The Wife He Threw Away, Rebuilt

Amanda POV:

I hadn't expected Brody and Eben to return. Not after that brutal confrontation. I thought their contempt would keep them away. I was wrong.

The next morning, Eben appeared in my hospital room, clutching a brightly colored thermos. His small frame was rigid, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding my eyes. He looked uncomfortable, almost guilty.

"Mom?" he whispered, the word a hesitant question, a faint echo of the past.

My heart, the cold stone in my chest, didn't stir. I simply watched him, a detached observer. This was my son, born of my flesh, loved with every fiber of my being. The boy I' d endured hell for. Now, he was a stranger, a weapon in Carla's arsenal.

I noticed the slight tremor in his hands, the nervous twitch of his lips. He was conflicted. A part of him, perhaps, still remembered. Still yearned for the mother he' d lost. I allowed myself a fleeting, dangerous thought: Maybe there's still a spark.

He placed the thermos on the bedside table, fumbling with the clasp. A rich, sweet aroma, vaguely familiar, wafted from the container. It was almond jello, my specialty. The one he loved.

He scooped a spoonful, his hand shaking slightly, and held it out to me. "Carla made it for you," he mumbled, his eyes wide and uncertain. "She said you need strength."

I looked at the wobbly, pale dessert, then at Eben' s anxious face. My mind, now a finely tuned analytical machine, processed the scene. Carla. Almond jello. Eben' s nervousness. The sudden shift in their demeanor. It clicked. A test. A trap.

Yet, a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of my old self, the mother, stirred. He was still my son. My blood. I took the spoon from his hand. This was the last time I would allow myself to trust. The very last time.

I swallowed the jello. It was sweet, cloying. And then, a wave of dizziness slammed into me, making the room spin. My body swayed, my hand clutching the thermos, almost dropping it. This wasn't just jello. This was drugged.

A bitter, mocking laugh caught in my throat. Of course. Another betrayal. From my son. The ultimate cut.

But my body, hardened by years of surviving Glass's chemical experiments and interrogations, reacted differently. The sedative was potent, but not enough to completely incapacitate me. My mind remained sharp, alert, observing everything through a hazy veil.

Eben' s voice, thick with tears, reached me through the fog. It was a strange mix of childish resentment and genuine fear. "Why did you come back? You ruined everything! Daddy and Mommy Carla were happy! I was happy!" He sounded genuinely distressed. "I don't want you here. I want Carla to be my mom. You just make Daddy sad. You can't take him away from her!"

My heart, the numb stone, remained unmoved. He was a child, manipulated and poisoned. A pawn.

Then, a cold, metallic touch against my cheek. I opened my eyes, struggling to focus. It was a knife. A small, gleaming blade.

My heart didn't clench. It simply… sank. Deeper into the abyss of unfeeling.

A searing pain, sharp and immediate. A thin line of blood welled up, tracing a path across my cheekbone. Eben. He' d done it. My son. He' d cut me.

He stared at the knife in his hand, then at the blood on my face, his own face contorted in horror. His eyes widened, his small frame trembling. He dropped the knife with a clatter and bolted, a tiny, terrified shadow fleeing the room.

A moment later, Brody appeared. He stood by my bed, his gaze fixed on my face, on the fresh wound. He didn't speak. Just watched.

"He didn't finish the job, did he?" Brody murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, but laced with a chilling undertone. "Too soft. Just like his mother." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cut. I flinched, but he held me firm. "I'll finish it for him. Make sure you don't forget what happens when you try to mess with my family."

He picked up the knife. The world blurred. Pain. So much pain. Then, darkness consumed me.

I woke with a gasp, my body aching, my face throbbing. The antiseptic smell was gone, replaced by the familiar scent of expensive wood and fresh linen. I was in Brody's house. My house. In a guest bedroom. He' d brought me back. A cruel irony.