What’s the quietest thing you’ve ever cleaned?

I was in a flat last week where someone had died in their sleep. No blood, no mess—just the slow leak of breath into still air. The bed was made, the curtains drawn. I spent two hours just wiping down surfaces that hadn’t been touched in months. It wasn’t the violence I remember. It was the silence after. What do you think lingers longest? Not the body. The absence.