No More Mrs. Forgotten novel Chapter 30

During that standoff by the gates, if Josiah had actually put his foot down and forcefully dragged Sharon out of the Maybach, there was absolutely zero chance she would have refused.

After all, they were lifelong friends. No matter how apocalyptic the fallout between them got, they inherently operated on a baseline of mutual respect and saving face for one another.

Josiah rolled down his window, took a slow drag from his cigarette, and replied with infuriating nonchalance, "They're a married couple."

Adele arched an eyebrow. "Coward."

Josiah definitely heard her, but he lazily turned his head. "Excuse me?"

The sheer, suffocating intimidation radiating from his eyes, paired with the blinding flash of the priceless Audemars Piguet Royal Oak on his wrist, forced an immediate surrender. Adele threw her hands up in defeat. "I'm sorry, my liege. I don't want to end up at the bottom of the ocean."

Josiah scoffed. "Your geography sucks. The Capital is landlocked."

Adele pouted. Honestly, this man was a total bastard.

He was clearly completely whipped, but God forbid anyone ever called him a coward. He wielded charm and absolute terror with terrifying perfection.

It made you worship him and fear for your life simultaneously.

For some bizarre reason, Adele suddenly wondered... if she were Sharon, would Josiah have talked back?

Would he have admitted to being a coward?

He probably would have, right?

Adele had no idea why her brain was spiraling like this. She found the thought mildly amusing, yet strangely heartbreaking.

She was clearly losing her mind, obsessing over absolute nonsense.

*

Sharon rode the rest of the way in total, unbroken silence.

Her total shutdown made York assume she had finally burned through her tantrum and gotten what she wanted.

So, this was what Sharon had been after the entire time.

She wanted him to initiate intimacy.

When he thought about it, it actually tracked. In two years of marriage, Sharon had always been the one making the moves.

Even during their rare moments in the bedroom, if he ever wanted it, all he had to do was reach out and pull her in, and she would immediately take over and kiss him.

So, this was the missing piece?

If Sharon had just outright demanded it—told him she wanted him to be more aggressive—he never would have agreed.

He had stood tall and invincible in his razor-sharp uniform, the commander's insignia practically blinding in the sunlight.

As he boarded the plane, he hadn't spoken like some tragic hero marching off to war, like the twisted version in her dream. He hadn't given a massive speech. He had just turned around on the tarmac and tossed them a casual, "I'm out. See you guys in a year."

He had walked away with effortless, unshakeable confidence.

Yet here they were, not even a year later, preparing to welcome him back in... the most devastating, soul-crushing way possible.

Sharon kept her eyes clamped shut, completely unable to stop the tears from leaking out.

She couldn't stop thinking about the bullets. The shrapnel. How agonizingly painful his final moments must have been.

Her chest tightened with a physical ache. Suddenly, a terrifying thought crept in: Was York actually right?

For Caleb's sake... for the innocent child Caleb was leaving behind... was she genuinely the one acting insane? Was it her absolute duty to swallow her pride and step up to protect Emeline?

Even if it was strictly out of loyalty to Caleb... wasn't she supposed to endure whatever pain it took?

Was that the truth?

Sharon was spiraling, hopelessly lost in a maze of crushing guilt and completely paralyzed by her own conflicting emotions.