Chapter 172

It started with a phone call during what was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon.

Jennie had barely sat down with a cup of coffee when her phone buzzed nonstop on the table. Beside her, Lisa was already suspicious, because daycare never called unless it involved something between “mild chaos” and “full disaster.”

“Hello…?” Jennie answered cautiously.

A teacher’s voice came through, overly calm in that way adults get when something is definitely not calm at all. “Hi… so, Ruby is… involved in a situation.”

Lisa immediately leaned in. “What kind of situation.”

There was a pause.

“…A toy-related dispute.”

They were at the daycare in under ten minutes.

And what they walked into did not look like a normal dispute. It looked like a tiny emotional battlefield.

Ruby stood in the middle of the room like a furious little general, cheeks puffed, eyes watery but blazing with determination. In her tiny hands-well, almost in her tiny hands, because she was gripping it like it was a national treasure-was her beloved dumpling plushie. The soft, round, slightly squished toy that she had named “Dumpling” because, in her words, “baby dumpling loves dumpling.”

Across from her stood a boy about her age, clutching the other half of the problem: refusing to let go of the plush’s sleeve like it was a matter of life and death.

The moment Ruby saw her parents, she pointed dramatically.

“STEALING IS BAD!” she announced at full volume, voice cracking with toddler fury. “YOU WANT TO GO TO JAIL?! GIVE BACK MY DUMPLING!!!”

Silence.

Even the daycare teacher froze.

Then Ruby, fueled by pure injustice and emotional betrayal, made her move-launching forward like a tiny storm cloud in pigtails.

“Ruby-!” Lisa started, half panicked, half trying not to laugh.

Jennie already had her hand out, ready to intercept if needed, but Ruby’s “attack” amounted more to a dramatic shove and a firm reclaiming of her plushie while crying at the same time.

The boy immediately burst into tears too.

Within seconds, it escalated into what the teachers would later only describe as: “the Royal Rumble incident.”

Two toddlers crying. One plushie in the center. Emotional damage on both sides.

Ruby clutched Dumpling tightly against her chest, tears rolling down her face as she turned sharply away from the boy.

“I HATE HIM FOREVER,” she declared, voice muffled into her toy. “HE IS STICK BOY. BAD STICK BOY.”

Lisa blinked slowly. “Stick boy?”

Jennie covered her mouth, trying not to laugh at the sheer seriousness of it all.

The teacher quickly explained, trying to salvage dignity. Apparently, the boy had “borrowed” Dumpling during playtime and then refused to give it back because he “decided it was his now.” Classic toddler logic. Territorial acquisition of plush property.

Ruby, however, was not having any of it.

Because Ruby had one rule in life:

She does not share Dumpling.

Not with classmates. Not with random kids. Not with anyone.

Except Mommy and Mama.

Lisa crouched down carefully, voice soft. “Baby, you can’t launch at people.”

Ruby sniffled aggressively. “He took Dumpling.”

Jennie knelt beside her, gently fixing her hair. “We understand. But Dumpling is safe now, okay?”

Ruby hugged the plush tighter, as if verifying its existence. “Dumpling is traumatized.”

“It is… very fluffy,” Jennie agreed.

The boy’s teacher managed to retrieve the other child and gently mediate the return of emotional peace (and plush property rights). After some reluctant negotiation and a dramatic toddler handshake that looked more like confused waving, Dumpling was officially restored to its rightful owner.

Ruby immediately turned her back on the boy again.

“Still stick boy,” she muttered.

Lisa sighed. “We are not starting lifelong rivalries at age three.”

Ruby did not respond.

Instead, she buried her face into Dumpling and whispered, “We go home now. Safe place. No thieves.”

On the ride home, the car was unusually quiet except for occasional sniffles and the soft squeak of Ruby squeezing her plush like it might disappear again if she blinked.

Jennie glanced at Lisa. “She’s really serious about that toy.”

Lisa nodded. “She just declared war.”

From the back seat, Ruby suddenly spoke again, very solemn.

“Dumpling is my best friend.”

Jennie softened immediately. “Of course it is.”

Ruby hugged it tighter. “And Mommy and Mama are second best friends.”

Lisa smiled. “We’ll take it.”

A pause.

Then Ruby added, still sulking slightly, “Stick boy is last place forever.”

And just like that, the Royal Rumble incident became family legend-right between “the great juice spill crisis” and “the bedtime negotiation treaty.”

But for Ruby, it wasn’t just a story.

It was justice.

And Dumpling was safe.