New 69

My husband’s gift revealed his dark secret without him realizing it

When Deb leaves to take care of her mother, she returns to a house where something feels incredibly wrong. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t figure out what she is, until her parrot, Pippy, reveals something that makes her check the house’s security cameras.

Working from home has been the biggest blessing for me, especially recently when my mother was admitted to the hospital for surgery after discovering she had fibroids.

Of course, there was no other option in the matter.

A person with an intravenous line in the hospital | Source: Unsplash

A person with an intravenous line in the hospital | Source: Unsplash

“Deb, you have to go,” my husband, Nick, said when we were making breakfast together the morning after my mom called.

“Will you be okay here, alone?” I asked, pouring milk into a coffee cup.

A person pouring milk into coffee | Source: Unsplash

A person pouring milk into coffee | Source: Unsplash

“Yes, of course,” Nick said. “Your mother needs you and I’ll have to be here to help Pippy anyway. I need to leave for two days next week, but I’m sure Camila will come and supply you with food.”

Nick was constantly away on work trips, and since we weren’t planning on having children yet, Nick had bought me a talking parrot to keep me company while he was away.

A green parrot on a person's arm | Source: Pexels

A green parrot on a person’s arm | Source: Pexels

Camila was my best friend and came to visit us often: she cooked with us, had movie nights, etc.

So, I knew that in my absence, Camila would take care of Nick and make sure he was eating and everything.

Two women hugging | Source: Unsplash

Two women hugging | Source: Unsplash

I started packing my bags while Nick got ready for work. I was nervous about going with my mother; I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t used to my mother not being well; For as long as I can remember, she was always the strong one.

But now I knew she needed me. And my only option was to be there for her.

An open suitcase on a bed | Source: Unsplash

An open suitcase on a bed | Source: Unsplash

“Oh, honey,” my mother said when I showed up at her door with my suitcase. “You didn’t have to come!”

“Of course I do,” I said, and I meant it.

The next few days were spent preparing my mother for surgery and making sure her house was fully stocked for when she left.

A daughter hugging her mother | Source: Pexels

A daughter hugging her mother | Source: Pexels

The night after her surgery, I visited her in the hospital; her medication made her emotional and touchy-feely.

“Thank you for coming, Deb,” my mother said, wiping away tears. “I was very afraid to do this alone.”

When I showed my mother the bouquet of flowers I had brought her, she cried even more.

A woman in a hospital bed | Source: Unsplash

A woman in a hospital bed | Source: Unsplash

“It’s time to eat something,” I said, giving him some custard.

When my mother was discharged, we adopted a routine at home: I would prepare breakfast and a bath for her, and then I would sit down to work for a few hours.

I cooked for us and she tried to recover and move around the house.

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Pexels

A woman in the kitchen | Source: Pexels

And before I knew it, two weeks had passed and I was ready to return home.

The night before I left, I sat in the guest room of my mother’s house and scrolled through my social media. I saw a photo of Camila with the parrot Pippy and felt incredibly nostalgic.

A person browsing social networks | Source: Pexels

A person browsing social networks | Source: Pexels

Although I wouldn’t have changed being with my mother for the world, I was ready to come home.

As I drove home, I thought about having dinner with our closest friends; The more I drove, the more I longed for the comfort of being with my friends.

I just wanted to sit around a table and have everyone talk about whatever news they had.

A woman driving | Source: Pexels

A woman driving | Source: Pexels

Two days later, I was stuck in the kitchen, cooking up a storm for dinner that night. My husband was traveling but would arrive in time for dinner.

As I started dessert, ready to bake a cheesecake, Camila entered.

“I wanted to come in and help you with the installation,” he said. “What I can do? Put me to work!

A woman wearing an apron and holding a bowl | Source: Pexels

A woman wearing an apron and holding a bowl | Source: Pexels

She put on an apron and tied it tightly, while greeting Pippy.

“Honey, honey, honey!” Pippy’s voice was strangely affectionate, a tone she had never heard before.

“That’s new,” I said. “I’ve never heard Pippy say that!”

Camila chuckled and smiled at my parrot.

A person tying an apron | Source: Pexels

A person tying an apron | Source: Pexels

Later, when we finished preparing the food, Camila went upstairs and took a shower, ready to receive our guests.

As I was pouring the glasses of champagne, Nick walked in and wrapped me in a big hug.

“Welcome home,” he said.

He held on to me for a moment before letting go as Camila walked in, looking fantastic.

A couple embracing | Source: Pexels

A couple embracing | Source: Pexels

Our friends began to arrive and Pippy continued her “Honey, honey, honey!” every time Camila passed by.

The rest of our friends chuckled, amused by the bird’s sudden verbosity.

“Looks like someone missed you a lot!” Camila laughed, unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

People sitting at a table | Source: Unsplash

People sitting at a table | Source: Unsplash

I had spent a lot of time with Pippy, but he never called me “honey” or anything like that.

The seed of suspicion had been planted. I didn’t like how I felt about Camila getting all of my bird’s attention. Later, while she was doing the dishes while our friends were relaxing at the house, I started to feel uncomfortable.

Something seemed incredibly wrong to me. But I couldn’t quite understand what it was.

A person washing dishes | Source: Unsplash

A person washing dishes | Source: Unsplash

When everyone left and Nick went to bed, I walked into our home office and started looking at the footage from our home security cameras.

I knew I was being excessive in my actions, but I had always trusted my instincts and I didn’t want to ignore it this time.

After rewinding to the day I left for my mother’s house, my worst fears were confirmed.

A white surveillance camera | Source: Unsplash

A white surveillance camera | Source: Unsplash

Camila could be seen entering my house, greeting my husband warmly: an intimate hug and a kiss afterwards. Day after day, while I took care of my mother.

Betrayal ran through me, but it was pure rage that controlled my creativity. I smiled at a cruel plan forming in my mind.

A man kissing the forehead of a woman | Source: Unsplash

A man kissing the forehead of a woman | Source: Unsplash

Over the next few weeks, I secretly trained the parrot, using snippets of Camila and Nick’s conversations recorded on the camera footage.

It was perfect timing, because once Pippy learned everything she needed to, Nick’s birthday arrived.

The stage was set for a big “Tropical Nights” themed dinner at our house, attended by our families and close friends. As we ate dinner, Pippy’s cage took pride of place in the living room, a subtle centerpiece to the evening’s drama.

A long table with food | Source: Unsplash

A long table with food | Source: Unsplash

As dessert was served, along with Nick’s birthday cake, I whistled at Pippy, ready for the show.

“Honey, she won’t know,” Pippy imitated perfectly.

Murmurs surrounded the table as the forks stopped in midair and my guests began to frown.

“Don’t worry, Deb has no idea,” Pippy continued, her voice chillingly nonchalant.

“What’s going on?” -Nick asked. “Pepi?”

A green parrot in a cage | Source: Pexels

A green parrot in a cage | Source: Pexels

“Well,” I said, reaching for my glass of wine. “Birds only imitate what they hear frequently. It is not like this?

“Camila!” Pippy said, loud and clear.

I sat back in my seat, waiting. I could see the pieces falling into place for everyone as they sat around the table.

Camila’s husband, Jeff, was the first to react, his chair squeaking back as he stood up.

“Camila?” she asked. “Is this true?”

“Um, Jeff,” Camila began.

A side profile of an angry man | Source: Pexels

A side profile of an angry man | Source: Pexels

“Look, we can explain it,” my husband stammered, but the disdainful looks from everyone around the table told him it was too late.

“I think it’s pretty clear,” I said in a firm but cold voice. “That some relationships are not what they seem. But luckily I have Pippy to keep me company.”

The consequences were explosive. Accusations flew when Camila and her husband left in disgrace, while Nick was forced to face the collective disappointment of friends and family.

An angry couple | Source: Pexels

An angry couple | Source: Pexels

The next morning, while I drank my coffee and ate toast, Nick shuffled into the kitchen, avoiding my gaze.

He had confessed the affair easily; After Pippy discovered them, she realized that lying or trying to cover it up wouldn’t help in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he prepared to lie down on the couch.

“How long?” I asked.

“For a few months,” he said. “We would both go to work, or at least that’s what we used to tell you and Jeff, but we’d be in a motel together.”

Nick fell asleep and detailed how he and Camila had fallen in love with each other.

A man sleeping on a sofa | Source: Pexels

A man sleeping on a sofa | Source: Pexels

Now standing in front of me in the kitchen, Nick finally looked me in the eyes and smiled.

I shoved divorce papers at him, something I had prepared the day after finding the camera footage of my husband and best friend.

He deserved better.

Divorce procedures | Source: Pexels

Divorce procedures | Source: Pexels

What would you have done?

Related Posts

New 1080

22 April 2024 Love pets 0

I show you a very simple trick to clean the grates of the stove or gas cooker without much effort. We all like the idea […]

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*