The next morning, everyone acted like nothing happened. Derek, Mom, and Dad offered soft apologies, but none of it landed. I focused on Lucas, whose eyes were still swollen from crying himself to sleep.

I made him breakfast and promised we’d replace his toys, even though I knew new ones couldn’t replace the memories he’d lost.

Later, while Lucas played quietly, the doorbell rang. Dad stood there, looking shaken.

“Please,” he said. “You need to talk to your brother. Derek’s in trouble at work. He could lose his job.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s part of the point.”

He blinked, confused.

“Dad, Derek has spent his whole life hurting people and expecting someone else to clean it up. Maybe it’s time he faces the consequences.”

“You’re his brother,” he insisted.

“Am I?” I asked. “Because last night showed exactly where I stand in this family. The ‘soft one.’ But maybe being soft isn’t a flaw—at least I don’t tear down the people I love.”

Dad didn’t argue. For once, he really heard me.

“I’ll talk to him,” I finally said. “But for Lucas. He needs to see that people can choose to be better.”

I met Derek later at a café. He tried to look tough, but his eyes were worried.

“You’re really doing this to me?” he snapped.

“This isn’t about your job,” I said. “It’s about how you treat people. Last night wasn’t just about toys—it showed who you’ve become. Tough isn’t strength. Strength is knowing when to be gentle.”

He looked away. “And if I don’t want to change?”

“Then you’ll keep losing the people who love you,” I said. “That’s on you.”

When I got home, Lucas threw his arms around me. That small, tight hug gave me hope that maybe our family could start healing.

In the end, it wasn’t really about the toys. It was about accountability, empathy, and the difference between being strong and being cruel. And for Lucas, it became a quiet lesson: people make mistakes, but healing starts with honesty and kindness.