Roberta Flack, the legendary voice behind “Killing Me Softly,” has officially declared her retirement from performing, embracing life with the grace of a diva and the flair of a dramatic soap opera character. The 88-year-old songstress, who recently revealed that motor neurone disease had silenced her once-mesmerizing pipes, made her final bow in a ceremony that can only be described as a heartfelt blend of farewell and sheer theatricality. Fans gathered at her farewell event, which was part concert, part therapy session, and part lively debate about whether cats are better than dogs. As Flack was wheeled onto the stage with the delicate fanfare usually reserved for monarchs, she cracked jokes about how the real tragedy of her disease was that it meant she would no longer be forced to listen to karaoke night at the local pub. “I’ll miss hearing my life as a ballad, but trust me, you won’t miss my karaoke,” she declared, eliciting laughter and a few sympathetic sobs from the audience. Born in North Carolina and raised in the suburban bliss of Arlington, Virginia, Flack’s journey to stardom started with an impressive stint as a classical pianist and music teacher. One might say she was somewhat of a musical prodigy, though she preferred to think of herself as “the underachiever who finally got lucky.” When asked about her breakthrough moment in her 30s—because who doesn’t love a late bloomer—she reminisced about being discovered by Les McCann in a jazz club, a moment she described as “the day someone finally listened to me sing instead of asking what I thought of the nachos.” In what could only be described as an extravagant act of redemption, the event featured a surprise appearance from a hologram of Flack herself from the 1970s, when she was too busy winning Grammy Awards to worry about diseases. The hologram sang every note flawlessly, while the real Flack, now confined to a wheelchair, encouraged the audience to “applaud the younger me, who was living life like it was a Broadway musical.” As the event wound down, Flack took a moment to address the music industry’s penchant for recycling old hits and reviving long-forgotten stars. “If they can bring back a 90s boy band, surely they can resurrect my career when I’m just a hologram floating around, right?” she joked. The audience, caught somewhere between laughter and existential dread, nodded in agreement. As Roberta quietly exited the stage—waving goodbye in a manner reminiscent of the final scene of a beloved sitcom—one thing became clear: life may have dealt her a difficult hand, but she turned it into a standing ovation. And if nothing else, her parting sage advice echoed louder than any of her greatest hits: “Always make sure your final encore is better than the opening act, and if it isn’t, just blame the lighting crew.” And with that, the curtains closed on a career that taught us all to live and love passionately, even if it means putting the karaoke mic down for good.