It hopped once.
Its tail tipped upward.
A wren.
Dad noticed it too.
“Is that actually one?” he asked. “Or just some generic brown bird?”
I smiled.
“That’s a real wren, Dad.”
His entire face changed.
“Good,” he said.
“I’d hate to get that wrong too.”
My Husband Said Everyone Needed a Peaceful Night Away From Me After I Gave Birth, So I Packed One Bag and Called My Father
