Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 26

She had loved him–truly, deeply loved him.

He’d said the same words at their wedding. Back then, she’d thought, maybe this

wasn’t a confession of love, but at least it was a promise.

He had promised her a lifetime.

A lifetime sounded so long. Surely, somewhere along the way, they would learn to really love each other. And if, in the end, he never loved her back, it would be okay–her love alone would be enough.

“Theodore,” she suddenly blurted out, a question she couldn’t hold back.

“Yeah?” His breath, thick with the smell of whiskey, drifted warm across her ear.

“But your Cici is back now, isn’t she? If you’re with me, what about her?”

“Cici? Cici…” He repeated the name, his voice breaking. “Cici, I’ll never forget. I haven’t forgotten what I promised you–l never will…”

Emma felt like she’d plunged into icy water.

Was he so drunk he thought she was Cecilia?

“What did you promise her?” she asked numbly.

“Everything. All of it, Cici…” Suddenly, his arms tightened around her.

Emma felt herself lifted off the ground.

Then he pushed her down onto the bed, his breath–heavy with alcohol–spilling across her face, her nose, her chin.

He tried to find her lips, but she kept turning away.

The stench of liquor made her want to retch.

When his hands yanked at her nightgown, her resistance only grew fiercer.

“Cici, be good, please. Don’t make this difficult…”

He was still calling her Cici.

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Chapter 26

With a surge of desperation, Emma managed to free a hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked through the night.

“Theodore! Look at me! I’m not your Cici!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, trembling in the dark.

He froze for a split second. Seizing her chance, she shoved him off with all her strength.

He fell onto the bed, still drunk, mumbling, “Cici, I’m sorry, I have to go home. I promised her I’d take care of her forever… I owe her…”

Emma clamped her hands over her ears. That phrase-“I owe her“-had haunted her for five years, echoing in her mind like a curse..

She stared at him, sprawled on his back, tears burning behind her eyes. Pressing her palms tighter to her head, she shouted, “I don’t want you to owe me! Do you hear me, Theodore? I don’t want your debt! I just want you to let me go!”

At that moment, Theodore’s phone buzzed to life.

Emma turned. The caller ID flashed: “Baby Cici.”

Baby Cici.

In Theodore’s contacts, she was just “Emma.”

Back when they’d just gotten married, she used to daydream that one day Theodore would call her Emmie, or Em, or maybe some special nickname, just for her. Maybe even just “honey” or “love.” She’d even considered asking him to change her name in his phone–on WhatsApp, in his contacts–something a little more intimate.

But it never happened.

In conversation, in his phone, she was always just Emma.

To make peace with it, she’d told herself that was just the way he was–not sentimental, a bit stiff, a man who kept his distance.

But she’d been wrong.

The words “Baby Cici” glared at her from the screen. Her heart twisted as she hovered between answering and letting it ring. Then, steeling herself, she grabbed the phone and swiped the green button.

She didn’t say a word. On the other end, Cecilia spoke first.

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