from Derek, Mom, and even Dad, all trying to downplay the previous night’s events. They were full of excuses and half-hearted apologies, but I didn’t care to respond. Instead, I focused on Lucas, who was still sniffling, eyes red from crying himself to sleep. I made him breakfast, trying to infuse some normalcy into a day that felt anything but. As he ate, I promised him we’d replace the toys, but the truth is, replacements are never the same. Memories are tied to those items, emotions woven into their threads and plastic.
Later, as Lucas played quietly in his room with the few toys that had survived, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Dad standing there, looking uncharacteristically anxious.
“Please,” he said, his voice unsteady, “you have to talk to your brother. He’s in trouble at work—about to lose his job. I know you two had a falling out, but he needs your help.”
I met his gaze steadily. “Oh, I know,” I said softly, a small, ironic smile playing on my lips. “That was the plan.”
Dad blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“It means,” I explained, “that Derek’s behavior has consequences. He thought he could act without repercussions, but maybe now he’ll understand that his actions have weight.”
“You can’t just stand by and do nothing. You’re his brother!”
“Am I?” I countered, the sting of last night still fresh. “Last night, you all made it clear where I stand in this family. I’m just the soft one, remember? But maybe soft isn’t so bad if it means I don’t hurt others for fun.”
Dad was silent, struggling for words. He was caught in a web of his own making, unable to support Derek without acknowledging the toxic traits he had encouraged in his sons.
“Look, I’ll talk to him,” I said finally. “Not because you asked, but because it’s the right thing to do. For Lucas. He deserves to know that people can change, that people can grow.”
Dad nodded, relief washing over his features. “Thank you, Virgil.”
I closed the door, my mind already planning my conversation with Derek. It would be a difficult one, but necessary. As I walked back to Lucas’s room, I felt a sense of clarity.
Later that afternoon, I called Derek and arranged to meet. When we sat down at the café, I could tell he was on edge, but still trying to maintain his bravado.
“You really doing this to me, Virge?” he started, but I cut him off.
“This isn’t about you losing your job. It’s about understanding why you’re in this position. Last night wasn’t just about some toys. It was about respect and understanding. You want to be the tough guy? Fine. But real strength is knowing when to be gentle.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “And what if I don’t want to change?”
“Then you’ll keep losing the things that matter,” I replied, standing up to leave. “Think about it, Derek.”
I walked away, hoping my brother would realize that true toughness is about resilience, compassion, and, most importantly, the courage to change. As I headed home to Lucas, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Derek would find his way back to being a brother I could respect.
