One of my favorite activities used to be lying in a field, the park, the beach or even my backyard and staring up at the clouds. Especially on a summer's day when they were white and fluffy. You could find all sorts of shapes in them. Bears, lions, eagles, unicorns, castles, whatever your imagination could think of, it was up there waiting to be discovered. My son and I used to lie there for hours creating the most elaborate stories, laughing and smiling. Leaning on each other and nibbling whatever snack we'd deemed worthy enough to bring. Make that any snack we remembered to bring. As you know we get mostly sunny days here on the coast so the stories were plentiful. He had a favorite knight that he always looked for. Once Sir Macarthur was found the story could begin. Not before then. He had to find Sir Macarthur. He loved that knight so much.

I guess he had a reason to. After all Sir Macarthur was modeled after his father. He never met his father. I hadn't met him either. All I ever wanted to be was a mother but I could never seem to find the right guy. Even after several expensive dating agencies and matchmakers had worked with me. I'd even tried to get pregnant by accident, but after Max was born, I knew it was because I was waiting for him. None of the other children would have been Max. He was my perfect little man. Of course, now we know I couldn't get pregnant because most men are infertile. It was never my problem. Once the scientific community finally broke the news, I felt the biggest sigh of relief. I'd already started the paperwork for artificial insemination and picked out the father. I didn't have to win the lottery like most women do nowadays. I was one of the lucky ones. But that was before. Before I lost him.

By now you know I'm a writer, my story has been all over the news the past few weeks. I wrote so I could focus on being a mother. I took any sort of writing job I could. The local paper, ghostwriting books, articles on the internet, any and everything. I had this blog and a few books myself, nothing too fantastic of course, but it was enough. My parents also left me a sizeable sum when they shuffled off this mortal coil, to help with Max. He didn't get to meet them either, but they wanted the best for him because he is special. Sorry was special. I have to remember to use the past tense here, not current.

My life was perfect. I had everything I ever wanted, a cute cozy cottage by the sea. A career I loved that paid well. Great mommy and single friends. I was part of a book club; I posted my reviews here on this blog. There was a game night every other weekend, the farmer's market and art class every week. And most of all I had an amazing little boy, who was destined for great things. Until that man came. Timothy was supposed to be my knight in shining armor. He gave me Max after all. Then he took Max away. How could he do that? His own son?

This will be my last blog post. I wanted you to know the truth about Timothy before I leave society. To hear my side of the tale and to tell you about Max's stories. I plan on publishing them as a set of children's books. The ones I can remember anyway. There really were a lot. Sometimes he'd repeat a story, but more often than not it was new. I started collecting them when I realized how creative Max was. I'd write it down if I could, or record it if I couldn't. I know I have at least 100 of them. Maybe more. I was going to have him draw the books when he got old enough. He had already started to show promise in art. I do have a few pictures that will be included. The series will be called The Dazzling Adventures of Sir Macarthur Mimzington and the first one comes out next month. Max's stories need to be shared. He was a bright, happy, insightful boy whose life was extinguished by a jealous crazy madman. I will never forgive Timothy. Never. Because of that man, my light was stolen and I can never be a mother again. Not even after I heal from the physical wounds he caused. I was damaged beyond repair. After what he did to me, I thought he'd take Max and run. But Max wouldn't have it. He fought for me, for us. For our beautiful life together. My brave six-year-old. So brave. How many of you could face down a psycho three times your size? I couldn't. I tried and failed. How did Max think he could win? So, it is with tears in my eyes I say adieu, Australia. I'm signing off from this blog and retiring somewhere. I haven't yet decided. Anyway, I'm retiring to write Max's books and try to live out the rest of my days comfortably. As comfortable as they can be with the scars that man gave me and the sadness of losing my son. What more can I say after that? It's Ainsley Parker signing off for the final time and my signature phrase. Toodles, noodles.