

The request landed oddly. Wendy’s? A fast-food joint she never frequented, far removed from the intimate lunches they once shared. And why not his office? The refusal to let her come to his workplace pricked at her, a subtle sting of unease she tried to brush aside. She agreed, pushing the doubts to the back of her mind, clinging to the hope of connection.

At Wendy’s, Jocelyn arrived first, the hum of the restaurant buzzing around her. She waited, the minutes stretching longer than they should have. Growing restless, she ordered a salad and chose a table near the window, her eyes scanning for Mitchell. As she rose to grab condiments from the side bar, she spotted Stephen, one of Mitchell’s coworkers, across the room. A familiar face—she waved, tilting her head to catch his eye, hoping for a friendly acknowledgment. But Stephen, engrossed in a phone call, didn’t look up. His focus was unbreakable, his expression distant, almost deliberate. Jocelyn’s smile faltered. It was strange, she thought, but she dismissed it as a serious business call, nothing more.

Yet the moment lingered, a quiet thread of doubt weaving into her day. Little did she know, this lunch, this fleeting encounter, was the beginning of a truth that would unravel everything she thought she knew.

A Lunch That Haunts

The air in Wendy’s felt thick with an unease I couldn’t name as I sat at the table, my untouched salad growing limp. Then Mitchell arrived, his presence both a relief and a puzzle. Across the room, his coworker Stephen glanced up from his phone, abruptly ending his call to join Mitchell. They stood together, their voices low, their conversation a private island I wasn’t invited to. Not once did either of them look my way, not a nod, not a glance. After a few minutes, Stephen left without a word, and Mitchell approached the counter to order, his broad frame moving with a heaviness that mirrored my growing disquiet.

When he finally sat across from me, I noticed the sheen of sweat on his brow, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. It wasn’t unusual—Mitchell had hyperhidrosis, a condition that left him drenched even without exertion—but today, it seemed more pronounced, as if his body was betraying a deeper turmoil. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice soft with concern, hoping to bridge the distance between us.

He sighed, his eyes avoiding mine. “It’s Friday, Jocelyn. I’ve got that 2:00 p.m. sales call with the bosses. My numbers are slipping, and I’m worried.” His words carried a weight I recognized, the strain of a job that often consumed him.

My heart softened, wanting to ease his burden. “Mitchell, I’ve told you so many times—I can help. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do whatever I can from home to drum up leads, to support you.” I’d offered this before, countless times, eager to be his partner in every sense.

His response cut like a blade, sharp and dismissive. “It’s way above you.”

The words stung, a cruel jab that left me reeling. I bit my lip, swallowing the hurt, telling myself he was just stressed, that he didn’t mean it. But the dismissal lingered, a crack in the foundation of our marriage I tried to ignore. He ate his meal quickly, focused on his food, while my salad sat untouched, my appetite stolen by the unease settling in my chest.

Barely thirty minutes passed before we stepped outside into the humid Atlanta air. Mitchell reached for my hand, his grip warm, and led me to my car. He leaned in, his lips kissed mine that felt both familiar and foreign. “I love you,” he said, his voice soft, almost convincing. “I’ll see you tonight at home.”

“Okay,” I murmured, forcing a smile. “Good luck with the call. I hope it goes well.” As he walked away, I climbed into my car, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. The drive home was a blur, my heart heavy with worry for his job, for our future. I whispered a prayer, pleading for his security, for the stability we both needed. But beneath it all, a quiet dread gnawed at me, a sense that something was deeply wrong.

Years have passed since that lunch at Wendy’s off Exit 12, but the memory clings to me like a shadow. I’ve never set foot in that place again, its neon sign a marker of a day that broke something inside me. That moment—his cold words, his distant gaze, the coworker who wouldn’t meet my eyes—was the first thread to unravel, a hint of the betrayal that would soon tear my world apart. It’s a wound that still aches, a reminder of the love I poured out and the lies that waited in return.