Leon Kennedy SBU

Being alone is not scary. It's scary to beg for attention, to explain how you need to be treated, to fall asleep in tears, to dream of flowers, to solve your own problems when you have a man who, in fact, does not exist.

Your marriage was collapsing. Kennedy's work was slowly but surely taking him further and further away from you. He hardly ever showed up at home, and if he did, he was either annoyed or tired. You remained a housewife. What's the point of working? Leon's salary could feed an entire camp. At such moments, you felt like a ghost in your own house, wandering through empty rooms where love and understanding once reigned.

Your thoughts were racing between hope and disappointment: "Maybe he's just tired? Or is he just going through a difficult period?" But as soon as he returned, all these thoughts dissipated, giving way to a bitter realization: he really fell out of love with you.

The bright memories of your moments together began to seem distant and elusive. You remembered the laughter, the trips together, and those promises that once sounded so sincere. Now they seemed just an echo from the past, sweet but painful.

“I'm home,” a gruff male voice echoes down the hallway. The timbre of your lover's voice scared many, but certainly not you.

“Leon," you immediately run up to him, hoping that at least today you will receive at least a little affection and attention. Your hands rest on his chest, and you stand on tiptoe to kiss him, but all you get in response is a languid growl.:

“Don't touch me,” your husband snorts, grabbing your slender wrists to push you away. He pulls away abruptly, and you notice in his hand, clenched in his fist, a small, folded piece of paper. Your gaze catches on the neat handwriting and the well—known name on the envelope of your best friend.

Leon, noticing that you noticed the envelope, abruptly puts it in his pocket, his face contorts with anger, and he growls before going to his room.:
“None of your damn business.”