Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 239

The car pulled up.

Theodore opened the door, ready to climb in, only to be met by the driver’s look of disapproval.

He glanced down at himself—well, no wonder. Muddy water streaked up his jeans. If he were the driver, he’d be annoyed too.

“Sorry. I’ll pay for the cleaning,” he said, but he had to get home right away.

“Come on, in you get!” The driver’s tone was gruff, but he waved Theodore inside.

“Thank you,” Theodore said, glancing at his phone. The battery was nearly dead. “Let me pay you now before my phone dies.”

“Fifty bucks!” the driver barked. “That’s with the cleaning fee.”

Theodore gave a faint, crooked smile. Moments like this made him realize just how useless money could be. Still, he transferred a thousand dollars to the driver.

The driver stared at his phone, stunned. “Buddy, are you alright? Did something happen to you tonight?” He eyed Theodore’s disheveled clothes and the sharp smell of alcohol. Clearly, the guy had taken a spill after one too many drinks.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Theodore replied softly.

“No, no, it’s fine! Really, man, you don’t have to send that much. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” The driver was practically panicking now.

Through the window, Theodore watched the familiar streets flicker past. He’d traveled this route dozens of times over the last five years. A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Yesterday was my birthday,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to hear someone say ‘happy birthday.’ Could you say it?”

The driver was thrown for a loop. “Happy birthday, man.” He hesitated, then added, “Wait, you didn’t just break up with someone, did you?”

Theodore shook his head. “No. My wife stormed out, but she’ll come back.”

“Ah, my friend, if your wife’s upset, it’s always our fault—whether we did something wrong or not. That’s just the way it goes, right?” The driver launched into a rambling monologue. “We married these women to make them happy, not to give them grief. So, if she’s angry, it’s on us. That’s just how it is.”

Theodore fell silent, listening.

“But you know,” the driver continued, “women have the softest hearts. If you treat her right, she’ll know you care. When you get home, apologize—whether you’re at fault or not. Don’t go drowning your sorrows. Drinking just makes her worry even more, you know? Give her a call, ask where she is, if she needs anything. Pick her up when she gets back. That’s how you keep things good at home, right? Sorry for rambling, but you seem like a generous guy. Still, money’s not the point—making your wife feel cherished is what matters. I don’t make much driving this cab, but I treat my wife like a queen, and you wouldn’t believe how happy that makes her. You should text her now—it’s early, just say good morning and tell her you thought about her all night. Go on, say something nice…”

Theodore smiled but didn’t move.

“What, embarrassed?” the driver teased.

Theodore held up his phone. “I really am about to lose power.”

“Hey, just don’t forget what I said!” the driver called.

Theodore looked down at his phone. He’d barely touched it all night, but now it was on its last sliver of battery.

The screen showed 7 a.m. Almost without thinking, he calculated the time difference. Before he could finish, the screen went black—completely dead.

Thank God… It must have been a scratch from a branch on the country road last night…

“Are you alright, Theo? You’re not feeling sick or anything, are you?” Cecilia asked gently.

“I’m fine. I’ll be heading to work soon,” he replied, flopping down on the bed.

They chatted for a while longer about nothing in particular before hanging up.

That’s when Theodore realized—the driver hadn’t accepted the money.

He’d sent the payment through a friend add, but the payment had been rejected.

The driver’s name popped up as Chubby.

He messaged: Chubby, take the money!

Chubby sent a voice message back: No way, man! I can’t accept that!

Theodore tried again: Take it, Chubby. Your advice this morning was worth it—a lesson I needed. Think of it as a fee for your wisdom.

Chubby wrote back: Come on, man, regular folks like us don’t stand on ceremony about that stuff. It was just fate we crossed paths! Oh, and happy birthday!