Chapter 6 - Birds Don’t Take SidesDad stood on my porch for a long time after Lucas went inside.
Neither of us spoke.
The house behind me was full of ordinary sounds—Mia singing to herself upstairs, the dishwasher humming, a cartoon playing too quietly in the living room. Outside, my father looked like a man who had finally found the receipt for something he didn’t remember buying.
“He hates me,” Dad said.
“No,” I answered. “He’s hurt.”
“That felt like hate.”
“That’s because you’re not used to consequences coming from children.”
He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
There it was.
Not an apology. Not yet.
But something almost honest.
“You start by apologizing to them,” I said. “Not to me. To them.”
He nodded slowly.
“And Diane?”
I almost smiled, but there was no humor in it.
“What about Diane?”
“She’s my wife.”
“You keep saying that like it cancels out everything else.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then stop using it that way.”
His shoulders sank.
“I can’t control what she says.”
“No. But you can control whether you stand beside it.”
Dad looked toward the front window. From where we stood, the birdhouse was visible in the backyard, swinging under the maple tree.
“That’s it?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“The birdhouse?”
I followed his gaze.
“Yes.”
Even from the porch, the blue side stood out. Too bright. Uneven. Perfect.
Dad’s eyes shone.
“They made that for me?”
“For weeks.”
He covered his mouth with one hand.
I wanted to comfort him.
That instinct rose in me so fast it scared me. The daughter in me still wanted to protect him from the pain of seeing what he had done.
But I was a mother first now.
So I let him feel it.
When he left, he did not ask again to come inside.
The next day, a package arrived on my porch.
No return name.
Inside was a white bakery box.
Bellisimo.
I opened it carefully, expecting some grand apology dessert from Dad or another manipulation from Diane.
Instead, there was a small chocolate cake with gold lettering.
FOR LUCAS & MIA
Under it was a note.
“From the staff at Bellisimo. We are sorry your grandfather’s celebration did not feel welcoming. Your birdhouse sounds beautiful.”
I sat down on the porch step and cried.
Not because of cake.
Because strangers had managed to say what family wouldn’t.
Lucas and Mia were suspicious at first.
“Why did the restaurant send us cake?” Mia asked.
“Because they heard what happened and wanted to be kind.”
Lucas looked at the cake.
“Did Grandpa tell them to?”
“No.”
He thought about that.
“So people can be nice even when they don’t have to?”
“Yes,” I said. “Especially then.”
We ate cake before dinner because some rules are only useful on normal days.
At 6:12 PM, Dad texted.
“Can I come by Saturday to apologize to the kids? Alone.”
I stared at the word alone.
Then I replied, “Yes. Ten minutes. In the backyard.”
Saturday arrived cold and bright.
Lucas and Mia stood beside me under the maple tree. The birdhouse moved gently above us. Dad came through the side gate carrying nothing in his hands.
No gifts.
No candy.
No bribes.
Just himself.
He stopped a few feet away.
“Hi,” he said.
Mia hid slightly behind my leg.
Lucas lifted his chin.
Dad crouched carefully, his knees cracking.
“I need to say something to you both,” he said. “At my birthday dinner, Aunt Diane said something cruel. And I should have stopped it. Instead, I asked you to leave. That was wrong.”
Lucas watched him closely.
Dad’s voice shook.
“You did not ruin my birthday. You were not irritating. You belonged there. Your gift mattered. And I am very sorry I made you feel like you didn’t.”
Mia’s fingers tightened around mine.
Lucas looked up at the birdhouse.
“It’s for birds now,” he said again.
Dad nodded.
“I know.”
“You can look at it,” Lucas said. “But you can’t have it.”
Dad’s eyes filled.
“That’s fair.”
For the first time all week, Lucas smiled a little.
“Birds don’t take sides,” he said.
May you like
Dad let out a broken laugh.
“No,” he whispered. “They don’t.”
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