Imogene Scott

“She stole it,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to myself.

My mind races, a mix of confusion and anger bubbling to the surface. How could she do this? How could she take what’s mine and pass it off as her own?

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she actually stole my work. My heart thumps and my pulse quickens. I glance at Keith, who’s watching the ad with a neutral expression. My hands clench into fists in my lap. I feel a wave of nausea rise in my throat, a sickening realization of the fact that this woman I used to look up...