Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 234

Some things, once begun, demand nothing less than your all.

In the past, Emma Bennett approached her physical therapy with a half-hearted attitude—if she could do it, fine; if not, so be it. But now, everything had changed. She’d set her sights on one goal: to return to the stage that belonged to her and her alone.

It wasn’t that she was ready to accept any outcome anymore. No—this time, she refused to settle for anything less than reclaiming her place beneath the lights.

With her resolve sharpened, Emma became unbreakable. Each day was packed from dawn till dusk: morning video calls with her grandmother, followed by helping out backstage with the dance company, and then squeezing every spare minute into her rehab routine.

She was so consumed by this busy, purposeful rhythm, she barely noticed the rest of Cresthaven anymore.

The day the company wrapped up their show in France and set off for Germany, Emma was up by five in the morning—quiet as a shadow while the others still slept.

This had become her new habit: waking an hour or two before anyone else, carving out time for therapy before her schedule filled with costume fittings, makeup, and set preparations for the troupe.

By six, Sebastian Remington wandered in, catching her already mid-stretch. He grinned. “Emma, every day you’re up even earlier. Makes me feel like the laziest man alive.”

She smiled, not pausing. “Not really. We’re switching hotels today, so I figured everyone would be up early—I just beat them to it.”

Sebastian always volunteered to spot her during rehab. He claimed it was part of his own training, but Emma knew better. He was there for her, plain and simple.

Between Sebastian, Ms. Brown, and Serena Innis, there was always someone at her side—morning and night—never letting her go it alone.

By seven-thirty, after two hours of hard work, Emma and Sebastian returned to their rooms, packed their bags, and joined the convoy heading for Germany.

On the bus, she slipped on her headphones, intending to lose herself in music. But as she unlocked her phone, the gallery app popped up unbidden—a memory from this very day, last year.

Maybe that’s why, every year since, he’d give her and her grandmother those extravagant gifts—because he owed her, and didn’t know how else to make it right.

With love? He had none left to give.

So money, then. Lots and lots of money.

Emma scrolled through her photos, a quiet sigh in her chest. Five years, and her gallery was filled with nothing but him.

Nothing but—

His birthdays, her birthdays, holidays and anniversaries, candid shots of him sleeping, working, laughing—his face in every angle: straight on, in profile, from behind.