Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 203

Emma remained perfectly calm throughout.

She didn’t make a scene, didn’t sulk, nor did she ignore Theodore on purpose. After quietly packing up her things at the hotel, she checked out and went home with him, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was the kind of composure you’d expect from a stranger, not a wife.

On the drive back, Theodore glanced at her several times at red lights. He found her reaction almost unbelievable. He’d braced himself for hours of explanations and apologies, but… that was it? She simply let it go?

When Emma had been taken from home, the front door was left open and takeout boxes were still stacked in the hallway. Now, everything was tidied up, the food brought inside, and two boxes of fresh redberries sat on the kitchen counter—she knew Sebastian had dropped them off.

She didn’t comment. Instead, she changed her shoes, washed up, swapped her clothes for something comfortable, rinsed a bowl of redberries, put the rest in the fridge, and settled on the couch. Scrolling through her phone, she popped one berry after another into her mouth.

Theodore sat down beside her. “You really like redberries? How did I never know?”

He tried one himself, then nodded. “They are sweet, I’ll give you that.”

Emma glanced at him. “Sebastian brought them over.”

Theodore paused, mid-chew. He wished he could spit the berry out; suddenly, it tasted anything but sweet.

“Why did he bring you redberries?” When Theodore saw the takeout bags at the door earlier, he’d assumed she’d ordered everything herself. If he’d known Sebastian was the one who left the fruit, he’d have tossed it straight in the trash.

Emma looked at him, baffled. “He’s my friend. Friends bring each other food—what’s strange about that?”

“Emma, he’s a man. I know how men think—believe me, no guy gives a woman gifts for no reason. Friendly gestures always come with strings attached…”

As he spoke, Emma just stared at him, silent.

Halfway through his little speech, Theodore realized how ridiculous he sounded. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Emma, I’m different. With Cici… I bring her things because—”

“Because you want something from her?” Emma finished his sentence for him, arching an eyebrow.

“Why do you keep hoping I’m mad? I’m not!” Emma said, exasperated. Lately, it felt like every conversation circled back to whether or not she was angry.

“I… I chose Cici. You really don’t care?” Even as he said it, his voice faltered.

Emma shook her head. “I really don’t.”

You only care who someone loves if you love them yourself. If you’ve stopped loving, none of it matters—just like Theodore never cared about her.

“But… why?” Theodore asked, struggling to make sense of it. By all logic, Emma had once loved him deeply. How could she not care that her husband had chosen someone else when it mattered most?

She’d told him before—the answer was simple: she didn’t love him anymore.

But he’d never believed her. He always thought she was just trying to hurt him.