Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 40

Of course, she could never say that out loud. If her parents got wind of it, they’d throw a fit that would leave the whole house in chaos–and make it even harder for her to

leave this place.

Gabriella started in again, voice full of earnest nagging. “Honestly, you’ve been married five years now. It’s time to give us a grandson! Tie your husband down, honey. If you don’t, there are plenty of women out there who will! Why can’t you get that through your head? I’m telling you, if you’re not pregnant by the end of this year, don’t bother coming home again…”

“And let me tell you, you’re hopeless. I can’t count on you to take care of us when we’re old. The only thing left for you is to keep your husband close. If you won’t think of yourself, at least think about your family. What will happen to your father and me when we’re old? What about your brother’s future?”

Gabriella’s voice buzzed in Emma’s ear, relentless.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Every time her family asked Theodore for something, Emma wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Her pride, her dignity as a wife–ground underfoot by their endless demands.

Theodore’s generosity only made her family more shameless. Yet only she knew the truth: someone like Theodore, deep down, looked down on people as petty and greedy as her family. And they actually thought Theodore liked them?

“That’s enough! If you ask Theodore for money or favors again, I’ll just divorce him and be done with it!” The words burst out–she was at her breaking point.

Gabriella snorted, mocking her. “You? Divorce him? What are you going to do–beg on the streets? You think you’d survive without him? Or are you going to sell yourself? Unless you’ve got some secret lover out there. Who would want you, anyway? For your limp? For your utter uselessness? Or for your old age?”

Ha. This was her mother. This was the atmosphere she’d grown up in. Why would she ever want to come home? Every visit was an ordeal.

“Fine! I’ll go beg right now!” Emma shot to her feet and headed for the door.

Her mother’s voice followed, cold and scornful. “With that leg? Where do you think you’ll make it? You’d embarrass yourself–and me even more! When your husband

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Chapter 40

comes home and asks, what should I tell him? That you’re out selling yourself?”

Emma stood at the doorway, her back to her mother, biting her lip until she tasted blood. She refused to let herself cry.

“Selling herself“-that was probably the highest expectation her mother had ever had

for her.

In any sense of the word.

When Emma was a child and wanted to learn ballet, her mother had sneered, “What’s a decent girl doing learning dance? You want to end up selling yourself?” Then, somewhere along the way, she’d been brainwashed into believing dance was good for girls, made them elegant, helped them marry rich–helped them “sell” for a good price.

In a way, Emma had fulfilled her mother’s dream. She’d “sold” herself well–at the cost of a leg.

Every minute she spent in this house was suffocating, but she couldn’t leave. If she did, who knew what bizarre demands her parents would make of Theodore behind

her back?

Gabriella watched her hesitate at the door and gave a triumphant little snort. “That’s what I thought. Not so tough after all, are you?”

Theodore and her father returned from fishing at dusk, her younger brother Jonathan Bennett trailing in behind them.

All of them home for dinner.

Theodore seemed in good spirits, and her father wasted no time announcing that his son–in–law was a man destined for wealth–even managed to catch a boatload of fish, unlike himself, who came home empty–handed.

Gabriella jumped in to flatter Theodore, piling on the praise.

Emma was used to these sickening displays, but they still made her stomach turn.

Her mother bustled around, ushering everyone to their seats. Her father uncorked a bottle of wine, waving it in the air. “Thank God for my son–in–law. Without him, I’d never get to drink a wine like this. I’d never afford it in my lifetime.”

Theodore played the good sport, but Emma just felt mortified for all of them.

And then she caught Jonathan exchanging furtive glances with their mother, even nudging her with his elbow.

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She knew right away–nothing good was about to happen.