It was a Tuesday, the kind of slow, humid Tuesday where time seemed to stick to everything, especially the kitchen sink. Leo stared into the dark, wet maw of the drain. The water was draining slower than a turtle with a pulled muscle. A faint, sour smell—like forgotten vegetables and old secrets—wafted up.
“It’s haunted,” his seven-year-old daughter, Mia, whispered from behind him. clean drain with baking soda
Leo shoved the stopper into the fizzing chaos. For five minutes, they just listened. Gurgle. Fizz. Gurgle. The drain groaned once, then sighed, then went silent. It was a Tuesday, the kind of slow,