That evening, a woman from three streets over knocked on their front door.
She had missed the library event because her car would not start.
Her son slept against her shoulder, and she carried a photograph of a label on her phone.
“I heard you might know who to call,” she said.
Elena recognized the tired uncertainty in her expression.
She did not promise that the seat was safe or that a replacement would be available immediately.
Instead she found the county information sheet, checked that the telephone line was still staffed, and helped the woman make an appointment.
The woman asked whether the government would ever tell them exactly how so many questionable seats had reached their homes.
“They are still working through that,” Elena said.
“I hope they explain it to every family, not just the people who complained.”
The woman nodded and tucked the paper into her coat.
As she turned to leave, Finn brought her a clean envelope from the kitchen drawer.
“You can keep the number in here,” he suggested.
She thanked him and carefully folded the appointment details inside.
Elena watched them walk toward the sidewalk before closing the door.
The last thing she heard was the little boy asking his mother when they could go for a ride again.
The End.
