Shopping unpacked and put away, Cynthia made herself a cup of jasmine tea, and sat down at her kitchen table with her old, battered copy of the Big Book of British Birds. It had been a gift from her father, many years before, back when Cynthia had been someone else entirely. Turning the pages brought back mixed memories. She hadn’t been the child her parents had thought she was, and definitely not the son that they had wanted. In spite of exhibiting those disappointing qualities from an early age, she had enjoyed going out birdwatching with her father, and had listened enraptured as he had taught her the different songs, flight patterns, and egg characteristics of each species. She ought to know what kind of egg sat on her doorstep, even without having seen either parent close up.
The size of the egg should be her first clue.
To see what other people have been posting this week, go to the website here and follow the links to all the story extracts, with something to suit every taste.