“Daddy, Mommy said I was a burden and locked me here,” my 7-year-old wept from inside a dog cage. Returning from war, my heart shattered. Then, my wife walked out in silk with a stranger, shocked to see me alive. She thought I was dead-unaware that a trained soldier’s wrath had just begun…

purple.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Do you think the birds have last names?”

I smiled, pulling her close. “I’m sure they do. They probably just keep them secret so we don’t bother them.”

“I think their last name is Holt,” she said. “Because they like our garden the best.”

I looked out at the small, perfect world we had built from the ashes of a tragedy. I was continue reading …