Yara

I’m laughing as I watch a little boy who looks just like Warren running through the grass, laughing happily as his father chases after him.

“I’m going to get you,” Warren calls.

“No, you not!” the boy squeals and tries to run faster on his chubby little legs. I smile, looking down at the baby in my arms, nursing as I rock her back and forth. She has my auburn hair, but as she looks up at me, I see her father’s brownish-green eyes.

A howl of attack goes up, and I’m jerked ...