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Kingsley “I’m pregnant, Dad.” I choke on the water I’ve been drinking, the splatters scattering on the table. There are only a few things that can make a father lose his shit. Having my baby daughter, my little angel, telling me this news nearly sends me back into a coma. We’re having dinner and she just blurted it out as if she’s talking about how much vanilla ice cream she needs for the week. No, it’s worse. She’s dead serious when she talks about vanilla ice cream. Now, she’s just apathetic—meek almost. My little Gwen has left and there’s only the shadow of her that is left behind. She hasn’t been eating or sleeping well, and she’s constantly in this daze that I haven’t been able to reach inside of. And it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve been preparing her favorite green tea with vanilla, but she gets teary-eyed whenever she sees it. She barely touches any of her vanilla stuff anymore. She didn’t even eat ice cream for a week. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. It’s possi