Rosemary's Child

Her child slept soundly, his little chest rising and falling with each breath. It had been a year, exactly a year, since his birth, and Rosemary wondered where the time went. Laying a hand on his face, she gently stroked his cheek, his perfect cheek. She wouldn't be alone for long, she knew, for it was a day of celebration. The little prince-her little prince- was a year old, after all. She still refused to refer to her baby as anything other than hers. A flashback to the final days of her pregnancy resurfaced, before she was enlightened, before she was told the truth. Her hand froze for a second, as she remembered first looking into those blue, blue eyes. His father's eyes. 
     She was shocked out of her reverie when she felt a soft body curling around her ankles.
"No Name, you startled me!" she cooed affectionately, bending down to stroke the cat's jet fur. The cat's name, courtesy of her ex husband, never ceased to amuse her. The cat arched its back, purring loudly. Her child's own noises soon reached her ears, and she stood back up, now looking into the watering eyes of her baby. Shushing the child gently, she scooped him up, rocking him in her arms. His hair had grown in, she noticed, and seemed to take more of her side too. In fact, the only trait he seemed to get from his father was, ironically, the eyes. 
    Eyes are the windows to the soul, she remembered, and clenched her jaw slightly. Her baby had stopped crying now, and she wiped the tears from his cheeks. Carrying him into her bedroom, with No Name on her heels, she was interupted by a firm knocking on her door. Sighing, she kissed her infant on the forehead, savoring her last few moments of privacy. 
"Happy birthday, my love."