She cried as she watched the television presenter say goodbye to the show he’d hosted for ten years. She cried as he cried on the screen, real tears flickering through pixels.
She cried more as she watched the footage of him doing charity work, and as the children he had worked with sent messages of thanks.
She brewed a cup of Earl Grey tea and cried for her own days; suburban, withdrawn, every second of her life scheduled on her planner.
But most of all, she cried for her own voice: faint, weakened, and mocking, and fading each evening to silence.