I always knew he was different.

I remember the first look I took at him. I actually thought that I'd died during the childbirth — that tiny pair of beautiful, deep ocean blue eyes made me believe that I was in heaven. He was small and fragile and very very sober, and the sweetest and most wonderful creature I'd ever seen. I'd been loving him since the moment I'd learnt I was carrying him in my womb, and now that I was holding him in my arms, I couldn't love him more. The midwife wrapped him in a soft and warm blanket and gave him back to me so that I could breastfeed him. It was the most glorious feeling I'd ever experienced, holding him close to me, gently brushing my fingertips across his strong raven black hair and listening to him making those little squelching noises while he was voraciously sucking the milk out of my breasts. I closed my eyes in exhaustion. I already had a name for him in my head, but I didn't even have the strength to say it aloud. I would do it when I woke up...