Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 17

Was he hurting too?

She understood.

His whole life, he’d be shackled to her–she was a burden he could never shake off.

How could that not hurt?

The woman he truly loved was right there, so close, yet because of her, he couldn’t claim that love openly. How could that not be painful?

His conscience and the urge to break free must have been tearing him apart, over and

over. How could that not hurt?

So, Theodore, why not let me go?

Emma returned home alone. On the table in front of her sat ten watch boxes, lined up

in a neat, mocking row.

She stared at the boxes for a long time, lost in thought.

For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to hurl every single one at the wall, to

watch them shatter.

But she didn’t.

Giving in to impulse would solve nothing.

Once her emotions had finally settled, she pulled out her phone and opened a secondhand luxury goods app. It didn’t take long to find a reputable buyer in the city–she arranged for them to come by the next morning at ten.

Ten o’clock, right when Fallon, the housekeeper, would be out grocery shopping.

With that taken care of, she opened her laptop and threw herself into researching visa applications.

Ms. Brown’s group was heading out in just a month. The countdown to her departure had truly begun.

Sitting at her desk, Emma lost herself in a sea of open tabs and forum threads. Her heart surged with anticipation and anxiety; the world had never felt so quiet, so charged with possibility. Before she knew it, the night had slipped away.

She was so absorbed that she didn’t even notice Theodore had come home.

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Chapter 17

It wasn’t until his voice came from the doorway-“What are you up to?“-that she snapped out of it, hastily shutting her laptop.

Theodore was back, as calm and gentle as ever, as if nothing had happened. He walked over to her, his voice soft and easy. “Watching something? What could possibly be so interesting you’re still up at this hour?”

He was just making conversation for conversation’s sake.

Her hand pressed down hard on the laptop, covering the screen–she hadn’t had time to close the web pages. “It’s a show you wouldn’t like.”

“How would you know if I haven’t seen it?” He reached out, trying to lift the lid of her laptop.

No. She couldn’t let him see what she’d been searching. She held on tight, refusing to

let go.

He must have thought she was still angry, because he stopped trying and crouched down beside her, searching her face. “Still upset?”

“No.” Her feelings were a storm–disappointment, despair, anger–but curiously, not

anger.

Anger would mean she still cared, that he could talk her down, that she still held out hope for their marriage. But she didn’t. Not anymore.

Five years. It really was enough.

“Emma, there’s nothing going on between me and Cici. We’re just old friends from college. She came back from overseas, and a group of us got together to welcome her home. What happened at the mall today was just a misunderstanding, nothing more. Please, believe me.” His patience and gentleness had returned, as if rehearsed.

When she didn’t respond, he added, “We were supposed to have dinner with your parents tonight, too, but that didn’t happen. Should we reschedule for another day?”

She shook her head.

She didn’t want to go home for dinner.

Her parents, her brother–the only thing they’d say was that, with her limp, marrying Theodore was a blessing she should never take for granted.

“You don’t want to? We haven’t visited your family in over a month. Don’t you miss them?”

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His voice grew softer and softer. She gazed into his eyes and saw nothing behind the gentleness.

Gentleness–it was as if it were programmed into him, an automatic response.

“Theodore,” she said quietly, “aren’t you tired?”

He looked startled, as if he didn’t understand.

She gave a bitter smile. “You care for someone else, but you still force yourself to look after me every day. Aren’t you exhausted?”

Chapter 18

Theodore’s eyes flashed. “I haven’t-”