Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

No one could have predicted it: Sebastian turned out to be Grandma’s former student. He was in town for a charity performance at the local elementary school, and as fate would have it, he had bumped into Grandma right after getting out of the car. The two chatted all the way home together.

That’s how he ended up witnessing Emma dancing that afternoon.

Years ago, Sebastian was the boy who used to sulk in secret under the old oak tree, devastated when he couldn’t master his dance steps. Now, not only was he strong enough to lift her in a pas de deux, but he could even turn around and use her own words from back then to gently tease and encourage her.

Sebastian couldn’t stay long–he had another show that afternoon–so he only sat in Grandma’s living room for a little while, sipping a glass of water before heading out again. Before he left, they made plans: after the performance, he’d come back for

dinner.

That afternoon, something inside Emma had been rekindled–a dancer’s spirit she thought she’d lost. She spent the entire afternoon in her practice studio, restless and

alive.

She ran through a few simple drills, but her stamina faded quickly. She would rest, sitting on the polished floor to catch her breath, then try again. Over and over, she repeated the cycle until the afternoon slipped away and Sebastian returned, just as promised.

When Sebastian arrived, she was still in the studio. She’d just finished another round and was now sitting on the floor, flushed and breathless, sweat clinging to her brow.

“Hey, coach!” he called, beaming as he entered. He dropped to the floor cross–legged, sitting across from her.

“Was the performance a huge success? You look thrilled,” Emma said, catching the bright spark in his eyes–brighter, she thought, than even the crimson sunset outside.

He grinned. “It went well, but that’s not what I’m happy about.”

Emma could guess what he meant, so she didn’t press further.

“I heard the sound of life coming back,” he said, eyes shining.

She frowned slightly, not understanding.

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He moved his arms lightly, mimicking the flutter of butterfly wings. “The sound of breaking free. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.”

Now she understood–he meant her, dancing again after all these years.

But could this really be called dancing? Even a moth would look more graceful than she did right now.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You haven’t practiced in five years, but today was already amazing–really, really beautiful. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you.” Sebastian pulled out his phone, found their chat thread, and hit send.

So he’d recorded their dance today.

“My phone’s not here,” Emma said, holding up her empty hands.

“Then watch on mine.” He handed her his phone, letting her see the video.

Emma watched herself on the screen, shaking her head and smiling wryly. Once, she had been called the Little Linnet–how could she let herself dance so clumsily now?

“You were beautiful. You’ll always be the most beautiful Miss Butterfly to me. Sure, maybe there are flaws, but you’re breaking free, growing new wings. I mean it, coach…”

Sebastian’s reassurance couldn’t erase her frustration at seeing herself dance like that, but it echoed something she’d been feeling deep down: she would grow new wings. Life didn’t have to revolve around dancing alone.

She moved over to the window, letting the golden sunset bathe her face. She smiled–a brilliant, radiant smile that seemed to glow even brighter in that warm light.

That’s when Theodore walked into the studio. He caught sight of her, her smile more dazzling than the sunset itself, and saw her and Sebastian, their heads close together, watching something on a phone.

In five years of marriage, Theodore had never stepped foot in this studio. It had always been closed up; he’d assumed it was just a storage room.

He took in the scene: the empty glass–walled studio, the ballet barre, the wall of mirrors, Emma in her leotard, and the two of them huddled close over a phone. His expression darkened immediately.

Emma sensed the shift–the pressure in the room seemed to mount, suffocating and inexplicable. She glanced up to see Theodore standing in the shadows, still wearing

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the same clothes from yesterday.

Really? He hadn’t come home all night? Not even changed his shirt? Was he so devoted to looking after Cecilia that he hadn’t even bothered to change?

He looked awful–drawn and tired, hair rumpled. As he stepped toward her, the sunset behind him seemed to catch fire, its reflection burning in his eyes.

“I’ve been calling you all day. Why was your phone off?” His voice was tight, clearly fighting to keep his temper in check.

Emma stared at him, not understanding his anger. Wasn’t he supposed to be too busy to even call? Now he was upset her phone was off? He’d spent the night caring for Cecilia, and she hadn’t complained–what right did he have to be angry?

“Oh. I didn’t expect you to call.” Her tone was cool as she looked out the window at the fading sun. Surely, it was the sunlight that stung her eyes–not the smudged lipstick on his collar and the faint, unmistakable mark along his neck.