Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 521

Emma couldn't help but scoff. "Does Anna know you're doing this? You're a strange one. Do you have some kind of fixation on your exes?"

Theodore glanced at her, a wry smile on his face. "Anna knows. I haven't hidden anything from her."

"That's true. You've always been shamelessly transparent about being a jerk. I remember when you were with Cecilia Chambers, you didn't hide anything from me either," Emma retorted, standing up to go inside.

"Emma," Theodore called after her.

"What else?"

He paused, then asked softly, "Emma, do you still hate me?"

The quiet question was like a tornado, churning up the past from the depths where it lay buried, bringing twelve years of sweet, bitter, and tangled memories rushing to the surface.

In the past, Emma would have hardened her gaze, stiffened her expression, and told him "I don't hate you." She would have told him—and herself—that they were strangers now, that true freedom meant the absence of both love and hate. Because hate, too, required energy.

But now, she turned back to him, and with the same clean simplicity as the summer night breeze on the ranch, she said, "I don't hate you anymore."

"Theodore…" Her voice was misty. "You know, I've thought about it since. If it hadn't been you that day—if it had been any child, any elderly person, any stranger I met on the street—I probably would have pushed them out of the way, too. It just so happened to be you."

"Emma… so what you hated wasn't the immense price you paid. It was me, and what I did."

"Yes," she admitted frankly. "I could have accepted you not loving me. If you hadn't proposed six years ago, I wouldn't have hated you, because marriage isn't a way to repay a debt. If, at any point during our five-year marriage, you had told me that you had tried to love me but failed, that you just couldn't, I wouldn't have blamed you. At least we would have tried, and marriage shouldn't be forced. Even if, the moment Cecilia came back, you had told me your true love had returned and you wanted a divorce, I would have been sad for a while, but I wouldn't have hated you. After all, marriage isn't a cage. We could have gone our separate ways to find our own happiness. Isn't that what they say? People get married to be happy, and they get divorced for the same reason. We both had the right to ask for one."

"Theodore," she sighed, "marriage is for living a happy life together. What I hated was that you trampled on the marriage I cherished. You deceived me, hurt me, and belittled me, all to prop up another woman's ego."