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...