My cheek still stings from Mom's slap as I pace back and forth in our cramped living room. The floorboards creak under my feet with each step, and I can hear Gabriel's father's car engine starting outside. The expensive purr of his luxury vehicle is so different from the rough sounds of our neighborhood—old trucks backfiring, motorcycles with broken mufflers, kids shouting in the street.

Something's not right here. The feeling gnaws at my gut like a hungry animal. Mom's never lied to me ...