Snack time is usually uneventful, a small pause in the day defined by routine rather than surprise. It is one of those moments that rarely demands much attention: a familiar bag pulled from the pantry, the crinkle of packaging, the predictable smell that signals comfort and habit. That ordinariness is precisely why the moment felt so unsettling when it happened. My son tore open a sealed bag of sour cream–flavored chips, expecting nothing more than the usual cascade of snacks. Instead, mixed among the chips was something that immediately broke the pattern—a small, solid blue disk that clattered softly against the countertop as it fell free.

It didn’t look edible. It didn’t look accidental in the way a broken chip or seasoning clump might. It was smooth, uniform, and oddly deliberate in its shape. My reaction was instinctive and immediate. I stopped him from reaching into the bag again, a rush of concern overtaking the casual mood of the moment. The fact that the bag had been sealed made it worse. This wasn’t something that had fallen in at home. Whatever it was, it had come straight from the source. In those first seconds, my mind leapt through scenarios fueled by every food recall headline I had ever seen.