Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 165

“Grandma...” Emma hesitated, but she knew there was no point hiding it any longer. “I’m just not right for him, and he’s not right for me. You know as well as I do—he only married me because I saved his life back then. The truth is, he doesn’t love me, and I don’t love him either. It’s better if we just separate and move on.”

Her grandmother breathed a heavy sigh and hugged her close. “Marriage is too important to force, sweetheart. I understand. If you’re really unhappy, it’s better to end things sooner rather than later. But you’re leaving the country in a few days. Are you really not going to tell him?”

It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want to tell Theodore; she just had this nagging feeling that if she did, he’d try to stop her, and who knew what kind of tricks he’d pull. So she’d decided not to say anything. Once she was gone, he’d figure it out.

“I’ll tell him, Grandma. I just need to find the right moment.” Maybe she’d leave him a letter on the day she left. Leaning against her grandmother, Emma murmured, “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

“Of course.” Her grandmother patted her back, gentle and reassuring.

“Grandma, my passport will be mailed here in a few days. Don’t worry about it. When I’m back, I’ll take you to get your visa sorted. By August, you can come with me and we’ll visit Aunt Rebecca together.”

Her grandmother nodded. “I know, dear.”

When Emma woke up, it was day five of her countdown.

She’d decided not to go home for the next five days. Every morning, she planned to go to the Wellness Center for her recovery sessions—since Dr. Fletcher was so invested in her progress, she owed it to herself to finish strong. In the afternoons, she’d come back to her grandmother’s house and spend time with her.

But that morning, as she and her grandmother sat down for breakfast, a commotion sounded outside.

“Mom! Mom!” It was her father’s voice—Julian.

Emma frowned. What is he doing here?

Before she could finish the thought, Julian barged through the front door, with her mother, Gabriella, and her younger brother Jonathan trailing behind.

“You’re here?” Her grandmother didn’t even bother to look up. “Have you had breakfast?”

“We’ve eaten, we’ve eaten.” Julian rattled off, his tone light but insincere. “Oh, look at you, our little corporate princess is here as well!”

“Emma! It’s your father’s birthday. Show a little gratitude, why don’t you?” Gabriella chimed in, her voice syrupy with guilt.

“Birthday?” Emma shot her mother a look. “Do you even remember when my birthday is?”

All her life, her parents had never celebrated her birthday. Every year, it was only her grandmother who remembered. After she got married, Theodore would come with her to her grandmother’s house and bring her presents—though, in hindsight, she realized those gifts had strings attached. But her parents? Her birthday—and even her grandmother’s—never registered.

Gabriella faltered. “Well...”

“What kind of child forces their own mother to celebrate their birthday?” Julian snapped, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, so you admit it’s wrong for a child to demand birthday gifts from their parents? Then give the money back to grandma!” Emma shot back.

Julian’s hand twitched in the air, ready to strike again.