Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 285

"Old hag! You're not dying on me, are you?" Julian shoved his grandmother’s head with a hard, careless push.

She just stared blankly ahead, her mouth half-open, no reaction at all. Her eyes had gone vacant, as if the world was already slipping away from her.

"Stop it, seriously—what if she really is dying?" Gabriella’s voice trembled as she grabbed Julian’s arm, stopping him.

Julian glanced at his mother lying in the hospital bed, something uncertain flickering in his eyes. But it vanished quickly, replaced by a cold, ruthless glare. "Don’t blame me, Mom. If you’d just handed over the house like I asked, none of this would be happening."

Gabriella hesitated. "But... the will’s already written... maybe—"

"Shut up!" Julian snapped. "A will only matters after she’s dead! As long as she’s alive, anything can change!"

"But... but..." Gabriella looked at the dying old woman, her breath just a faint whisper. Suddenly, she remembered those days when she’d given birth to her two children—how the old woman had cared for her, bringing her warm soup and sitting by her side.

"But what?" Julian barked. "She’s dying on her own, it’s got nothing to do with us. We even brought her food, didn’t we?"

Gabriella was shaking all over. Not even she could believe what she was saying.

Julian wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mess his mother had made. "If you want to blame someone, blame Emma. We could have brought you home, let you pass away with some dignity. But Emma’s out there looking for you. If she finds you and saves you, then what?"

The mere mention of Emma’s name sent tears streaming down the old woman’s face. She wanted to speak but couldn’t form a single word.

Julian paused, then turned to Gabriella. "It won’t be more than a day or two. We can’t leave her here—if someone finds her, questions will be asked. You stay here, keep watch until she’s gone. Then bring her back home, clean her up, and just say she died of illness."

Gabriella’s voice was barely audible, her whole body trembling. "Why... why do I have to stay? Why can’t you?"

"You stupid woman! You dare say no to me?" Julian raised his fist, ready to strike.

Gabriella ducked, arms over her head, scrambling to get away. "No, I’m not staying! If anyone’s staying, it should be you! She’s your mother, not mine!"

No matter how loudly Julian yelled, Gabriella bolted for the door. They reached it nearly at the same time, Gabriella flinging it open just as Julian grabbed a handful of her hair. But both of them froze, turning pale the moment the door swung wide.

Standing outside was a group of tall, broad-shouldered men—some of them clearly foreigners.

At their head stood a man neither Julian nor Gabriella recognized.

"Who... who are you?" Julian’s grip on Gabriella loosened as fear washed over him. For a moment, he thought they were debt collectors. "I’ll pay! I swear I’ll pay the money back! I—"

He didn’t even finish the sentence before another car screeched to a halt outside. Emma leapt out, her limp obvious as she ran, shouting desperately, "Grandma! Grandma!"

Julian, still clueless about the situation, pointed at Emma and shouted, "That’s my daughter! Her husband’s got money! If you want someone, take her—take her and you’ll—"

He didn’t get to finish his thought. The man at the front stepped forward and landed a punch square on Julian’s jaw.

Julian was knocked off his feet, sent flying back into the warehouse. He hit the ground hard, tasting blood instantly. When he spat, two teeth clattered to the floor.

But she was filthy, covered in mess. How could she let Emmie touch her?

With surprising strength, she whispered, "No… stay away… Emmie… don’t come closer. Grandma’s dirty…"

Emma nearly broke down. "No, Grandma, you’re not dirty… you’re not…"

"I’ll take her," Larson said, stooping to lift the frail woman gently in his arms.

The old woman panicked. "Who is it? Who… don’t pick Grandma up, please put me down, I’m dirty…"

If she’d had any strength left, she would have fought to get away. But she was utterly spent—only fear and shame remained. "Is it Theodore? Theodore, don’t touch Grandma… put me down, Grandma’s too dirty…"

Larson was already striding toward the door, carrying her.

Emma hurried after him, heart heavy with guilt. Theodore… Grandma, it’s not Theodore…

"Grandma, it’s…"

Before she could finish, someone rushed in, cutting her off.

"Grandma! It’s Theodore! I’m here, Grandma!"