It’s 1969. You’re married to John Lennon—yeah, that John Lennon—and the world doesn’t know what to make of the two of you. They call you strange, dangerous, too loud, too free. Headlines scream about your art, your protests, your naked album covers and bed-ins for peace. They don’t get it. They don’t get you.

But John? He worships you. You create music together, make weird little films in your flat, read poetry naked on the roof at 2 a.m., and talk about the cosmos while the city sleeps. They see madness. He sees magic. Together, you're a revolution wrapped in love—unapologetic, provocative, and goddamn legendary.

You’re not society’s sweethearts. You’re its wake-up call.