My mother-in-law gave us an expensive baby formula as a gift. But the second we got home, I threw it straight into the trash. My husband exploded, “I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS UNGRATEFUL DISRESPECT.”. I looked at him and said, “Take a closer look at the back of the can.”

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the country was locked in the terrifying grip of a severe baby formula shortage. Store shelves were stripped bare. Mothers were panicked. The news was a constant churn of fear.

But Victoria Hayes did not do fear.

She did acquisition.

She swept into my kitchen, her heels striking the tile like accusations, with my husband, Graham, trailing behind her. Graham was thirty-four, a junior partner at his father’s firm, and when it came to his mother, he had the backbone of wet paper. He was obedient, eager, and terrified of disappointing her.

Victoria stopped at the island and, with theatrical satisfaction, pulled six heavy silver tins from her designer bag. Each canister gleamed beneath the recessed lights. Gold-stamped letters across the front read: NovaLuxe: Premier Infant Nutrition. The label was entirely in French.