She stands at the door, open just a little. She can hear the loud chattering of advertisements as they attempt humour; she can hear the clattering of keys interrupted by an occasional bark of laughter, and she can think of no reason to push the door open and cross the threshold.
“Come here sweet! Watch this!”, the man shouts, the sound of opening credits now blasting into her ear drums.
She turns and silently dashes down the hallway to the kitchen. She closes the door and leans back against it for a moment, allowing the steady rhythm of the radio to drown out the screeching crowds of people in her empty house. She slumps to the floor, eyes closed, mind saturated.