Vanessa
My mother's gaze held mine with an intensity that made me squirm. "Vanessa, I asked you a question," she repeated, her voice low but laced with a steely edge. "How long have you been pregnant?"
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. How did she know? My cheeks burned, and I stammered out a denial, desperately hoping Paloma would jump in and divert the conversation. But Paloma remained silent, her brow furrowed in concern.
Mom wasn't buying it. She pushed herself off the couch, her movements sharp. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Vanessa," she said, her voice rising. "Tell me. Now!"
Panic clawed at my throat. "Mom, I'm not pregnant," I choked out, clinging to the flimsy lie. "I'm just sick."
"Sick?" Her voice crackled with disbelief. "You fell ill the moment Paloma opened that platter of fish sticks, is that it?"
Guilt gnawed at me. "Yes," I mumbled, feeling trapped.