Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 296

“Let her rest,” Larson said, grabbing Theodore by the collar and hauling him away from the old woman’s bedside.

“You—” Theodore had had enough of this man. He spun around, fist raised, ready to throw a punch.

Larson caught his wrist in a tight grip, his voice low and cold. “I told you not to disturb her, Mr. Whitman. Try to show some respect.”

“And who are you to lecture me about respect?” Theodore spat, jaw clenched. “I’m her grandson-in-law. What right do you have? Who do you think you are?”

“My right?” Larson replied, his tone dangerously calm. “I could throw you out of here right now.”

“Then do it! Go on, get out! Don’t hang around here!” Theodore retorted, grabbing Larson’s wrist and trying to shove him toward the door.

Emma watched the two men coolly. “Theodore, have you lost your mind?”

He didn’t let go. In fact, his brows only knit tighter. He turned to Emma, voice strained. “Emma, why do you keep defending him? We’ve known each other for twelve years—how long have you even known this guy? A week? A month? And you’re already always taking his side? Do you even know who he is? Can you trust him? Is he really that reliable?”

Emma’s gaze was icy. “So what if you’ve known me longer? Should I compare with Cecilia too—see who’s known you the longest?”

The name “Cecilia” hit Theodore like a blow. His mind flashed back to that morning at Cecilia’s house; he staggered back a step, suddenly hollowed out.

“Theodore, just leave. I don’t want to see you. And I won’t allow someone… tainted to touch Grandma.” She spoke so softly, as if afraid the old woman might overhear and be hurt, but every word was cuttingly decisive.

Soft as it was, her voice left no room for hope. To Theodore, it was merciless.

“Emma, you…” He choked on his words. The phrase “someone tainted” was the harshest condemnation he could imagine. “You…”

He stood there, trying and failing to ask, “Do you know everything…?”

“This won’t do; she needs to eat something,” Larson said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll have Mr. Fairchild arrange some food and have it brought up.”

“Cooking?” Latham, Fairchild’s real name, was still new in the country and more at home in a hotel suite than a kitchen. “Any dietary restrictions?”

They’d have to call in a hotel chef.

“No weird sauces or spices—keep it plain and simple, use the best ingredients, nothing too heavy. Just a pot of nourishing soup. Make sure the chef doesn’t get creative. Watch him yourself,” Larson instructed.

Once he’d finished the call, he returned to sit near the sleeping old woman, just as Emma had. Grandma had dozed off again, not even knowing who he was—her own grandson. She hadn’t even had a chance to look at him.

He realized they’d need a place to stay after she was discharged. He could live out of hotels for years if he wanted, but that would never do for her. Mr. Fairchild would have to find them a proper house, even if it was just for a month or two. It would need to be comfortable—a real home, not just somewhere to crash.

His mind drifted back to Theodore. He knew Emma probably still had property in Theodore’s name. But that wouldn’t do. There was no way he’d let Grandma stay in a house that Theodore had bought—not a chance.