Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 93

“Shut up! Don’t say a word! You’re not going to die–I’m taking you to the hospital!” He swept her up into his arms and raced down the stairs.

Emma closed her eyes, a faint smile still lingering at the corners of her lips.

So this is really goodbye, after all.

Theodore… goodbye…

Inside the elevator, Theodore stared at the woman in his arms, her eyes shut tight. He freed a hand to frantically jab at the elevator buttons, as though sheer urgency might

make it descend faster.

“Emma, don’t fall asleep–stay with me, wake up!” He shouted her name over and over as he pressed the buttons.

At last, the doors slid open to the ground floor. The fire trucks had arrived too, much faster than he’d expected.

But Theodore couldn’t spare a thought for the flames. He carried Emma straight outside and into the nearest car, tearing off toward the hospital.

Emma regained consciousness after they arrived. The doctors ran a battery of tests, and while they found no burns, her face was covered in hives, streaked with soot and ash, making her look almost unrecognizable.

After gently cleaning her face with a cotton swab, the doctor said, “Looks like an allergic reaction. The fainting you mentioned was probably caused by the allergy

too.”

Then, his expression turned grave. “Passing out from an allergy in a burning building–that’s life–threatening! How could this happen?”

Theodore was still reeling. “An allergy? Emma, did you eat something you’re allergic

to?”

Emma lay in the hospital bed, silent.

“We’ll keep her under observation until the rest of the results come back,” the doctor instructed, then left the room.

Even after being cleaned, traces of gray still lingered on Emma’s face.

Theodore sat down beside her, dipped a cotton swab in antiseptic, and carefully

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dabbed at her skin.

It stung a little.

She winced and turned her face away.

“Let me clean you up–bacteria can get in if you’re dirty,” he murmured gently.

Emma’s eyes stung with unshed tears.

He’d said those words before.

Back when she was first injured, he’d sat beside her bed and whispered: “Hold still, Emma. Let me clean your wounds. If you’re not careful, you could get an infection.”

It was these moments of tenderness–this careful, practiced tenderness–that had made her hope, made her spend five precious years of her life on this marriage.

Looking back, he must have been disgusted as he dabbed medicine on her scars.

Why else would he never once look at her injured leg?

And now, with all this gentle fussing–what did he want from her? She couldn’t trust him anymore.

“Emma, be good. Hold still and let me put some medicine on you.” He held a tube of anti–allergy ointment in one hand. “I remember you’re allergic to mangoes. Did you have any before coming to work today? Did Fallon buy them, or did you just grab some mango cake on your way here because you couldn’t resist?”

He sounded like he was coaxing a child.

A nurse came in to hook up the IV, overhearing his gentle tone. She smiled and said, “You take such good care of your wife–anyone would think you were talking to a little girl,”

Yes–he had been coaxing her, for five years…

Emma pressed her lips together and said nothing. Only after the nurse left did she finally speak, her voice steady: “I didn’t eat any mango cake. I want to call the police.”

“The police?” Theodore frowned,

There was a quiet rustling outside the observation room. When Theodore turned, he saw Cecilia had arrived.

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