We Want Mommy Not You Daddy (Cedar) novel Chapter 70

I spared her phone a cursory glance. “Get to the point.”

Daisy’s face fell as she put away her phone. “At the park, someone tried to snatch Aria. In her panic, she spoke. I believe this is a positive sign that her selective mutism is improving, which is why I called you over so late.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Mommy, help me.” Daisy covered her lips, tears welling in her eyes. “Aria called me ‘Mommy.‘ She was afraid of being taken away, and she finally spoke. Ridley, I’m so happy…”

My brow furrowed deeply.

Mommy?

Aria calling Daisy “Mommy“?

Highly unlikely.

This felt like a fabricated story, but I needed to see for myself.

I walked past Daisy into the house without another word.

I headed straight for Aria’s room. My daughter sat by the bay window, half–hidden behind the curtains, holding a paintbrush to canvas. Aside from her dance training, Aria spent most of her time painting—she showed considerable talent in this area.

I approached quietly, circling around to see what she was creating.

The painting depicted an amusement park scene. In the midst of a crowd, a slender woman held a six–year–old child. The child’s expression was bewildered, with long eyelashes and a small mole on the right side of her chin.

This was clearly Aria’s self–portrait.

The woman wore casual clothes–jeans and sneakers. Aria was nestled in her arms, looking completely at ease.

Who was this woman?

“Ridley, look–Aria painted me and her at the amusement park. If not for that incident, I think she would have had a wonderful time,” Daisy said softly beside me.

My frown deepened.

I didn’t see Daisy often, but I knew she always dressed impeccably. Even in loungewear, her face was meticulously made up.

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Chapter 70

Yet the woman in the painting was naturally elegant, with a completely different aura than Daisy’s vibe.

Aria’s paintings were always realistic. She wouldn’t invent a person from imagination.

I bent down and spoke quietly. “Aría, can you hear Daddy talking to you?”

Aria’s paintbrush paused momentarily before continuing, as if we weren’t even in the room.

“Who is this person you’ve painted?” I asked again.

Daisy tensed beside me and quickly interjected, “It’s obviously me, Ridley. Don’t you recognize me anymore?”

1 ignored her, still studying the woman in the painting, trying to trace the source of that nagging familiarity.

Daisy’s sharp cry and the sudden splash of red paint across the canvas interrupted my thoughts. Most of the painting was ruined. I looked up, glaring at her panicked face.

My eyes cut to her instantly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry!” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in what looked like feigned shock. “It was an accident!”

But I was studying her with growing suspicion. Something about her movements seemed too deliberate, too calculated. The way she’d

positioned herself, the timing of her “clumsiness“-none of it felt natural.

“You can leave now. I’d like some time alone with Aria,” I said, fighting to keep my anger in check.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to—I’ll go right away.” She backed away and quickly left the room.

I looked back at the ruined painting. The red paint had stained both figures, but somehow the woman’s eyes remained untouched, staring

back at me through the mess.

That familiar feeling washed over me again. Those eyes… they looked just like Cedar’s.

My gaze dropped to Aria’s face, studying her features with new understanding.

Her eyes…

They were identical to Cedar’s.

No wonder she’d seemed so familiar all this time,