My Husband Turned Me Into Wife Unit 007 Chapter 07

My Husband Turned Me Into Wife Unit 007 Chapter 07

I picked up my chopsticks. Grabbed a piece of chicken, shoved it in, and chewed.

Mechanical. A swallow.

Graham stared at me.

His chopsticks clattered to the table.

He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking. A strangled sob leaked through

his fingers.

After that day, he never gave me another command.

He sat beside me every single day, telling me stories about us.

The first time we met in college. He swore he fell in love with me right there.

Our first date. He was so nervous he spilled iced coffee all over himself.

Our wedding day. He held me in his arms and promised he’d spend the rest of his life making

me happy.

He wept through every word.

I just sat there. Still. Silent. Nothing.

He traveled across the country. He found every specialist, every psychiatrist, every trauma

expert he could track down.

They all said the same thing.

My trauma ran too deep. Whether I came back depended entirely on me. On whether I was

willing to find my way out.

He went back to The Everly Institute for Marital Harmony. Again and again. He raised hell,

dug up records, gathered evidence, and reported every last detail to the authorities.

The shutdown hit the trending pages within hours.

The comments section exploded.

“My best friend’s husband sent her there three years ago. She came back and never smiled

again. She’s like a mannequin.”

“That place was a torture chamber. They weren’t making perfect wives. They were hollowing

out human beings until nothing was left.”

“I worked there as a cleaner. I saw those girls. No light in their eyes. Their hands were

shredded from clawing at the walls of The Quiet Room.”

Comment after comment. Needle after needle, threaded through the eye.

More victims came forward. Then more.

The director, Langford, was convicted and sentenced.

The Institute was permanently shut down. Every asset was seized and liquidated to fund

rehabilitation and restitution for the survivors.

The day the verdict came down, Graham came home.

He dropped to his knees in front of me.

His face was wet, tears tracking down his jaw. He looked at me and spoke, every word carved

out of him.

“Wren. I’m Graham. I’m your husband. And I was wrong.”

“I threw away my wife for a machine. A cold, lifeless machine.”

“I wanted a doll. A thing that obeyed. I forgot you were real. That you laughed and cried and

needed to be loved. Needed to be seen.”

“I sent you into hell. Three years of it.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be sweet or obedient or always put

together. I don’t want some activation phrase or some damn protocol. I don’t want Unit 007.”

“I want my Wren back.”

“I just want you to be you.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer. Blow after blow against the ice encasing my mind

Three years. And for the first time, a sentence reached me that wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a

command. It wasn’t a demand for submission.

It was permission.

The fragments inside my skull began to churn. Warm memories from before twenty-five. The

dark, suffocating years that followed. Tangled. Colliding.

Graham’s arms around me. The vows he made. The home we built.

And then his voice, cold as a blade,”Go to The Everly Institute. Learn how to be a proper wife.”

The absolute darkness of The Quiet Room. The blisters weeping on my arms. His voice

again, dripping poison,”Go die.”

Every ounce of pain.

Every buried scream.

Three years of suppressed rage and grief detonated behind my ribs, bursting the dam.

My shoulders started trembling.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I even knew I was crying.

I sobbed until my throat was raw. Until no sound came out.

Until I had nothing left. I collapsed against Graham’s chest, utterly unconscious.

That was the day I started coming back.