Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 336

“Really?”

A flicker of doubt crossed Cecilia’s mind. She wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Of course,” Jared replied, his tone certain. “Besides, don’t forget—you’ve still got that ‘volunteer’ charm on your side. Just bring that up, and no matter what you’ve done, Theo will forgive you.”

Cecilia managed a strained smile.

That so-called charm… it wasn’t much of a shield, more like a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode and drag her down with it.

“What’s wrong?” Jared had noticed something off about her.

Cecilia couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. She’d never been the volunteer he remembered from all those years ago. Back then, she was just hanging around the hospital room, and he—so handsome, so kind—had come by with gifts as thanks. She'd been smitten at first sight, drawn in by his looks and the expensive presents. It was easy to go along with the misunderstanding and accept the gifts. Why not?

“Don’t worry,” Jared reassured her, seeing the worry etched on her face. “Remember, we still have one last ace up our sleeve.”

Cecilia looked back at him, silent.

The next morning.

Theodore woke up on the living room couch.

He’d barely slept all night—when dawn finally crept through the curtains, he dozed off for only a short while before his alarm jolted him awake.

Emma had agreed to meet him at city hall at nine. He checked the time: seven o’clock.

One way or another, he had to go. Things were already bad enough—he couldn’t make it worse by standing her up and leaving her waiting.

He headed for the shower, catching his reflection in the mirror. Just one night had left him looking utterly worn out.

He looked awful—hardly presentable, and certainly not ready to face Emma.

After showering, he took extra care getting dressed, making sure every detail was in place. When he buttoned his shirt, the sapphire cufflinks caught the light and flashed sharply, almost hurting his eyes.

He traced his fingers over the gems, and after a moment’s hesitation, left the house.

He arrived at city hall by eight-thirty. Emma wasn’t there yet.

Resting both hands on the steering wheel, he stared out through the windshield. Sunlight streamed in, catching on his cufflinks once again.

He squinted—it looked like there were letters etched into the platinum setting.

He raised his arm for a closer look. Each cufflink was engraved with letters: one said EB, the other TW.

Emma and Theodore.

Suddenly, he remembered Emma writing out their wedding invitations.

Back then, she’d come home brimming with excitement, arms loaded with beautiful invitations. She’d waited for him to discuss the guest list—how many tables, how many cards to send out.

Lost in thought, he noticed a car pulling up nearby.

Through the rearview mirror, he saw her step out, Larson by her side. He got out of his own car to meet her.

In the golden morning light, their eyes met.

“Emma.” He quickened his pace toward her.

Emma’s face was calm, almost detached. She gave him a polite nod. “You’re here? Let’s go.”

He had so much he wanted to say. “Emma, I never once thought about divorcing you. I told you I wanted to spend my life with you—I’ve never changed my mind.”

Emma didn’t want to hear it. These words meant nothing now; they only made everything feel heavier. How many times did she have to say she was done before he’d finally understand?

“We’re already here—let’s not do this. It’s pointless now.” She walked toward the city hall entrance, her determined steps making it clear there was no turning back.

“Emma…” Theodore caught up to her. “About last night—I’m sorry. I had no idea Cici had sent you so many messages. Why didn’t you tell me when you got them?”

Emma stopped and turned to face him. “What difference would it have made?”

“If you’d told me—”

“I told you I wanted a real wedding, with all our friends and family. Did you listen? I told you I wanted a child—your child and mine. Did you listen? I told you I hated it when they joked about my limp. Did you listen? I told you I don’t like spicy food—have you ever remembered? I told you, I am Mrs. Whitman, not her. But you turned and left with her anyway. The night that man forced you to choose between us—if I’d said ‘choose me,’ would you have picked me?”