Cedar\u2019s POV<\/p>\n
This child truly believed I was his mother. As I smoothed damp hair from his burning forehead, I felt something stir inside me\u2014a fierce protective instinct.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m right here, Oliver,\u201d I whispered, holding his small hand in mine. \u201cI\u2019m not going anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
His lips curved into a trusting smile before his eyes fluttered closed. \u201cKnew you\u2019d care for me,\u201d he mumbled, already drifting into feverish sleep. \u201cLove you, Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, all I could feel was a quiet tenderness, a sense of rightness in being here with him. Maybe this was what a mother\u2019s happiness felt like.<\/p>\n
I spent the night in a fever vigil, watching over Oliver like a sentinel. Every hour, I carefully placed a cool cloth on his forehead, monitored his temperature, and coaxed medicine into his tiny body when he briefly stirred. The rain continued its relentless drumming against my apartment windows, creating a somber soundtrack to my worried thoughts.<\/p>\n
\u201c101.3,\u201d I whispered, reading the digital thermometer at 2 AM. Better than the alarming 103.2 when I\u2019d first brought him inside, but still concerning. I refreshed the cool compress and studied his sleeping face.<\/p>\n
Bathed in the gentle light of my bedside lamp, his messy golden-brown hair and sleepy eyes made him look so irresistibly adorable that I felt an unexpected urge to protect him.<\/p>\n
Who is this child? And why does he think I\u2019m his mother?<\/p>\n
I\u2019d never given birth. I would remember something that monumental.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll be okay,\u201d I whispered, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. \u201cI\u2019ve got you now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words came naturally, as if I\u2019d spoken them countless times. Caring for this child stirred a tenderness in me my adoptive parents never had. When I was sick, their care was efficient but distant\u2014doctors called, medicine given, life quickly returning to normal.<\/p>\n
This was different. Closer. As if, in caring for him, I was finally caring for a part of myself.<\/p>\n
I awoke to something tickling my face. Disoriented, I blinked against the morning light, gradually becoming aware of a small, warm body curled against mine. Oliver had somehow migrated from the bed to the living room sofa where I\u2019d eventually dozed off. His head was tucked beneath my chin, his small frame nestled against me like a trusting kitten.<\/p>\n
I vaguely remembered collapsing on the sofa around dawn, after his fever had finally broken. I\u2019d planned to get a blanket for him, but apparently exhaustion had claimed me first.<\/p>\n
As I shifted, my arm brushed against his forehead, instinctively checking for any lingering heat. Just to be sure, I reached for the thermometer on the coffee table, slipping it gently beneath his arm. The digital numbers blinked reassuringly\u2014normal. Relief washed over me.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood morning, Mommy,\u201d he whispered as my movement caused him to stir. His eyes regarded me with pure adoration.<\/p>\n
\u201cOliver,\u201d I began gently, \u201cI need to explain something. I\u2019m not your mother. My name is Cedar Wright.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat up, studying me with unexpected intensity for a child his age. \u201cI know your name. You were adopted by the Wright family when you were little.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stiffened. \u201cHow do you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you\u2019re my mommy,\u201d he insisted, as if that explained everything. His small hand touched my arm. \u201cI woke up last night and saw you sleeping. I was scared you\u2019d be gone when I woke up, so I came to guard you.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart melted despite my confusion. \u201cThat\u2019s very sweet of you.\u201d For a moment, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his trust. But then a flicker of worry crept in. \u201cYou must be very brave to come here alone\u2026 Did your dad know you were leaving?\u201d<\/p>\n
His expression darkened. \u201cDaddy doesn\u2019t care. He\u2019s always busy and never has time for me. He\u2019s very strict and gets angry when I ask questions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven so, we need to inform him that you\u2019re safe,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
Oliver looked down, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized t-shirt I\u2019d given him to sleep in. \u201cDon\u2019t you want me, Mommy? I came all this way to find you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The naked vulnerability in his voice stopped me. I\u2019d felt that same insecurity countless times in the Wright household\u2014the desperate need to be wanted.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s have breakfast first,\u201d I offered, postponing the inevitable. \u201cYou must be hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I prepared the only child-friendly breakfast I had\u2014cereal with milk\u2014while Oliver perched on a kitchen stool, his legs swinging freely.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour house is nice,\u201d he observed, looking around my modest apartment. \u201cIt\u2019s small, but it feels warm.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled despite myself. \u201cThank you. It\u2019s not much, but it\u2019s home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDaddy\u2019s house is big with lots of rooms no one uses,\u201d he continued conversationally. \u201cAnd there are always people cleaning or bringing things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wealthy family, then. That explained the quality of his clothes, despite their casual appearance.<\/p>\n
\u201cOliver,\u201d I tried again, pouring milk over his cereal, \u201cwhat\u2019s your full name? And how old are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hesitated, spoon halfway to his mouth, then answered with a sudden smile: \u201cOliver North. I\u2019m six.\u201d<\/p>\n
The surname didn\u2019t ring any bells. There were no prominent North families in Chicago that I knew of.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you think I\u2019m your mother?\u201d I asked directly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a small crescent-shaped birthmark on the back of your neck, right?\u201d Oliver asked suddenly, making me freeze mid-bite.<\/p>\n
My hand instinctively went to the spot where my hair usually covered the small lunar-shaped mark. \u201cHow could you possibly know that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I have one too,\u201d he said simply, turning and lifting his hair to reveal an identical crescent mark in precisely the same location.<\/p>\n
I stared, speechless. Birthmarks could be hereditary, but this\u2014identical in shape and placement\u2014seemed impossible. The statistical probability had to be infinitesimal.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s why I knew you were my mommy,\u201d he said, turning back with triumph in his eyes. \u201cWe match.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOliver, this doesn\u2019t make sense,\u201d I explained as gently as I could. \u201cI\u2019ve never had a child. There must be some mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not a mistake,\u201d he insisted. \u201cI found you. I looked for you for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d I challenged, trying to unravel this bizarre situation. \u201cHow did you find me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI looked at all the ladies who could be the right age,\u201d he explained with childlike simplicity, \u201cand then I found you.\u201d<\/p>\n
It sounded like the imaginative logic of a child, yet there was something unsettlingly specific in his knowledge. The birthmark. My family situation. Details that weren\u2019t publicly available.<\/p>\n
Could this be some elaborate prank? Or something more sinister? His story can\u2019t possibly be true.<\/p>\n
And He\u2019s not my responsibility. I should have called the authorities immediately. Yet something held me back.<\/p>\n
I felt an inexplicable connection with this boy that defied logical explanation. Had I been memory erased? That was too ridiculous. Maybe he was a distant relative\u2014someone who shared my family\u2019s birthmark by chance?<\/p>\n
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland\u2019s breathtaking cold.<\/p>\n
The Sky Remembered the Touch of Our Unfinished Goodbyes by Lysa Orion Rehn 2 Chapter 2 Cedar\u2019s POV This child […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[88],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-30401","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-zero-stars-for-daddy-novel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30401","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=30401"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30401\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=30401"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=30401"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=30401"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}