Sylvie and I had always been close, but living together had a way of testing even the strongest bonds. Our tiny apartment seemed to magnify everything—my habit of leaving tea cups around, her way of always borrowing clothes without asking. Still, I thought we managed just fine. Until the laundry debate started.

It began innocently enough, with me tossing my sweaters and delicate tops into the wash like I always did. “Why are you throwing that in there?” Sylvie asked one evening, her voice carrying that mix of concern and superiority only a big sister can pull off.

Continues…