The third one definitely counted as a paragraph, but she'd veered away from the panic to use her more reasonable voice, 'I really hope you know what you're doing. I'd hate for Ma and Pa to find out and suffer a heart attack from the disappointment, you and I both know it will kill them, if not literally then figuratively—Seriously, who spoke like this through text?—I'm sorry for what I said earlier, but please, be reasonable. This needs to stay hidden from them, do you understand?'
It felt futile, so I didn't bother replying to her texts. I'd just have to schedule another meeting with her soon—this time, hopefully, both our tempers would be able to make it till the end of our conversation—to figure out the whole mess that I'd gotten myself into.
"Your bump looks awful, Cal," Mia commented.
I froze, my blood running cold. "My bump?"
