The Wife He Threw Away, Rebuilt

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brought me back out of kindness. He' d brought me here to keep me under his thumb, to ensure I couldn't hea

grudgingly, allowed me a room, a small, unused guest room at the end of the hall. "You can stay here," he' d said, his voice cold, "as long as you under

peeking around corners, his eyes wide and curious. At dinner, he' d subtly watch me from across the table, his small brow f

e garden, his voice hesitant. "Mom... I mean, Amanda... can you make me those lemon poppy seed muffins? The ones with the

a potential vulnerability, a chance to observe from within. I baked the muffins. Without emotion. My hands moved with practic

ng. And Carla was

for forehead." Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling, possessive rage. She couldn' t stand it. Any crack in her care

d into chaos. Screaming. Sirens. Eben, my son, was rushed to the emergency room, v

arm, his fingers digging into my flesh, pain flaring through my still-healing wounds. "You monster!" he roared, his voice

y. I met his furious gaze without a flinch. His acc

her voice trembling. "Maybe it was an accident? But Eben... he said she gave him the muffins. Oh, Amanda, how coul

oice was chillingly quiet.

e, Brody," I said, my voice flat, steady. "If you beli

couldn' t expose Carla. He couldn't expose his own blindness. His fists clench

e needs help. Professional help. I know of a private facility. They specialize in... di

iness in my eyes. Then, he nodded. "Do it, Carla. Get her out of here. I

Neuro-rehabilitation? Private facility? It sounded

eserted roads, further and further from the city lights. We stopped in front of a crumbling, abandoned factory i

shadows. His face was a patchwork of grotesque scars

The world tilted