A Different Kind of Silence

Carrie flopped down onto her bed without thinking, kicking one leg up as she reached for the CD player. Music filled the room.

“God, I missed this.”

Viktoria laughed, dropping onto the floor by the bed. But she didn’t relax. She chewed on her lip, like she wanted to say something and couldn’t quite find the words.

“What’s the deal?” Carrie glanced down at her.

“Well… your dad.” Viktoria hesitated. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with him doing the laundry.”

“Why?” Carrie shrugged. “He’s done mine for years. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, but…” Her voice trailed off.

A message came in.

Seconds later, Carrie was absorbed in a chat with a guy from college. The music, the screen, the soft buzz of replies stacking up. It all blurred together until everything else slipped out of focus.

Time passed without her noticing.

At some point, she laughed out loud, rolling onto her side. “Okay, listen Vik, that’s actually so dumb…”

She stopped.

No response.

Carrie frowned slightly, pushing herself up onto one elbow, glancing around.

“Vik?”

Nothing.

The house felt quiet. Not silent—the music was still playing—but empty in a new way.

“She probably went to grab something,” Carrie muttered.

Still.

She paused the music.

Silence settled around her. Distant sounds surfaced, soft and indistinct.

Carrie swung her legs off the bed and stood, brushing her hands against her sweatpants as she stepped into the hallway.

“Vik?” she called, a little louder this time.

No answer.

She moved toward the stairs, slower now, listening.

There was a low, steady noise. Rhythmic. Coming from the basement.

The dryer.

Carrie let out a small breath, tension easing just a fraction. “Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “She’s doing it herself? What’s her problem?”

It almost made her smile.

How could her friend feel so weird about it? It wasn't as if her dad was stealing their underwear.

Carrie stepped down a few stairs, leaning slightly over the railing. The light from downstairs stretched across the floor, faint but enough to guide her.

“Vik, you don’t have to…”

She stopped mid-sentence.

There was something else.

Not just the dryer.

Carrie tilted her head, listening more carefully.

A voice. Her dad.

Of course.

Then another. Viktoria.

They were talking?

The words muffled under the steady hum and tumble.

Carrie frowned.

But she didn’t move.

Her fingers curled against the railing.

They’re just talking.

That’s normal.

Easy.

She told herself. Still, she stayed where she was.

Curiosity nudged at her.

Carrie shifted her weight. She could go back upstairs. Turn the music back on. Pretend she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Her gaze dropped toward the thin line of light at the bottom of the laundry room door.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

Then took one more step down.