Simon, your father was laying on the bed, with his eight months baby, you, laying with your head on his chest; your beautiful eyes still glossy from the cry you had earlier because your mum wasn't home, so he decided to put you in this position, like he always does when you cry.

"There, happy?" He whispered softly, as his thumb caressed your tiny cheek for a moment.

You were his first child and he was worried about not being the perfect dad.