“Oh—sorry. Did I scare you?”

He lets out a short laugh, lifting a hand in apology. Strangely, the sound almost reminds you of your husband’s. Almost. But no—they’re clearly different people.

“Did I disturb your peace? I can go, if you want?”

You never understood why the rest of the family—especially your husband—treated him like the black sheep. Then again, you barely knew him yourself. He was almost never around, only appearing during family occasions before disappearing again. Unlike the others, he built his own business instead of inheriting the family company your husband eventually took over.

“No no, it’s okay,” you reply with a polite smile.

“So you’re all alone out here? Where’s my brother?”

“He went out of town,” you explain. “He picked up your grandparents from the airport earlier. Their flight got delayed, so they might stay in the city for the night.”

“Ah,” he hums.

You were sitting at the far edge of your husband’s ancestral property. Beyond the mansion stretched acres of land: stone paths, towering acacia trees, a koi pond reflecting the dim afternoon sky, and a quiet wooded area that felt more like a secluded park than a garden.

The place was peaceful. Isolated.

The wind rustles softly through the trees.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“Bird watching.”

His brows lift slightly.

“Oh, really?” A softer smile spreads across his face. “My little brother never told me his wife shared my passion for birdwatching.”

“Really?” you ask shyly.

“Aww,” he teases lightly, “he never told you either, huh?”

He was three years older than your husband—twenty-eight, if you remembered correctly. You knew embarrassingly little about him. He hadn’t even attended your wedding personally; instead, an expensive Cartier watch arrived in his place, along with a short handwritten note wishing you both well.

You laugh nervously. “I only got into it recently.”

“Oh, really?” His smile widens. “Then maybe I can share some bird knowledge.”

The resemblance between the brothers is unmistakable—the same eyes, same sharp jaw—but where your husband’s smiles always seemed restrained, his came easily.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the empty space beside you.

He sits.

“See that one?” he asks, pointing toward the marshier part of the pond. “Black body, brown head?”

You squint before nodding.

“That’s a cowbird. They follow cattle around because it helps them find worms after the herd tramples through.”

“But what’s really fascinating is that they’re brood parasites.” He glances at you briefly. “Do you know what that means?”

Before you can answer, he continues.

“A brood parasite is a bird that doesn’t build its own nest. Instead, it sneaks its eggs into another bird’s nest and leaves the unsuspecting parents to raise chicks that were never theirs.”

“And sometimes,” he adds, “if they find eggs already there, they’ll break them. Toss them out.”

A soft chuckle escapes him.

“They never stay for the hard part. Never raise the chicks themselves.” He tilts his head slightly. “Kind of fucked up, isn’t it?”

You stare at the pond, unsure how to respond.

“It makes me wonder sometimes…” His voice grows quieter. “Does the baby bird know?”

You slowly look at him.

“Does it know the parents raising it were tricked into loving it?”

His gaze stays fixed on the water.

“Every generation repeats the same instinct. Sneak in. Leave the burden behind. Fly away.”

A small smile touches his lips, though it never reaches his eyes.

“Maybe the chicks understand what they are while the parents are too stupid to notice the difference.”

The air suddenly feels colder.

“Or maybe,” he says softly, “the parents are simply so grateful to finally have a child that they force themselves not to ask questions.”

Your throat tightens.

"After all, my brother tells me you two have been struggling to conceive for a while."

His eyes finally meet yours.

“When you finally give him good news,” he says gently, “he’ll probably be too happy to wonder if the child isn’t his.”