Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 122

Chapter 122

Emma couldn’t help laughing as the words Theodore had posted last night flashed through her mind. “My husband? The man who’s spent his whole life chasing after another woman is my husband? Theodore, you must be joking.”

It really was hilarious.

So hilarious, in fact, that her sadness faded away.

Theodore angled the mirror toward her. “Look at yourself. Just look at what you’ve become.”

Emma glanced at her reflection.

She’d pushed herself so hard during her workout that her hair was soaked, sweat streaked her face, and her clothes clung to her skin. She looked á mess–truly. Even now, her lips trembled, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But she didn’t see anything wrong with that.

To her, it was proof of her determination.

“What about how I look?” She touched her flushed cheek, feeling the healthy warmth radiate through her skin. She was proud of what she’d achieved.

“Emma, you don’t have to do this…” Theodore sighed. “I know you’re upset–Cecilia’s back. She’s more beautiful, healthier, more capable than you are, so you’re uncomfortable. You’re pushing yourself so you can

outshine her.”

Emma stared at him in disbelief. Is his head full of holes?

“You don’t need to put yourself through this,” he went on, his eyes softening. “Seeing you exhaust yourself like this, it pains me. There’s no need to compete. No matter what, you’re Mrs. Whitman. That won’t change. You don’t need to be anxious. You’ve changed so much–your life revolves around Cecilia now, everything you do is-”

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Chapter 122

“I’m anxious? I’m obsessed with your precious Cecilia?” Emma finally lost her patience, cutting him off. “Theodore, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? First of all, I’ve never competed with your Cecilia–not in looks, not in health, not in ability. Second, my life is full of amazing things, none of which have anything to do with you or your Cecilia. And last–I couldn’t care less about being Mrs. Whitman!”

Why on earth did Theodore think her whole existence revolved around Cecilia, that she was fighting him for her?

But no matter what she said, Theodore refused to believe her. His gaze shifted from tenderness to mockery. “Emma, you’re not jealous? If you were really so detached, why are you so determined to see Cecilia locked up? Do you think that sending her to prison will drive her out of my life, let you enjoy being Mrs. Whitman in peace? You’re wrong, Emma. All it does is push me further away. Can’t you see that?“ ́

Emma rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might get stuck. God, talking to someone who’s on a completely different wavelength is torture.

Does he even understand plain English?

“Theodore.” She exhaled slowly, fighting for calm. “Let’s get one thing straight. If Cecilia ends up in prison, it’s because she broke the law, not because I sent her there. You’ve got a degree from Yale, don’t tell me you can’t grasp basic logic. And as for whether you’re near or far from me, that’s none of my concern. I honestly don’t care.”

“Don’t care?” Theodore sneered. “The more you lack, the more you proclaim it. You keep saying you don’t care, but it’s obvious you do. Don’t think I’ve forgotten–you had a crush on me in high school, didn’t you? Pretended you needed help with homework just so I’d notice you, brought me pastries at the Harvest Festival because you were trying to get close to me. After college, you risked your life to save me. And now you’re telling me you don’t care? Who do you think you’re fooling?”

Emma froze.

She thought that after all these years, nothing he said could hurt her

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anymore.

She’d underestimated just how deep the wounds of this relationship

went.

So he knew everything. He remembered everything.

Yes, she had once nursed a secret crush on him.

But that was her own private longing–she’d never expected or even wanted anything from him in return.

She’d asked for his help with homework because she wanted to pay him to tutor her, so she could discreetly help him out when his family couldn’t afford to give him money, without hurting his pride.

She’d brought him pastries at the Harvest Festival because, on that special day, she wanted to offer a little warmth to someone else struggling through a difficult time.

And when she’d saved his life after graduation, even though it cost her dearly–even though she was left with a permanent limp–she never once thought about using it as leverage, never dreamed of forcing him into

marriage.

She’d already decided to bow out of this marriage, to build walls around her heart and remind herself not to let him hurt her again.

But she never imagined that all the kindness she’d shown him would one day become the very arrows he’d use to pierce through her armor, wounding her all over again.

Enough. Let it go.

She felt utterly drained, and gave up on trying to explain.

It was pointless. One day, when she was truly gone from his life, he’d finally see for himself just how little she cared about being Mrs.

Whitman.

Seeing her so defeated, Theodore reached out to pull her into a hug.

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She held her breath.

She would never forget that one Mid–Autumn night, sitting beneath the flowering trees with him, sharing pastries under the moonlight. When they parted, a single pale blossom had fallen onto his school jacket, glowing softly in the moonbeams, filling the air with a delicate fragrance. That gentle sweetness had lingered throughout her youth, warming her heart for years.

Now, though, as Theodore drew near, the only scent clinging to him was the cloying, suffocating tang of expensive cologne.

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