Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 240

In the end, Chubby didn’t take the money.

Theodore had been planning to head into the office, but now he lounged against the headboard, feeling too sluggish to get up. Instead, he scrolled through Chubby’s social media feed, finding snapshots of an ordinary life—mundane, yet full of warmth. There were posts about what his wife had cooked that day, the latest mischief from his two kids, the family dog tearing up the living room, or Chubby showing off some home-cooked meal on his day off.

Simple moments, honestly described, radiated the hum of real life—so much so that Theodore felt an unexpected ache behind his eyes.

Everyone in the photos was smiling, genuinely—those bright, eye-crinkling smiles that made you believe in happiness.

Without thinking, he left a comment under a photo of Chubby in the kitchen: “You’ve got some serious cooking skills, man. Looks delicious.”

He moved on to other things, and after a while, a red notification popped up. It was a reply from Chubby: “You’re welcome to come over for dinner anytime.”

Theodore chuckled, shaking his head. As if that would ever happen. How could he, a complete stranger, just go have dinner at the home of an Uber driver he barely knew?

Still in his pajamas, he slid further down the bed, drifting from sitting up to half-lying, until he was sprawled out, feeling heavy and lethargic. He realized he really didn’t feel like going to work at all.

On the wall hung a wedding photograph of him and Emma—taken by the photographer on their wedding day.

Emma had wanted to have a special photoshoot in wedding attire, had brought it up several times. Every time, he brushed her off: too busy, maybe later, let’s wait until there’s more time.

Eventually, she stopped asking.

He forgot about it altogether.

Later, Emma picked one photo from the wedding, had it enlarged and printed. She hung it up, waiting for him to come home so she could show him, tugging him by the hand and asking if it looked good, if he liked it here.

He barely spared it a glance, muttered something noncommittal, and disappeared into the bathroom for a shower.

He’d caught the way the light faded from Emma’s eyes, but he hadn’t turned around.

On autopilot, he reached for his phone, still plugged in and charging. He yanked out the cord and, out of habit, dialed Emma’s number.

A robotic voice answered: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.”

Again? He felt a stab of irritation, then remembered—Emma was overseas now, and he didn’t have her new number.

So he opened WhatsApp and tried a voice call instead.

Emma was just about to head out for lunch with Ms. Brown when she saw Theodore calling. She ignored it.

But he kept calling—over and over, relentless, whether she declined or simply let it ring.

Even Ms. Brown noticed. “Emma, go ahead and take your call. I’ll meet you inside.”