Sunday. Your father wants you to hear it, so he puts the tablet on the arm of the chair and asks her about the week. It is her voice, close enough that your neck goes cold, and she says she is glad he got the boiler sorted at last. The boiler broke in June, months after she died. Your father laughs at that, properly, the way he has not laughed at anything you have said in a year. Tomas is in the kitchen and has not come in.
Her Voice on the Tablet