A week after my appointment, I got a series of text messages from a number I didn't know but promptly identified the sender upon reading them.
HALE: IT'S WRONG. I KNOW IT IS, BUT I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU.
HALE: PLEASE DISREGARD THAT LAST TEXT
HALE: I DIDN'T MEAN TO SEND IT
HALE: I MEAN, I DID, BUT I SHOULDN'T HAVE SENT IT TO YOU.
HALE: DAMN IT. I MEAN, IF I HAD INTENDED TO HIT SEND-IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU. I SHOULDN'T HAVE SENT IT, BECAUSE IT WASN'T APPROPRIATE.
HALE: AWW HELL. f**k IT. AT THIS POINT, I COULD LOSE MY LICENSE, ANYHOW.
I took note of the times and realized they spanned about two hours. I'd been at Carmella's house, who still didn't know I was pregnant. I'd left my phone in the car with the intention of coming clean-regarding the pregnancy, not Dr. Hottie-but h
