But that’s entirely normal, for a novel to change on rereading, as the person doing the reading is not the same as they were last time.
I’ve probably read Jane Eyre annually since I was ten or so. The first time, I read it as a story of a bullied and mistreated child, and was far more interested in the Lowood scenes than in the subsequent governessing plotline.
In my midteens, I probably swallowed the idea that Rochester was a maverick more sinned against than sinning, who has genuinely fallen for Jane.
By the time I was at university, I realised Rochester was a bastard, locking up his insane wife (when she could have lived in a humane, well-run asylum with medical help (these did exist)) precisely so as not to wreck his chances of remarrying, planning to seduce his penniless teenage employee and only deciding to marry her bigamously when it’s clear she won’t go for it, and, when his plan is foiled on their wedding day, trying to pressure her into living with him overseas without marrying, swearing he won’t touch her sexually (yeah, right).
I think when I read it now, in my fifties, with no less enjoyment than I ever did, I’m very aware of its Gothic oddities, dream sequences, subplots (especially the Riverses) and how hard the narrative needs to work to raise Jane to independence via her inheritance and discovery of family while ‘lowering’ Rochester via injury to make them, arguably, equals enough for marriage.