There is a woman—me— with a house full of twelve people. Alhamdulillah. It is loud. It is full. It is alive. And always— we have a hill of laundry. I fold. I sort. I have my kids on folding duties. Small hands matching socks, older ones complaining in silence, everyone moving somewhere between help and chaos. And somehow, it still multiplies in the dark. Sometimes we fold as best as we can and just tuck things into drawersthe ones we promise we will revisit in six months. Maybe. We fold once a week, on the weekend. Five, six, seven,basketfuls of clothing. It is an everlasting job. Sometimes, I just close…