Astoria Malfoy is furious.

The instant Scorpius was born and Draco had his heir, he stopped doting on her. Stopped caring. She is as invisible as the wallpaper to him. Melting into the background. A society wife. She is expected to socialize and bring honor to the Malfoy name. She is not allowed to cause scandal or discord. She is supposed to hold teas and balls.

To always have the newest dress and the highest heels.

To have the most beautiful son and the best manners and the nicest hair.

To have the best life. A reputation as spotless and pure as her white gloves.

Draco, on the other hand, can do whatever he damn well pleases. He can sleep with anyone, drink anything, gamble anyone under the table. He can swear and spit and scowl in public. The more he makes the front page, the better. He has well documented affairs with Ginny Weasley (poor and a Weasley), Hermione Granger (Mudblood Gryffindor) and even Daphne Greengrass (Astoria's own backstabbing sister). She's shocked he isn't fucking Pansy Parkinson too, although that bitch seems to have found a better catch in the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Gold digger. That same awful woman sent her a fruit basket after Scorpius' birth with a condescending note.

Astoria is trapped in a dying marriage, with a horrible, inattentive partner. Her mother-in-law hates her. Her father-in-law barely notices her. She isn't even sure Lucius knows which Greengrass daughter she is. Astoria Malfoy wants a divorce. Unfortunately, she has to wait it out 5 years before her prenup kicks in. She's trapped by herself in a huge manor, with a screaming baby she doesn't even want and a cheating husband. Who's cheating with her sister. Who also lives in the huge manor.

She buys things to comfort herself. Dresses and shoes and handbags and jewelry and smart little linen suits. She fills the manor with flowers and hires two nannies to raise her son. She drowns her sorrows in vodka and romance novels. She knows that she is a ridiculous, cliche, unhappy Stepford wife.

She just counts the days. Two years, three months, eighteen days, five hours, twenty three minutes until she can be free.

Maybe she can go to Italy. She's heard it's nice there.

A/N: Just a little play on Astoria's nasty comments about Italy. I'm such a brat. Well, this little story is complete, guys. Hope you liked it, it's certainly been fun to write.

Lots of Love,

Lady of the Green Kirtle