My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 09

My Husband’s Favorite Parrot Loved Him More Than Me Chapter 09

One week later, I went back to the academy to pick up Crystal.

Randy brought the cage out. The parrot inside stood on his perch, feathers smooth, eyes calm. No more cowering in the corner. No more trembling.

“Great results,” Randy said. He held up the clicker. Click.

The parrot opened his beak. “I’m a good bird.”

Click.

“I love my owner.”

Click.

“I don’t bite.”

Then Randy changed his hand signal. The parrot tilted his head and said, “I’m sorry.”

Just that.

“I’m sorry.”

Not loud, but clear.

“The effect you wanted—he’s got it. He says ‘I’m sorry’ on his own more than twenty times a day now. No cue needed.”

I looked at the parrot in the cage. He looked back at me. His gray eyes were empty. No hatred. No resentment. No scheming. Just a bird that had been completely tamed.

“Randy, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. By the way, Mrs. Vance—if you stop the positive reinforcement at home, there’s a chance he’ll relapse. I’d recommend keeping up a certain amount of training in your house.”

“I will.”

I carried the cage out to the car and set it on the passenger seat.

I started the engine. In the rearview mirror, I saw the gray bird inside the cage.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

I didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

I pressed the gas and merged onto the highway.

When I got home, Derek was sitting in the living room. Two suitcases stood by the table.

“Tessa, the company’s sending me to an out-of-state branch for a while,” he said, voice flat. “Probably six months.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

I set the cage on the coffee table. Derek looked at the parrot inside, his lips twitching.

“Crystal, say something,” I said.

The parrot tilted his head and opened his beak. “I’m sorry.”

Derek froze.

“I’m sorry,” the parrot said again.

He stared at the cage. Slowly, his eyes reddened. He knew who that “I’m sorry” came from. Not the parrot. The erased soul inside, apologizing for him.

“You hear that?” I said softly. “He’s saying sorry to you.”

He didn’t answer.

“Honey, is there anything you want to say to me?”

Silence.

A very long silence.

Then he stood up, grabbed his suitcases, and walked into the bedroom.

I stood in the living room, listening to the bedroom door close. The parrot in the cage tilted his head and looked at me. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not to me,” I said, crouching down. “To the one inside you. What she owes you is more than what she owes me.”

The parrot blinked.

The day Derek left, I didn’t see him off.

He stood at the door with his suitcases, looking back into the living

room one last time.

“Tessa… that parrot. What are you going to do with him?”

“Keep him.” I sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine. “He’s pretty well-behaved now. Tells me ‘I’m sorry’ a dozen times a day.”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“Well, I’m going, then.”

“Drive safe.”

The door closed.

The apartment went quiet, except for the occasional sounds from the parrot in the cage. “Good.” “Nice.” “I’m sorry.”

I put down the magazine, walked to the balcony, and looked down at the street. Derek’s car pulled out of the complex, merged into traffic, got smaller and smaller, and finally disappeared around the corner.

In my past life, he’d stood at my funeral and cried.

In this life, he couldn’t even bring himself to say “I’m sorry.”

I turned and went back to the living room. Sat down on the couch. The parrot tilted his head and looked at me.

“You’re staying here from now on,” I said softly. “No one’s locking you in a mirror cage again. And you don’t have to say ‘I’m a good bird’ anymore. You’re just a bird. Say whatever you want.”

The parrot picked at his feathers with his beak and said nothing.

I touched my belly. The baby kicked.

In my past life, this child never made it into the world.

In this life, he’d be fine.

He’d have a whole family—just Mommy, no Daddy. But that was enough.

I picked up my phone and texted my mom. [Mom, is the pot roast ready? I’m coming home tomorrow.]

[It’s ready. Your dad bought all your favorite fruit.]

I smiled, put the phone aside.

The sunlight outside the window was beautiful.

The parrot in the cage suddenly spoke. Not “good,” not “nice,” not “I’m sorry.”

Two words.

“Thank you.”

I turned my head and looked at him.

He tilted his head, those gray eyes reflecting the light from outside.

I didn’t know if it was a conditioned reflex from the training, or the last true words from whatever remained of the soul inside.

But I knew—it didn’t matter anymore.

In my past life, she’d used that parrot’s beak to take my life.

In this life, she’d used that same beak to pay her debt.

I stood up, pulled the curtain closed, and walked into the bedroom.

Behind me came the parrot’s voice, soft and raspy.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”