Sophie had been staring at the profile on her husband for twelve days now. Ten "facts," so they claimed. Indecisive, they called him! A drunk! Biased towards his own family!! Sophie couldn't help feeling offended, and quite frankly, angry. How dare the pantry-politics of Witch Weekly insinuate that Sophie's own life problems would be a factor of Martin's! Firstly, he wasn't a drunk. Not that Sophie had seen or smelled — and Sophie certainly would've noticed; she was no gigglemug.
Then there was the sheer accusation that Martin had been having a bit 'o raspberry with Lisa during their separation! Had she not been in such a delicate state, she might've already gone off and written a letter to the editors, like some revolveress. Still, sitting here, thinking on what the gossip-mongering women at Witch Weekly thought of her husband, it was like needles and pins in her sides. Martin deserved better. His children Acacia, Chrysanta, Orinda, Dunstan, they deserved better!
Better than the next thing to judgement day, that was for certain. But the batty-fang reelings of a pregnant woman mattered nothing to the gossip magazine, that much was absolutely certain. They never seemed to listen to letters before.
It left Sophie feeling like quite the daisy-five-'o-clocker, with how the world seemed to treat her. Perhaps a cup of tea would help the situation — not that it had in recent days, as she tried to make sense of this article and how utterly frustrating the baseless rumors are. She decided that no, she wouldn't write a letter. Not to Witch Weekly, certainly. Perhaps to an old friend. The Daily Prophet was even less likely to listen to an afternoonified pregnant woman whine about a gossip rag than her husband would.
Speak of the handsome devil — he'd be home soon. With the flick of her wand, the kettle began heating, as she prepared two cups of tea one in the fine new cup he'd given her last month. She needed some time to think before she decided what to do.
Here
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Then there was the sheer accusation that Martin had been having a bit 'o raspberry with Lisa during their separation! Had she not been in such a delicate state, she might've already gone off and written a letter to the editors, like some revolveress. Still, sitting here, thinking on what the gossip-mongering women at Witch Weekly thought of her husband, it was like needles and pins in her sides. Martin deserved better. His children Acacia, Chrysanta, Orinda, Dunstan, they deserved better!
Better than the next thing to judgement day, that was for certain. But the batty-fang reelings of a pregnant woman mattered nothing to the gossip magazine, that much was absolutely certain. They never seemed to listen to letters before.
It left Sophie feeling like quite the daisy-five-'o-clocker, with how the world seemed to treat her. Perhaps a cup of tea would help the situation — not that it had in recent days, as she tried to make sense of this article and how utterly frustrating the baseless rumors are. She decided that no, she wouldn't write a letter. Not to Witch Weekly, certainly. Perhaps to an old friend. The Daily Prophet was even less likely to listen to an afternoonified pregnant woman whine about a gossip rag than her husband would.
Speak of the handsome devil — he'd be home soon. With the flick of her wand, the kettle began heating, as she prepared two cups of tea one in the fine new cup he'd given her last month. She needed some time to think before she decided what to do.
Here