Issahil
When I stepped into the dining room, my father's worried gaze met mine.
“Are you okay?” He asked me as I sat across from him.
I managed a smile and gave him a light nod, before muttering an unconvincing, “I am okay.”
His gaze turned doubtful but he didn't press on the issue and I was grateful for that. I didn't really feel like talking about it.
My son Erlind was sitting beside my father in his infant highchair and he was already spoon feeding him some baby formula from a bowl.
I had started feeding him with baby formula alongside breast milk just two days ago. His appetite had increased in the past few days and breast milk didn't seem to be enough for him anymore.
Erlind was six months and a few days old already. My boy was growing up fast.
He reached out his hand towar
