My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 07

My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 07

The next afternoon, Derek brought someone home. A guy in a gray linen shirt with a goatee and a string of beads around his wrist. Looked like one of those fortune-teller types.

“Tessa, this is Marcus Webb. He knows a lot about spiritual stuff.” Derek introduced him casually. “He was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by.”

Webb’s eyes landed on my belly for two seconds, then moved to the bird cage on the balcony. His expression flickered—just a little, but I caught it.

“Have a seat,” I said. “Tea or water?”

“Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll just sit for a bit.”

He sat on the couch and made small talk with Derek. The weather. The housing market. Casual, distracted. But his eyes kept going back to the balcony. To that parrot.

I was watching too.

The parrot huddled in the corner of his cage, completely still. But the moment Webb walked in, his feathers fluffed up.

He recognized him.

In my past life, this was the man who’d sealed Holly’s soul into that parrot’s body. He’d made her possible—and trapped her.

After about twenty minutes, Webb stood up and said he had to go. Derek walked him to the door. The two of them talked in the hallway, voices low. I only caught a few words. “No problem.” “Normal.” “Don’t

worry.”

When the door closed, Derek’s face relaxed noticeably.

“Tessa, Marcus said the energy in this house is really good. Great for the baby.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice.” I smiled.

I didn’t tell him that while Webb was sitting there, I’d secretly taken a photo of his face with my phone and sent it to someone.

A blogger who specialized in exposing fake psychics. Two million followers. In my past life, I’d watched his videos—he went after all kinds of scammers and fortune-tellers.

And Marcus Webb? He was one of the blogger’s greatest hits. Fake psychic, real con artist. Made hundreds of thousands selling “luck upgrades.”

In this life, I’d followed that blogger in advance. Sent him Webb’s photo in advance. Gotten his entire “exposure package” in advance.

Derek thought he was bringing backup.

But I was the one who’d brought the real backup.

That night, while Derek was in the shower, I logged onto his computer using a temporary email address I’d set up. I took the whole exposure file on Webb—fraud record, fake certification, victim testimonies—and sent it to every executive at Derek’s company. His direct boss. His clients.

Anonymous send.

Tomorrow, he’d find out at work what it felt like to be destroyed socially.

And he still wouldn’t know who’d lit the match.

Derek left for work the next morning playing with the parrot like always.

“Crystal, say ‘good daddy.'”

“Good,” the parrot said.

He laughed, kissed my forehead, and walked out.

Three hours later, my phone rang.

“Tessa, can you check if there’s a blue folder somewhere at home? I need it right away.” His voice sounded perfectly normal.

“Okay, let me look.”

I looked for five minutes, then told him I couldn’t find it. He didn’t text back.

Another hour later, my mom called.

“Tessa, your dad said something happened at Derek’s company.” Her voice dropped low.

“Apparently someone sent an anonymous email to the whole office exposing some kind of psychic. Derek got called in for a meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” I peeled an orange. “That’s rough.”

“Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine, Mom. I’ll come stay with you next week. Make me a pot roast.”

I hung up, walked to the balcony, and looked at the parrot in the cage. He was huddled in the corner, his gray feathers shining metallic in the sunlight.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered. “He might not come home today.”

The parrot tilted his head and looked at me. “Good,” he said.

That was the academy’s training. He’d learned to answer everything with that word.

“Right,” I smiled. “Good.”

At three in the afternoon, Derek came home. His face was pale gray when he walked in, his tie hanging loose around his neck.

“What’s wrong, babe?” I came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. “You look terrible.”

“Nothing.” He dropped onto the couch, leaned his head back against the cushion, and closed his eyes. “Just some stuff at work.”

“What stuff?”

“Someone’s coming after me.”

I didn’t say anything. Just sat down next to him.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and turned to look at me. “Tessa, have you mentioned to anyone that Marcus came by the house?”

“No,” I blinked. “Why?”

“No reason. Just asking.”

He closed his eyes again. I sat next to him and drank my water. I could smell sweat on him. He’d been really stressed today.

Long silence.

“Derek,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

He opened his eyes, turned to look at me. For a second, panic flickered through them, but he crushed it fast. “Why would you ask that?”

“Just asking.”

He stared at me for a few seconds. “No,” he said.

“Good.” I stood up. “I’ll make dinner.”

I walked into the kitchen and stood at the sink. The sunset outside the window painted the kitchen orange.

From the living room, I heard the parrot.

“Derek Vance,” he said.

Then again.

“Derek Vance.”

He was calling him. Using the only name left after being washed clean. Over and over.

I knew she was scared. Holly was scared. Because she could feel that something was wrong with Derek. She could feel things spiraling. She could feel—this life’s script was different from the last one.

In my past life, she and Derek had written the script together.

In this life, I was the one holding the pen.

I dried my hands and pulled out my phone. Texted Randy at the academy. [Randy, I’m bringing the bird back next week. Start phase two of the correction.]

[Okay. Phase two will intensify the positive reinforcement to make sure the negative vocabulary is completely eliminated.]

[No.] I typed. [Phase two—teach him to say ‘I’m sorry.’ Train him until he says it on his own.]

Randy texted back an OK hand sign.

I put my phone away and went back to chopping vegetables.

In my past life, she’d used that parrot’s beak to curse me to death over six months.

In this life, I was going to make her use that same beak to say “I’m sorry” to me for the rest of her life.

The knife hit the cutting board. Steady. One chop at a time.