43.

I giggled as I struggled to put Ryan's tiny shirt over his squirming head. "Hold still, little one!" I teased, trying to catch his wandering hands.

Ryan, my four-year-old bundle of energy, grinned mischievously. "No, Mommy! I want to dress myself!"

I chuckled and let him try, watching as he attempted to put his arm through the sleeve. "Almost, baby! Just a little bit more..."

It amazes me how enthusiastic and strong my kitten boy is.

A slight smile danced on my lips as I adored his deep green orbs; they were just like his father's.

The thought of his father has my heart squeezing in pain.

As the years passed, not a day went by that I didn't think of him.

I had let my guard down, something I never dreamt of doing, but I broke my limits for him, and in the end, I got nothing but betrayal.

Ryan is my only source of joy; one look at him and you can see every feature of his father; the only features we share are his lip shape and hair texture, and aside from that, he is a carbon copy of