The Wife He Threw Away, Rebuilt

After four years of being tortured in a black site, I finally escaped. I crawled back home, driven only by the thought of my husband, Brody, and our son, Eben.

But when I reached the gates of our estate, he didn't recognize my emaciated frame. He called me a beggar and had the guards throw me out.

He was with my stepsister, Carla. And my own son ran into her arms, crying, "Mom!"

Brody believed Carla' s lies-that I'd abandoned them for another man. He had me committed to a "rehab facility," which was actually the same hellhole I'd just escaped. He handed me back to my torturer.

I screamed for him as the drugs coursed through me, but he just turned his back and walked away, leaving me to die.

The agency found me, barely alive. They rebuilt me through Project Nightingale-a full cybernetic body, with my emotions and memories wiped clean.

Two years later, I am Dr. Hanna Peck. When Brody found me, on his knees begging for forgiveness, I felt nothing. I just turned to my colleague and said, "Clark, I accept your marriage proposal."

Chapter 1

Amanda POV:

The world blurred around the edges, a dizzying collage of dust and asphalt. My body was a raw ache, each step a brutal reminder of the four years I' d spent in hell. But I pushed through, driven by a single image: Brody, my husband, smiling. Our son, Eben, laughing. Home. I was finally home.

The gates loomed ahead, intricate ironwork I' d designed myself, a symbol of the life I' d fought so hard to reclaim. I stumbled, my torn clothes clinging to my emaciated frame, my hair matted with grime.

Two hulking figures emerged from the guardhouse. They blocked my path, their faces impassive.

"Back away," one growled, his hand already on a sidearm.

My throat was parched, my voice a rasp. "It's me," I tried to say, but only a dry cough escaped. "Amanda."

They exchanged a look, then scoffed. "Another one trying to pull a fast one. Get lost, lady."

Humiliation burned hotter than my physical pain. I pointed to the house beyond the gates, its familiar silhouette a cruel taunt. "My house. My family." My hand trembled, a silent plea.

The second guard laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Your family? Brody Sharpe's family is inside. You don't look anything like Mrs. Sharpe." He pushed me back roughly, sending me sprawling in the dirt. My knees screamed.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up to the gates from the inside. My breath caught.

It was Brody.

My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. He was even more handsome than I remembered, his jawline sharp, his dark hair catching the afternoon sun. He' d recognize me. He had to. Not even four years of torture and starvation could erase the woman he loved.

He was my anchor during those endless days. My everything.

I remembered the day he first proposed, not with a ring, but with a promise carved into a tree in our backyard: "Amanda + Brody = Forever." He always said I was his North Star, the one constant in his chaotic tech world.

When we married, he swore he' d never let anything happen to me. He used to stay up late, watching me sleep, just to make sure I was safe. Once, a rival company tried to poach me, offering millions. Brody bought the company, just to keep me. He was obsessive, yes, but it was my obsession. He publicly mourned me, a heartbroken widower, for years. Every social media post, every interview, was a testament to his undying love.

Eben, our son, was only five when I left. He clung to me like a shadow. Brody said Eben refused to let anyone else read him bedtime stories for months after I disappeared. He even kept my side of the bed untouched. I' d survived on the thought of their faces, their love. It was my shield against the darkness.

Now, years later, after the betrayal that led to my capture, the endless interrogations, the simulated drownings, the cold, the hunger… I was back. Back for them.

Brody stepped out of the car, his gaze sweeping over me with casual indifference. He looked annoyed by the commotion. My heart swelled, a desperate hope blooming in my chest. He was coming for me. He was coming to pull me into his arms, to tell me it was all over.

But then, a woman emerged from the passenger side, her hand slipping into Brody's. She was beautiful, dressed impeccably, her red hair a stark contrast to my drabness.

Carla.

My stepsister. The one who had always resented my place in this family, always tried to outshine me. She was laughing, her head thrown back, a sound that twisted my gut. My rival. The one I' d always dismissed as harmless.

My world tilted. The air left my lungs in a whoosh. This couldn't be real.

Then Eben, my Eben, burst out of the house. He was taller, his face rounder, but those mischievous eyes were still the same. He ran toward Carla, a wide smile on his face.

"Mom!" he cried, launching himself into her arms.

The word ripped through me, tearing at the last frayed threads of my sanity. Mom. Not Mother. Mom. The intimate, cherished word. From my son. To her.

I remembered Eben, barely a toddler, tripping over his own feet, running to me, his tiny arms outstretched, calling "Mama!" He hated Carla's family, hated their presence. He used to hide behind my skirts when they visited. How could this be?

Brody wrapped an arm around Carla and Eben, forming a perfect, happy tableau. A family unit. And I was outside the gates, a ragged stranger. My vision swam.

"Hey!" I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore at my vocal cords. I rattled the iron gates, the cold metal biting into my raw palms. "Brody! Eben! It's me!"

Brody's head snapped up, his smile vanishing. He scowled, his eyes narrowing on my pathetic form. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded of the guards, his voice laced with annoyance. "Get this beggar away from my house!"

One of the guards, emboldened by Brody's presence, shoved me again. Harder this time. I stumbled, scraping my cheek on the gravel. Blood welled there.

But I didn't care. I looked at Brody, my eyes pleading, willing him to see past the grime, past the scars, to see me. The woman he swore to love forever.

He took a step closer, his face etched with disgust. My heart leaped. He's coming. He's finally seeing me.