Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 1

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom.

Theodore Whitman was taking a shower.

It was three in the morning. He'd only just come home.

Emma Bennett stood outside the bathroom door, her nerves strung tight. There was something she needed to discuss with him, but she had no idea how he'd react.

As she tried to figure out the right words, a strange noise carried through the door.

She listened carefully, and then it hit her—he was jerking off in the shower.

A series of muffled gasps and low groans hammered against her chest, each one sharp and relentless, filling her with a pain so deep it felt like she was drowning in it.

Tonight was their wedding anniversary. Five years since she'd married him, five years without ever sharing a real marriage bed.

So he'd rather be alone than touch her?

His breathing grew faster, more ragged, until he suddenly let out a choked, desperate cry—"Cici…"

That single word shattered her.

Something inside her broke, scattering to dust.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud, spun around, and tried to flee. But before she could even take a full step, she stumbled, crashed into the sink, and collapsed hard onto the floor.

"Emma?" Theodore's voice was thick with exertion, his breathing still heavy as he tried to compose himself.

"I—I just needed to use the bathroom. I didn't know you were in there," she blurted out, the lie clumsy and obvious. She scrambled for the edge of the sink, desperate to pull herself upright.

Her panic only made her more awkward. Water puddled on the tile and across the sink, making it hard to get her footing. By the time she finally managed to stand, Theodore had already stepped out, his white robe haphazardly thrown on, the belt cinched tight.

"Did you fall? Here, let me help you." He moved to lift her.

"Alright. Going to sleep, then? Didn't you need the bathroom?"

"Not anymore. I'm just going to sleep," she whispered.

"Okay. By the way, today's our anniversary. I got you something—I'll leave it on the nightstand for you to open in the morning."

"Thanks." She'd already seen the gift. She didn't need to open it to know what was inside.

Every year, the same size box. Every year, the same watch.

In her drawer, alongside her birthday gifts, there were already nine identical watches. This made the tenth.

The conversation ended there. Theodore turned off the light and climbed into bed. The air was heavy with the scent of his body wash, but the king-sized mattress barely dipped beneath his weight. She lay on the far edge; he kept to the opposite side. There was enough space between them for three more people.

Neither mentioned the name Cici. Neither spoke of what had happened in the bathroom. It was as if none of it had ever happened at all.