SUDS

The laundromat sat on a loud corner of New York City, squeezed between a closed bakery and a shop that sold phone cases. Inside, the air was warm and smelled like soap and wet cloth. Rows of washing machines shook and rattled, and the dryers thumped in slow, steady beats. The lights overhead buzzed like tired insects.

Gwen sat on a hard plastic chair with a laundry basket at her feet. None of the clothes were hers. That part always made her nervous.

She kept telling herself she belonged here. She was trained. She was capable. Still, the thought crept in, as it always did.

You’re not good enough. You’re just pretending.

She pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking.

The door opened with a small bell. A man walked in, tall and thin, wearing a dark coat that looked too heavy for the season. Michael. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he went to a washer near the back and dropped in a single shirt. He added no soap.

That was the signal.

Gwen stood and walked toward him, pretending to search through her basket. Her heartbeat hard in her ears.

“Busy night,” she said, staring at the machines instead of his face. That was her passcode.

“Busy as always,” Michael replied.

That wasn’t his password ah... shit.

The tone was right. The words were wrong.

Gwen felt it then. A tight feeling, low in her chest. Something was off.

She reached into her basket as if to pull out detergent. Michael moved fast. His hand grabbed her wrist. A knife appeared in his other hand, small and sharp.

“You weren’t supposed to figure it out,” he said.

The world seemed to narrow. The sounds of the laundromat faded into a dull roar. Gwen thought of every mistake she had ever made. Every time she had been sure she would fail.

Then she moved.

She twisted her arm the way she had been taught and slammed her elbow into his ribs. Michael gasped. The knife swung wide and hit nothing but air. Gwen stepped in close and drove her knee into his leg. He stumbled back into a rolling cart. Quarters spilled across the floor.

Michael lunged again. Gwen ducked and shoved him hard. He fell, hitting the tile with a sharp crack. The knife slid from his hand.

She kicked it away.

Michael tried to get up, but Gwen pinned him down with her weight. Her breathing was fast, but her mind was clear.

“You’re a double spy,” she said. “And you’re bad at it.”

He laughed once, weak and bitter. “You always thought you were smarter than you were.”

Gwen ignored him. She searched his coat with quick hands. Inside, she found a folded piece of paper.

A different address.

Another laundromat.

Her real contact.

Her hands trembled as she read it. Not from fear, but from something else. Relief. Pride.

She had been right. She had trusted herself.

Michael groaned beneath her, but she was already standing. Around them, the laundry matt continued it fluorescent light hum.

Gwen sat back down in her chair. She placed the paper carefully into her pocket. The doubt that usually followed her was quiet now.

She looked at her reflection in the glass of a dryer. She saw a woman with a split lip and tired eyes. She also saw someone strong.

Someone real.

The washers continued to spin. Gwen waited, calm and steady, ready to move when the time came.

Nathaniel Tyler Pullen was Raised in the Deep South, later becoming an Army Ranger. Nathaniel grew up surrounded by tradition, faith, and unspoken rules—elements that later became the foundation for this story. He is a vocal advocate for mental health awareness and LGBTQ+ rights, and he believes storytelling is a powerful tool for empathy and change.