Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 11

“Theodore…” Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob.

He squeezed her hand gently. “Hmm? Emma?” His eyes softened with concern. “What’s wrong? Do you want to cry? If you do, just let it out. Don’t hold it in.”

His voice was so gentle, impossibly gentle.

It reminded her of years ago, when she was wheeled out of surgery, and he and a nurse brought her back to her room. He’d sat at her bedside, speaking to her in that same caring, tender tone that seemed to melt away all the pain. “Emma, does it hurt? If it does, just cry. Don’t force yourself to be strong…”

Back then, she’d believed that kindness as soft as water could be the best medicine for her pain. It had taken her all these years to finally understand–no matter how gentle and attentive a man was, kindness would never turn into love.

“Theodore, I want a divorce.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper as she pulled her hand away. The ache in her chest blurred her vision.

He frowned, clearly not expecting her to say that.

After a brief, heavy silence, he called over a waiter and asked for a clean bowl. Then, without looking at her, he picked out a piece of fish, lowering his head to carefully remove the bones with his fork before speaking in that same low, gentle voice. “Emma, I know you’re still upset, but talking about divorce like this isn’t rational. If you leave me, what will you do? How will you manage on your own?”

Emma’s breath came quicker, her chest tight.

For five years, everyone had seen her as dependent on him. Without Theodore, she was nothing–a pitiful woman no one wanted, someone who couldn’t possibly make it on her own.

He thought that too.

“I can!” For the first time, she stood her ground. For the first time, she wanted to defend herself, to prove him wrong.

He just smiled, as if she were being childish. Placing the deboned fish in front of her, he said, “Eat. I’ll let you be upset a little longer, but after dinner, no more sulking.”

“I’m not upset. I really do want a divorce!” How could she make him understand this wasn’t some tantrum?

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Chapter 11

“Emma.” He put down his fork, his patience wearing thin. “I canceled two meetings and a business lunch to spend the whole day with you. I can’t guarantee I’ll have this much time tomorrow or the next day. And let me say it again: Cecilia is a good friend of ours, part of my circle–just like Jared and the others. The way I treat her is no different from the way I treat them. She likes you, Emma. She’s always wanted to be your friend. But your attitude… how am I supposed to bring her around if you act like this?”

“Then don’t.” Emma didn’t believe for a second that Cecilia truly wanted to be her friend.

“Emma!” For the first time, irritation crept into his voice.

She knew it would happen–whenever Cecilia was involved, Theodore’s temper ran

short.

“Come on, finish eating. Afterward, we’ll go shopping. You can pick out anything you want. Then we’ll have dinner at my parents‘ place. When was the last time you visited them?” He kept piling food onto her plate, one dish after another.

She decided not to punish herself out of spite. She picked up her fork and ate, determined to take care of herself, no matter what happened between them. There was no need to hurt her own body just to make a point.

“That’s better,” Theodore said, his tone softening again. “Let’s not talk about divorce anymore, okay?”

She paused, then lowered her head and kept eating.

After dinner, she didn’t want to go shopping, but Theodore insisted. He drove them straight to the mall.

In five years of marriage, Theodore had rarely ever gone shopping with her; in fact, their appearances in public together were few and far between.

Even in broad daylight, the mall’s lights were dazzling.

She felt uneasy, clutching her purse tightly, walking quietly in his shadow.

The first floor was lined with luxury boutiques and jewelry counters.

“What do you want to buy?” he asked, turning to look at her.

She wanted nothing. All she wanted was to go home.

But before she could say a word, someone called out from a distance, “Mr. Whitman!”

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