Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 89

That dusk might have become a memory that would never fade from her youth–a bright, indelible moment. But now, after five years of marriage, all that long–held affection felt worn down, reduced to nothing but dust underfoot.

She was in no hurry. She sat in a cozy café, savoring her coffee and cake, letting every bite linger. Afterward, she caught a matinee at the cinema.

By the time the credits rolled, it was already afternoon.

She hadn’t had lunch yet, so she hailed a cab and went to a little bistro that served fresh, steaming dumplings.

With the first bite, hot broth bursting onto her tongue, she felt a wave of satisfaction that made her smile.

She’d done everything she’d set out to do today.

Feeling pleasantly full, she decided to walk a bit before catching another cab home. The narrow street was lined with quirky little shops. She strolled slowly, browsing here and there, watching a group of young women laughing as they queued for pastries. On a whim, she joined the line, letting herself be swept up in their cheerful

energy.

What surprised her was that no one seemed to notice her limp–or, if they did, no one gave it a second glance. No curious stares, no whispered comments.

As she stepped back out onto the sidewalk, a small cake in her hands, she was suddenly, unexpectedly moved.

Maybe stepping out of Theodore’s shadow wasn’t as hard as she’d thought.

Maybe, outside Theodore’s circle–the ones who’d always mocked her limp–strangers weren’t nearly as cruel as she’d feared.

Cradling her little box of cake, she caught a cab and headed home.

The house was quiet except for Fallon, their housekeeper. Theodore was, as usual, nowhere to be seen,

“Ma’am, how would you like the vegetables cooked tonight?” Fallon called from the kitchen, ready to start dinner.

“From now on, you don’t need to ask me how to cook the vegetables,” she replied, setting the cake down on the table. She didn’t have much time left in this house, and

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Chapter 89

she wondered if Theodore would keep Fallon on after she left.

Seeing the confusion in Fallon’s eyes, she sighed quietly. “Just cook whatever you like, Fallon. Make whatever you enjoy.”

“Ma’am…” Fallon was clearly shocked. What kind of housekeeper got to cook the food they liked?

“I mean it,” Emma said, smiling.

She took the cake to her room, showered, changed into fresh clothes, and then sat down at her desk to write about the day.

Day 19 of the countdown. She’d wandered the narrow streets, had coffee, watched a movie, eaten dumplings–things she’d wanted to do for years but had always put off. Turns out, if you really want to do something, you can just go and do it yourself.

When she first married Theodore, she’d dreamed of simple dates–movies together,

dinner out, maybe just wandering the city hand in hand.

But even when he had no plans, if she timidly suggested, “Theodore, there’s a new movie out. I heard it’s really good. Want to go see it with me?”

He’d always say, “I have to go out later. Your leg makes it hard for you to get around. We can just watch it online some other time.”

Or if she said, “Theodore, I heard there’s a great little place for dumplings. Do you want to try it this weekend?”

He’d reply, “I’ve got meetings with clients, or I’m going out with Jared and the guys.”

Every time she asked, “What do you think?“-he gave her a “maybe later.”

But later never came. Five years had slipped away on promises of “maybe later.”

Today, she’d gone to the movies on her own. She’d eaten dumplings alone. She’d even felt the kindness of strangers. She’d written her own ending to these five years.

Midnight came. Theodore still wasn’t home. Day 19 of the countdown was over.

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