We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 63

Ridley’s POV

The digital clock on my dashboard read 6:30 PM as I pulled into the parking lot of the Harris Theater for Music and Dance. The evening sun cast long shadows across the elegant brick building.

“We’re cutting it close,” I said to Aiden, who sat in the back seat straightening his tie with methodical precision.

“Seven minutes until the performance begins,” he confirmed without checking a watch. Aiden had an uncanny sense of time. “Factoring in‘ walking time and finding our seats, we’ll have approximately three minutes to spare.”

I smiled faintly at his calculation. “Then we’d better hurry.”

Aria was my youngest child, and from the beginning, she was different. The signs of autism were subtle at first, but by the time she

turned three, they became impossible to ignore–she withdrew deeper into silence, struggling with even the simplest interactions. That’s

when I noticed something remarkable: whenever music played, she would move with an instinctive grace that seemed to unlock something

within her.

After consulting with child psychologists, I learned that combining therapeutic approaches with artistic expression could be incredibly

effective for children like Aria. Dance became her language when words failed her.

That’s when Daisy offered to work with her psychologist and teach her dancing. I watched carefully–Aria accepted Daisy, and even seemed

to depend on her. For Aria’s stability, I agreed to let the arrangement continue.

Daisy greeted us at the entrance. “Ridley, Aiden! You made it just in time. I was beginning to worry.”

“Board meeting ran late,” I explained, handing her our tickets. “How is she today?”

“Focused, Daisy replied with the professional confidence. “She’s been practicing her solo all week. I think you’ll be moved by her

progress.”

She led us through the corridor toward the performance hall, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. “The seats 1

reserved for you are in the third row, center. Perfect view.”

Once seated, Aiden leaned toward me. “Dad, can Aria practice at home instead after this show? Maybe she could come back to live with

us.”

I studied my son’s carefully neutral expression, recognizing the concern beneath it. He’d been asking variations of this question since Aria had moved to the conservatory’s residential program.

“The structure here is what’s helping her,” I explained quietly as the lights began to dim. “The ballet is helping her cognitive development.

When she was home, she was more withdrawn, remember?”

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Chapter 63

Aiden nodded reluctantly, but I could see he remained unconvinced.

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The curtain rose, revealing a stage transformed into a woodland scene. Young dancers in pale blue costumes moved in careful formation. Then Aria appeared, a small solitary figure in white. Her movements were precise, controlled, yet somehow ethereal. Where the other children performed the choreography, Aria seemed to inhabit it.

When the performance ended, the applause thundered through the hall. Aria stood center stage, her expression unchanged by the recognition, her eyes fixed on some middle distance only she could see.

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Backstage, we found her sitting alone, methodically removing her ballet slippers. She acknowledged our presence with a slight tilt of her head but continued her task without interruption.

“She was extraordinary,” I said to Daisy, who stood nearby watching with evident pride.

“Her progress has been remarkable,” Daisy agreed, then lowered her voice. “I know you only have limited visitation time in the dance studio. My apartment is just two blocks away–perhaps you’d like to come over? Give Aria some time to decompress in a quieter

environment before you leave?”

I hesitated, glancing at my watch. It was already 9:00 PM, but Aiden was watching Aria with such concern that I found myself nodding.

“Okay,” I said.

Daisy’s apartment was exactly what I’d expected–minimalist with strategic artistic elements, the kind of space featured in architectural digests. Floor–to–ceiling windows offered views of Lake Michigan, the water darkening with the approaching night.

“Aria, why don’t you show Aiden your special collection?” Daisy suggested, gesturing toward what appeared to be a small studio space. As the children disappeared into the adjoining room, she turned to me with a smile. “You must be exhausted. Let me get you something to

drink.

“Just water, thank you,” I replied, moving to examine a series of black and white photographs on her wall–dancers in various poses, their bodies creating impossible geometries against stark backgrounds.

“These are remarkable,” I commented as she returned with a tumbler.

“Thank you. Photography is my second passion.” She handed me the water, our fingers brushing in a way that seemed deliberate. “I took those during my final season with the Chicago Ballet Company, before the injury.”

I nodded, raising the glass to my lips. A movement caught my eye–Aria had emerged from the studio and was standing in the hallway, watching us with unusual intensity. Her eyes were fixed on the glass in my hand.

What happened next occurred with startling speed. Aria crossed the room in several quick steps and, with a deliberate motion, knocked the water glass from my hand. It shattered against the hardwood floor, water spreading in a dark stain across the expensive finish.

“Aria!” Daisy’s voice was sharp with surprise and anger. “What are you doing?”

Chapter 63

My daughter stood perfectly still, her eyes now focused on the broken glass. Aiden had appeared in the doorway, watching the scene with

careful attention.

“Aria,” I said, keeping my voice measured. “I need you to explain why you did that.”

Daisy stepped between us, her composure visibly shaken. “She’s overstimulated from the performance. Children on the spectrum

sometimes act out when-”

“Miss Black,” I interrupted calmly, “I’d like to hear from my daughter.”

“She’s non–verbal today,” Daisy said quickly. “I can see the signs. This is just sensory overload. Let me handle it-

“Step aside,” I said, the steel in my voice unmistakable.

Daisy hesitated, then moved away, crouching to begin collecting shards of broken glass. I knelt to Aria’s eye level, waiting patiently as she

processed whatever was happening in her mind.

“Aria,” I said softly. “Can you tell me why you knocked over the glass?”

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