“It’s just laundry, Sylvie,” I replied, shrugging. “I’ve been doing it for years. Nothing’s happened yet.”

She raised an eyebrow, arms folded. “You can’t keep putting everything in the dryer. It ruins the fabric. Towels and sweaters don’t belong together.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re clothes. They get washed. End of story.”

What followed wasn’t exactly a fight, but a simmering back-and-forth. She insisted I was reckless, I insisted she was nitpicking. Neither of us gave an inch.

Weeks passed, and I noticed little things. My once-fluffy sweaters looked stretched thin. The fabric felt itchy instead of soft. A favorite blouse developed strange lines