My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 02

My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 02

Derek let out a breath of relief and patted my head.

“I knew you’d love it. Crystal, come on, say something nice to Mommy.”

The parrot tilted its head and opened its beak.

“Go to hell.”

Derek’s smile froze for a second. Then he laughed awkwardly.

“Must’ve been the old owner,” Derek said. “Don’t let it get to you, Tessa.”

I shook the cage and laughed. “Little dude’s got a potty mouth. Babe, where’d you even get him?”

“A buddy told me about this breeder. They specialize in talking parrots.”

Derek’s eyes flickered when he said it.

He was lying.

“That’s pretty interesting.”

I set the cage on the coffee table and stuck my finger through the bars to poke at Crystal’s claws.

“But babe, I’m pregnant. Is it really a good idea to have a bird in the house?”

Derek didn’t even let me finish. “I already asked the doctor. African greys are fine as long as you keep the cage clean.”

“And you’re home alone too much. Having someone to talk to will lift your spirits, and that’s good for the baby.”

He’d thought through every angle.

In my past life, he said the exact same thing. I thought he really cared.

Now I heard it for what it was.

Every word was calculated.

“You’re ugly.”

The parrot opened its mouth again.

Derek smiled. “See? He’s talking to you.”

I didn’t smile. I picked up the cage and headed for the bedroom.

Derek called after me, “Tessa, don’t take it personally. He’s just a bird.”

“I’m not mad.” I turned back and gave him a smile. “I just want to spend some alone time with my new pet.”

The second the door closed, my smile vanished.

I set the cage on the vanity, pulled up a chair, and sat face-to-face with the parrot inside.

He tilted his head and looked at me, his eyes full of smugness.

I knew whose eyes those really were.

Holly sat inside that gray feather suit, watching me get played like a fool.

In my past life, I really was a fool.

But not today.

“Crystal.”

I said his name.

The parrot tilted his head, those gray eyes fixed on me. Silent.

“Your name’s Crystal, right?”

I leaned close to the cage, still smiling.

“Such a pretty name. Did he pick it?”

The parrot’s feathers twitched.

He probably didn’t expect me to be this calm.

“But you know,” I leaned back and crossed my legs, “that name’s not very lucky. Crystal’s brittle. Easy to break. Don’t you think?”

The parrot ignored me and started picking at his own feathers.

I stood up, sat down at the vanity, and started taking off my makeup.

My bare face stared back from the mirror.

Prominent pregnancy spots. Dark circles under my eyes. Pale lips.

“So tell me,” I said, wiping my face like I was just thinking out loud, “a pregnant woman gets told ‘go to hell’ by a bird every single day—does that count as domestic abuse?”

Wings fluttered behind me.

I didn’t turn around.

“Go to hell.”

The parrot spoke suddenly.

“Go to hell.”

Quiet, like he was repeating something he’d memorized.

But the timing was too perfect—right after my sentence.

My hand paused for a second.

Then I kept wiping.

“You know what,” I tossed the cotton pad in the trash, “you’re pretty good at call and response.”

“Go to hell.”

He said it again, softer this time, like a test.

I turned around and looked at him in the cage.

He tilted his head, eyes locked on mine without blinking.

Then he opened his beak and let out a jumble of random noises.

Clicks, gurgles, something that sounded like a phone ringing—all mixed together.

That was normal parrot behavior.

Mimicking sounds from the environment.

But those “Go to hell” earlier? The timing was too precise.

Too precise to be a coincidence.

I stared at him for a few seconds. He stared back.

Something unspoken hung in the air.

Not tension. A mutual understanding.

He knew that I knew something. He just didn’t know how much.

And I wasn’t about to let him find out.