The third screw on the left side rail of the white wooden baby crib would not take. Elena Vance held her breath, pressing the tip of the flat-head screwdriver into the brass slot, but the metal turned uselessly in the soft, stripped pine. Every turn produced only a tiny pinch of white wood dust that fell onto the dark kitchen floor, settling in the deep grooves of the oak planks.
Across the granite island, the high-efficiency hum of the commercial refrigerator vibrated through the small glass of orange juice Julian had left untouched near the sink. He was standing by the double windows that faced the street, his gold watch catching the low October sun as he adjusted the cuffs of his French blue shirt with quick, aggressive movements.
“A modern household does not halt daily operations for a minor fastening issue, Elena,” Julian said, his back still turned to her. His fingers were busy with the heavy gold links his mother had given him for his promotion to regional president, his movements automatic and precise.
Elena twisted the plain silver band on her right index finger, her skin dry from the early autumn wind that had begun to leak through the kitchen window seals. She had spent forty minutes on her knees on the cold tile trying to secure the safety rail while six-week-old Maya slept in the wind-up swing near the pantry door.
“It is not a minor fastening issue, Julian,” Elena said, her voice slow and deliberate as she sat back on her heels. “The rail wobbles when she shifts her weight. If she rolls against this side when she is older, the wood will splinter and the whole left rail will collapse into the floor.”
Julian checked his watch again, his wrist snapping back with a sharp, practiced movement that clicked the metal band against his skin. “Then we initiate a standard replacement protocol. I will have Serena contact the logistics coordinator at the main office to source a replacement from the regional supplier. We have a corporate allowance for emergency domestic expenditures.”
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