“You didn’t,” he whispered to Gloria. “You monster.”

The drain pump whirred—a clean, confident hum. Water sloshed. Then, a glorious, thunderous WHOOSH as the murky lagoon was sucked into the abyss.

A belch of black, oily water erupted. It smelled like a swamp that had eaten a block of cheddar. Arthur yelped. The dog yelped. Priya, from the living room, simply sighed.

Priya groaned. “Just run the rinse cycle again.”

“No,” he said, closing the door with a gentle click. “I negotiated peace.”

He consulted the internet. The internet, in its infinite wisdom, gave him a list:

Priya came in. “Did you fix it?”