My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 737

But Emily Blair was different. Whenever she shared the same space with Andrew Lane, she felt ill at ease.

Just a few minutes ago, she’d already nudged him once, urging him to head home.

Andrew had refused—firmly and without apology.

Now, Andrew finally put his phone away and looked up at her, his voice low. “You don’t want me here?”

It was the kind of question that offered no safe answer. Admitting she didn’t want him there sounded rude; denying it would make her seem like she wanted him to stay.

So Emily simply lay back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “I’m going to sleep,” she said.

Andrew watched her for a moment, then got to his feet. He left without another word.

Once she was sure Andrew had gone, Emily sat up again. She reached under her pillow for her phone and unlocked it.

She’d just messaged Tristan Davis: *Are you still coming tonight?*

But more than ten minutes had passed with no reply.

A rare restlessness crept over her.

Tristan was angry with her.

In five years together, they’d rarely fought—she could count the real arguments on one hand. But this time was different. He wasn’t answering calls, wasn’t replying to texts. Tristan was truly upset.

Emily felt stuck, unable to fix things.

She stared at the empty message thread, frowning deeply.

After a while, she put the phone down and lay back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A little later, the door opened with a quiet click. Emily’s heart skipped, hope rising for a moment.

But it wasn’t who she wanted.

To everyone else, she appeared calm, composed—always able to answer questions with perfect clarity.

The police had checked in, worried she might develop PTSD. Emily assured them she was fine.

Their concern wasn’t unfounded. Alex White, who’d been in the accident with her, was already showing symptoms: withdrawn, plagued by nightmares of the crash.

His family had immediately brought in a therapist.

With treatment, Alex’s condition had improved a little.

When Elizabeth Wilson and Emma George heard about Alex, they tried to arrange a therapist for Emily, too. She politely declined.

After a day of observation, no one around her noticed anything amiss.

It was only at night, as Emily drifted off, that the truth surfaced—her dreams replayed the crash over and over, Daisy’s accident merging with her own. Blood everywhere, the scent metallic and sharp. It was as if she could smell it all over again.