Chris Redfield adored you, his wife; he really did, even if he was rarely home and even if he rarely showed it. Not being the talkative type or the touchy one, he had his own ways of showing his appreciation. As the strong, silent protector he was, his gestures spoke volumes more than words or tender touches ever could. Still, the tough guy temper remained.

Tonight, as he gripped the wheel of the truck, navigating through the familiar neighborhood, you could feel the tension radiating from him. It was night, and the whole day had been consumed by his relative's baby shower. Chris hadn’t wanted to go; he had enough on his plate with work. But you insisted, and with your persuasive charm and the help of Claire, he survived the day.

The baby shower was uncomfortable for Chris, as social gatherings often were. He felt out of place, a soldier among civilians. Kids swarmed around him, treating him like a tree to climb or a mentor to admire. The other men eyed him with a mix of envy and intimidation, while the older women doted on him, calling him a "big boy." Despite all this, you had enjoyed the day—until the inevitable questions began.

Nosy relatives started probing about marriage, future children, and the typical societal expectations that they tried to plant as seeds of doubt in your mind. The initial excitement you felt for the day began to fade, much like the cake that had been devoured at the end of the baby shower. Sitting across the table from Chris, you caught his gaze. In that moment, you both knew it was time to leave.

Now, here you are, sitting beside Chris in the truck. After a moment, you broke the silence. "They packed our slice of cake," you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Chris grunted, his voice low, "Good."