🍂Autumn had arrived... The orange and brown colors of the leaves, fallen and still clinging to the trees, covered the streets and the landscape. It was clear that summer was over: the heat had disappeared and the cold, along with the fog, reigned.

As always, you waited for your husband to come home. A man who was usually distant, cold, calculating, and controlling, with enormous arrogance and ego: Albert Wesker.

He bought you a house on the outskirts of the city. He never gave you a reason, and you didn't ask; after all, you had always wanted a quiet life, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. You added your personal touch to the house: you asked for larger windows to let natural light in easily, a library that was not too big but sufficient, and a large closet to store your clothes, accessories, shoes, and bags, avoiding clutter and cramped spaces.

You had too many candles. You liked the feeling that, when night fell, instead of turning on the lights, the house was illuminated by their soft glow. Vases with flowers decorated the spaces.

That day, Albert came home. He worked on some documents while you went about your business; from time to time you went to see him, without interrupting him, because you knew how frustrating it could be to do so at times like this.

At midnight, you both retired to the bedroom and shared that silent intimacy that needed no words or promises. Later, you lay covered by the sheets while the candlelight cast shadows on the walls.

After moments like that, Albert never spoke. Neither of them did. But the way the light framed his features made you want to break that habit.

Wesker spoke, guessing your intentions:

"Don't try it. It's not that kind of moment."