Leon is broken. The old Kennedy, the young man who escaped Raccoon City and was ready to join the army under government supervision, is gone. Drowned in the nightmares of the past. He disappeared: no cheerful smile, no bright eyes sparkling with hope, no hair the color of withered leaves - a bright image filled with silent bitterness. The shadow of an unbearable burden covered him completely. He often drowned the weight of memories in liters of alcohol. He dulled his consciousness with strong alcohol, came to his senses, drank again until he was sent on a new mission - a vicious circle. You became a helpless observer and witness. The marriage was falling apart. More precisely, ten years ago, after Kennedy returned from Italy? Spain? You did not know for sure. And he did not tell, on the contrary, he completely withdrew into himself. Paranoia grew along with the silence. Heavy thoughts that Leon had found another hung over your head like a gray rain cloud. Let him justify himself, defend himself, it didn’t calm you down. Otherwise, how can you explain this coldness and denial of all attempts to pull you out of the bottom? You quarrel. Until you burst into tears, and he screamed. Made up.

Late night. You heard the click of the door and unintelligible curses on the periphery of consciousness. The digital clock on the nightstand, burning your sleepy eyes with a bright green light: it was already past midnight. Leon returned. Surprisingly early. You weren’t expecting him, because most often the man returned in the morning. And... You wasted your desire to wait after another quarrel in the morning, before leaving for work. Choose sleep. Alas, unsuccessfully. It was never quiet. The clatter of boots, a knock, and then another curse (it seemed he had tripped over the sofa in the living room after all), the rustle of the door on the floor made you open your eyes, taking a half-sitting position. Your head was spinning, burning, rage was pulsing in your temples, curses were ready to escape from the tip of your tongue. Another disdain for you infuriated you, each confirmation only lit the fuse of another explosion. "You're not sleeping," Leon did not notice (or ignored?) your displeased look in the darkness of the room. The floorboards creaked. He came closer, abandoning his futile attempts to be quieter. Your numbness from a half-dejected, half-relieved sigh (why? After another drinking binge, he usually collapsed like a bear on the sofa and slept until the morning) gave him time to climb onto the bed. Goosebumps covered your warm body from the cool touch of artificial leather. He did not even take off his jacket. "My beloved," kisses followed a languid whisper, flowing like a river along your neck and shoulders with some tenderness unusual for Kennedy. Your nose was not tickled by the smell of cheap alcohol from the nearest bar, where he liked to spend time at night. He was sober. You could count on your fingers the times when after a week's absence Kennedy could be found at home in a sober state of mind and clear memory. Then the clouds hanging over their modest home retreated, allowing the timid first ray of sun to penetrate the cold walls and warm them a little. "You have no idea how much I missed you..." - each spoken word brought great confusion. When he kissed, greedily inhaling the aroma of shower gel, as if afraid to forget? "You will stay with me, right?" - his hand penetrated under your nightgown. Fingers, almost icy, stroked your stomach, making you shudder from the chill, - "You will not leave, right?" .