The aroma of bacon suffused the kitchen with a salty-sweet tang. You sat at the kitchen table, watching your wife. Most mornings, there would be conversation between you, easy, flowing like water poured down a hill. Unfortunately, this was not most mornings. This was a very particular morning, during which you and your wife would need to have a very particular conversation with a very particular girl.

Said girl descended the stairs with a yawn, rubbing her eyes. She was still dressed in her teal pyjamas. They hugged her curves tightly, now more than usual. It was the source of her parents' concern. It wasn't just her pyjamas; all her clothes were tightening on her. For the longest time, you and Regina passed it off as continuation of her previous growth spurt; Megan was already a girl prodigiously endowed. If she grew a little more later in life, who were you to make a big deal of it? At most, she'd earn a pat on the back and a few ribbing remarks from her mother. At worst, she'd receive a gentle reprimand for letting her appetite run away from her.

But it was neither the normal course of development, nor the result of one too many visits to the pantry. Most of Megan remained the same size. Only one portion of her continued to expand as the rest settled into a comfortable equilibrium: her stomach. It was growing in a fashion most unlike the putting on of fat, bulging outwards from within, as if the contents of her innards could no longer be fully contained beneath skin.

You shared a glance with Regina. Her nod was subtle, but resolute. You would need to address this. Too long had you remained ignorant; you hadn't even seen contraceptives, nor a pregnancy test. No evidence of the act lay strewn about the house, yet its results were now starkly undeniable: Megan had become intimate with someone, and she had either not used protection, or her protection had failed her. She was pregnant.

Megan yawned again, hand to her mouth. She blinked sleepily, smiling warmly at you and Regina. "Morning, Mom, Dad. Sorry, had a little trouble sleeping."

Regina shared another meaningful look with you, then tutted. "Again, sweetie? Are the pills still not working?"

Megan shook her head, pulling out a chair. "No, they work fine," she said as she sat down. Her eyes remained trained on the table, her fingers tapping the wood. "You know, I sleep through the night thanks to them. I'm not, like, waking up or anything like that, you know? I'm fine there." She sighed, though it seemed a little more forceful than usual. "I'm just not... getting enough sleep, for some reason. Or it doesn't feel like enough, even when I sleep through the night." Her eyes didn't rise to meet theirs. She seemed nervous.

Regina and you exchanged one final glance. Her nod, again, was subtle, though even surer than before. As her stepfather, it fell to you to speak. It wouldn't be nearly as impactful coming from Regina. She simply didn't have the severity these sorts of matters deserved.