This was where Kevin and I had started out, a studio he had built with his roommate, Freddie Jones. Over time, while Kevin and I ascended the social ladder and became consumed by fame and fortune, this studio remained simple and unchanged.
The bell chimed pleasantly as I opened the door and Freddie, though initially shocked, greeted me with a smile.
After some catching up, I got straight to the point, "You've heard about Kevin's fashion show, right? All of his designs for the show are based on drafts you originally created. I need those original drafts as evidence of his plagiarism."
Freddie's hand paused mid-pour, spilling tea on the table, "You two are …"
"I'm planning to get a divorce." I cut his words.
After leaving Freddie's studio and getting into a cab, I looked down at the brown-paper-wrapped chocolate in my hand.
Tears welled up as I tore open the packaging, recalling Freddie's words as he handed me the sketches, "Amy, if you're certain about leaving, then don't look back."
I wiped away my tears, took photos of all the sketches and sent them in an email to a journalist I knew in Paris.