So I made a fourth pile.
Then I went upstairs, found four empty laundry baskets, and carried them down.
I put Vanessa’s clothes in one, Josh’s in another, the children’s clothes in the third, and everything I couldn’t identify into the fourth.
I wrote labels on four sheets of paper: Vanessa, Josh, Kids, and Other.
Then I set detergent on the dryer, put dryer sheets beside it, and pulled a chair away from the wall.
That was it.
No ruined clothes. No dye. No revenge.
Just four baskets of dirty laundry and everything Vanessa needed to deal with them herself.
I went back outside and had a hamburger.
At six, Vanessa went downstairs to collect everything.
Seconds later, I heard her scream.
“What did you do?!”
Everyone ran downstairs.
Vanessa stood in the middle of the laundry room staring at the baskets. Josh came down behind her, followed by the kids, who stopped on the stairs when they sensed the mood.
I pointed toward the family room.
“Kids, go upstairs for a minute.”
They didn’t argue.
When they were gone, Vanessa turned to me.
“Why is everything still dirty?”
“I sorted it for you.”
She stared at me.
“But you didn’t wash anything.”
