Sophia’s P.O.V

My father was about to say something when my mom stopped him with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing with that familiar mother-radar expression she wore every time something was up.

“Sophia, honey, what’s wrong? You look like your stomach’s doing backflips.”

I blinked at her, biting my bottom lip. “It’s nothing, Mom,” I mumbled, not quite ready to open the dam yet. But of course, she didn’t buy that.

“Don’t you ‘nothing’ me. ...