Come here, sweetie. Let’s pull the covers over our heads and laugh while we roll around and tickle fight inside our love cocoon of pure white linen.

This memory will be the perfect image to flashback to while you stand at my graveside in the rain, staring grimly at my headstone and clenching your fist in rage. Whether Dmitri “the Razor” Puchenko and his men intended to kill me, or I just happened to get caught in the crossfire, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to make them pay either way.

What are you doing, silly? Stop recording me on your phone while I dance barefoot on the beach, my dress flaring out around me as the waves splash my ankles, and come over here.

Don’t worry about getting your clothes wet! Just wrap your arms around my waist and rest your chin on my shoulder while we watch the waves roll in together. You’ll want to remember this moment before you charge into your first big gun battle with Dmitri the Razor’s anonymous henchmen and make your pain theirs.

Hold my hands, darling. Gaze into my eyes while we recite our wedding vows and forge an eternal bond that not even death can break. Let our love give you strength. After Dmitri the Razor’s men capture you, tie you to a chair, and beat you senseless, you’ll need to draw upon all that strength to break free and make them wish they’d just killed you when they had the chance. And then when one of the dead men’s phones starts ringing and you answer it and hear Dmitri’s voice on the other end, you’ll tell him you’re still alive and you’re coming for him, and you’ll realize the phrase “'til death” has taken on a whole new meaning.

Walk with me, honey. Let’s stroll the sun-dappled paths of Central Park together on this beautiful autumn day. Look at the foliage! Isn’t it breathtaking? The trees are exploding with color like frozen fireworks, almost as if nature itself is celebrating our love.

Cherish this moment, my dear husband, and think back on it while you’re speeding along the road to your final confrontation with Dmitri the Razor, your jaw set in stone, fingers tightening around the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. As you glare out the windshield at the road ahead, the blackness of the surrounding night will contrast sharply with the vibrant brightness of your memory, making a subtle visual metaphor for how the light has gone out of your life since I died.

Look at me, my love. See how when I stand just right, the setting sun seems to frame my body and give me an angelic glow? Once you’ve killed Dmitri Puchenko and been shot in the gut, this memory will seem almost like a vision, an apparition coming to guide you into the afterlife.

Shh, it’s all right. My spirit will be with you. Just close your eyes and remember my face. Droop your head forward, whisper my name, and slowly slump over onto your side. Take my hand, sweetheart, and I’ll guide you to the light.

The light of your hospital room as you wake up to the steady beeping of your heart monitor, because who are we kidding, of course you’re going to survive. The studio is gonna want to make at least a trilogy out of this.