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.
