We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 177

I cleared my throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” she asked, arranging plates on the table.

“While I was hanging your clothes, I accidentally damaged some of

them.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “That’s fine. It’s just some clothes.”

“Not some. Most of them.” I maintained my composure despite my

internal discomfort. “I’ll replace everything I damaged.”

Cedar looked puzzled. “How many are we talking about?”

“You should see for yourself.” I sat down at the table, projecting

confidence I didn’t entirely feel.

Every time I visited her home, I seemed to damage something. This

time, however, it was deliberate,

I watched as she walked to the bedroom doorway. When she saw the

heap of torn clothing–everything except her work attire

systematically ripped at the seams–her expression shifted from

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confusion to shock to fury.

She gathered an armful of the destroyed clothes and marched back to

me, eyes blazing.

“Would you care to explain why you shredded every piece of clothing I

own?” Her voice was dangerously calm.

“I didn’t shred them,” I replied evenly, though I felt far from calm.

“They simply fell apart. The quality was substandard.”

Cedar’s face flushed with anger. “Thirty–some pieces of clothing don’t

just ‘fall apart‘ simultaneously. Do you think I’m a child you can lie

to?”

“They’re just clothes,” I said dismissively, picking up my chopsticks. “I

already said I’d replace them. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

She threw the torn garments into the trash with unnecessary force

before sitting across from me, fuming silently.

I took a few bites of the perfectly seasoned food. “This is excellent.

You’ve improved since last time.”

“You make it sound like I’m your personal chef,” she muttered,

stabbing at her food.

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“I was complimenting your cooking,” I replied, genuinely confused by

her reaction.

We ate in silence for a moment before I asked, “What style of clothing

do you prefer?”

Cedar paused mid–bite, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Why do

you ask?”

“For the replacements. I need to know what to buy, or I’ll just have

Albert pick something randomly.” I shrugged.

She actually smiled at that, setting down her fork. “Well, if you’re

really serious about this… I like bright colors. And I prefer pants and

tops over dresses. Dresses just aren’t practical for-” she gestured

vaguely, “-my kind of lifestyle.”

This surprised me. Most women in my social circle lived in designer

dresses and gowns.

“That purple dress looked beautiful on you,” I commented,

remembering how it had highlighted her warm complexion.

“Beauty isn’t everything,” she countered. “I’m constantly running

between client meetings, site visits, and design presentations. After work, I shop for groceries and cook. And then there are your children

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who frequently show up for dinner. When exactly would I wear a

dress?”

Her words painted a vivid picture of her daily life–busy, productive,

caring. So different from mine. I handled business matters efficiently,

but barely managed my own children’s affairs. Meanwhile, she

shouldered so many responsibilities, including caring for my kids.

Suddenly, I wanted to give her something more. The thought, once

formed, couldn’t be dismissed.

“Cedar.”

She looked up, startled by my serious tone. “Yes?”

“I want you to move into Sterling Manor.”

Her fork clattered against her plate, her mouth slightly open in shock.

She hastily took a sip of water before asking, “I’m sorry, what did you

just say?”

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