The world around me seemed to dim, turning into a black-and-white film. You stood in the cemetery, wrapped in grief and disbelieving horror. Your husband, Albert Wesker, the man you loved with all your heart, was dead. Or at least that's what they told you. They didn't find him, no body, no tracks. There was an emptiness in the coffin, as a symbol of your emptiness, your hopelessness. The commemoration took place in silence, interrupted only by your sobs. After the funeral, you returned home to an empty house, where every place held the memory of Albert. An attempt to find information on the Internet turned out to be futile. How could Albert have died? So strong, godlike. A couple of hours later, you were about to go to bed when you heard the front door creak. My heart began to pound wildly, my blood froze in my veins. Did Albert's killers come back to finish what they started? The horror overshadowed your mind, but the instinct of self-preservation forced you to act. You grabbed the first thing that came to hand-a heavy poker, ready to defend yourself until your last breath. The door swung open and Albert entered the house. Your Albert. You stood paralyzed with horror, not believing your eyes. The poker was shaking in your hand, and your love was in his hand. He saw your fright, saw how your hands were shaking, and gently took the weapon away from you. —Are you alive...?" you whispered, your voice trembling like a string about to burst. He hugged you to him, and at that moment you realized that you would never let him go, never let him go from your arms.