Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 3

He'd broken his vow and started drinking again.

It was obvious—even through the phone, Emma could tell he was a little drunk.-

But Theodore, shouting like that? It was hard to imagine.

In Emma's memory, Theodore had always been the aloof genius in high school—composed and focused, never letting his guard down, not even when girls on the track team tried to hand him a water bottle. He'd ignore them as if he hadn't even heard.

Later, as her husband, Theodore was unfailingly polite, his emotions so well-regulated they hardly registered at all. He never smiled, never lost his temper. He was always distant, so much so that when Emma's fingers brushed against his, she sometimes wondered if he even ran warm.

But now, in the video, the camera panned across a group of faces until it landed on Theodore—flushed, eyes shining, raising his glass and laughing out loud. "Welcome home, Cici!" he cheered into the camera.

So he could laugh.

He could be passionate.

He could call a girl by a nickname.

Just not with her. He never smiled at Emma, never spoke to her with that warmth, never gave her a pet name.

"Ma'am, should we get up now?" Fallon's voice called from outside the bedroom.

Emma's days followed a strict routine. If she wasn't up yet, Fallon worried she might need help—it was no secret that Emma's leg wasn't what it used to be.

Emma put her phone down. "I'm up. I'll be right out." Her voice came out rough and tight, catching in her throat.

Fallon had made steamed buns for breakfast, but Emma could barely finish one.

"What would you like for lunch and dinner?" Fallon asked, handing her a glass of milk.

"Anything's fine, just—" Emma almost said, "Just make whatever Theodore likes," as she always did. But she caught herself and fell silent.

Fallon understood, though; it was the same conversation every day. She answered gently, "Sir said he won't be home for meals today. He has an event."

Emma nodded.

Of course he wouldn't be home for dinner. She'd already seen it on Twitter: Cecilia had posted a chart listing who was taking her out and where she'd be eating for the next week. "Nothing beats the old friendships from school. I'm such a lucky girl, so many doting big brothers!"

Emma spent her days studying foreign languages and reading up on art theory—two hours for one, a few more for the other.

If she didn't keep herself busy, how was she supposed to get through these endless hours? Was she really expected to spend her whole life just waiting for someone to come home?

Fortunately, the school would let her update her scores.

"But…" Fallon glanced at Emma's leg. "Let me come with you, just in case?"

"No need. It's just a girls' night. Another person would be awkward," Emma replied, her face expressionless.

"Then I'll let Sir know you're heading out," Fallon said, genuinely anxious about Emma's safety.

"That's not necessary. Let him enjoy his night out. I'll call him myself after I meet my friend—he can pick me up then," Emma replied, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

Because of her leg, Theodore had chosen a spacious single-level apartment for them; Emma just needed to take the elevator down to the lobby.

But as soon as she stepped into the sunlight, she instinctively lowered her head, pulling her body in tight. She put on her hat and turned up her collar.

Since her injury, the confident, radiant Emma who once owned the stage had vanished.

The Emma with a limp no longer had the courage to stand in the public eye.

Fallon always said she should go out with Theodore or her for company.