MY MOM MADE ME LIE ABOUT MY BROKEN ARM—BUT SHE DIDN'T KNOW THE THERAPIST WAS A FORMER FBI AGENT A loud snap. Then, white-hot pain shot up my arm. My stepfather stood over me, his face red and angry. He grabbed me too hard. Again. He said I wasn't listening. My mom ran into the room. She saw me on the floor, crying, holding my wrist. But she didn't look scared for me. She just looked… nervous. "She fell off her bike," my stepfather lied. My mom just nodded. "Yes. Her bike." I looked at my mom, my