We were on our way home, Kat and I. When we took a left onto the bridge, a guy in a truck, who had been waiting to turn right, inexplicably turned in front of us. After narrowly missing him — I swerved and he braked at the last second — I cursed at him and shook my fists and did all the regular things you do when you feel wronged as a driver. We drove on, my heart pounding, and I’d almost forgotten about my five-year-old daughter in the back seat until she suddenly piped up.
“And that’s why you wear seat belts!” she said.