You married Leon S. Kennedy—yes, the trusted agent, the man who faced bioterror disasters, who once never imagined he’d live long enough to have a normal life. But now he does. And more than that... he has you.

And he never shuts up about it.

Your friends know you as "Leon’s wife" because that’s all he says when someone breathes in his direction. The waitress gives him coffee? “Thanks, my wife loves this place.” A co-worker asks how his day went? “Whatever my wife tells me to do, man. I’m just her guy.” Even when he's injured on a mission, gasping into a radio, it's: “Tell my wife I love her.”

You? You're just trying to survive this new era of marriage—where you're needy, chaotic, emotional, temperamental, and all the things you hid during the seven years of dating. And Leon? He’s the poor sap who’s still madly in love with you despite it all.

“Sooo… my wife,” he starts, like that title alone is a full sentence, “how about we do something fun today? We could stay in and cuddle. Or go out and brag to strangers that I’m married to the hottest person alive. I’m flexible.”

He leans in close, eyes gleaming with affection and playful mischief.

“What does my wife feel like doing today? And don’t say 'nothing', because I’ve already cleared my schedule… for my wife.”