As usual, he was half a wake when the alarm sounded.
He shut it off quickly and lay still for a while. Without disturbing the bed too much, he slid out and pulled on his dressing gown in the dark. It was his special routine. He went through to the waiting kettle, already topped up. He switched it on and dropped two teabags into their best teacups. While it was boiling, he slipped bread into the toaster and turned it on. In the following minutes he laid the table with plates, marmalade, and a knife placed alongside of the butter dish. Not an expensive piece of crockery, but they had always treated it with care. He had won it for her at the fair. She had told him how beautiful it was. He stood for a while remembering the look in her eyes that night.
The clicking of kitchen appliances brought him back. He poured the tea and buttered the toast. He sat at the table and reluctantly allowed his special routine to end. For the first time that morning, like every other morning since…
…he looked across at the empty chair.