We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Cedar’s POV

Saturday morning, finally. Ridley Sterling’s expensive suit jacket was draped carefully over my reading chair. The fabric practically screamed bespoke tailoring. Even in repose, it exuded wealth and privilege, looking entirely out of place among my modest furnishings.

“I should get this cleaned and returned,‘ I murmured to myself. The memory of yesterday’s incident with Brad flashed through my mind, and I shuddered. The jacket represented both rescue and reminder–1 needed it gone.

The soft padding of feet on hardwood pulled me from my thoughts. Oliver appeared in the doorway, hair adorably tousled from sleep, rubbing his eyes with

tiny fists.

“Good morning, Mommy,” he said, voice still rough with drowsiness. “What are we doing today?”

I smiled despite myself. His insistence on calling me “Mommy” had become less jarring, instead stirring something warm and protective in my chest.

“I need to drop off Mr. Sterling’s jacket at a dry cleaner,” I explained, straightening my weekend sweater. “Then I thought maybe we could do something fun

together.”

Oliver’s face brightened instantly. “Like what?”

“How about Navy Pier? There’s a Ferris wheel, games… maybe ice cream?”

The suggestion transformed his expression, joy blooming across his features with such intensity it made my heart ache. Had anyone ever been this excited to

spend time with me?

“Can we go now?” he bounced on his toes, suddenly fully awake.

“I need to take care of the jacket first,” I said. “Can you stay here for a little while? I’ll be quick, and then we’ll have the whole day together.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait. I promise I’ll be good.”

I gently ruffled his hair. “I know you will.”

The high–end dry cleaner was worlds away from the coin–operated laundromat near my apartment, The elegant storefront with its etched glass and brass fixtures catered to clientele whose casual wear cost more than my monthly rent.

A bell chimed softly as I entered, clutching Sterling’s jacket like contraband. The attendant, a slender woman with perfectly coiffed silver hair, glanced up from behind the marble counter.

“Good morning,” she greeted, her gaze efficiently assessing both me and the garment in my arms. “How may I help you?”

‘I need this cleaned,” I said, carefully placing the jacket on the counter. “It belongs to Ridley Sterling. I need it perfect.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly at the name, but her professional demeanor remained intact. “Of course. We handle Mr. Sterling’s garments regularly. Any specific

instructions?”

I hesitated, realizing I knew nothing about the proper care of a jacket that probably cost as much as three months of my salary. “Just… whatever you

1/2

3:49 pm M

Chapter 14

normally do for him?”

She nodded, examining the material with practiced hands. “We’ll have it ready by Tuesday. Would you like us to deliver it directly to the Sterling residence?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll pick it up myself.”

As she prepared the receipt, I found myself staring at the boutiques across the street, their windows displaying clothing I could never afford on my salary. The distance between my world and Ridley Sterling’s seemed insurmountable.

Oliver’s face lit up when I returned, and I decided to drive there. I rarely drove during workdays–1 much preferred the time to zone out and gather my thoughts on public transit, rather than dealing with the nightmare of rush–hour traffic.

Within an hour, we were walking through the entrance of Navy Pier. The spring day was perfect–clear blue skies, a gentle breeze off Lake Michigan, and the

excited chatter of families enjoying the weekend.

“Can we ride that?” Oliver pointed to the Centennial Wheel, his voice breathless with anticipation.

“Absolutely,” I smiled, purchasing tickets.

In the gondola, rising above the city, Oliver pressed his face against the glass, eyes wide with wonder as Chicago’s skyline unfolded before us. The pure joy

on his face was infectious, and I found myself smiling–really smiling–for what felt like the first time in years.

“Look, Mommy! You can see everything!” he exclaimed, pointing to the glittering expanse of Lake Michigan.

I followed his gaze, seeing the city through his eyes–not as a place of struggle and obligation, but as something magical and full of possibility.

Comments

3

Write Comments

SHARE