Chapter 2: I'm Disabled!?
"Fiona… my daughter… let me take a good look at you," Frank said softly, staring at Fiona in a daze as he gently touched her cheek.
"Did you remember something?" Fiona asked, a bit uncomfortable with his sudden affection—but she didn't push his hand away.
"No… not really. But your name sounds so familiar. Are you really my daughter? Do I have more kids?" Frank asked.
"You have a lot of kids," Fiona replied. "Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, and Liam."
"Oh my God… that many? I must be the happiest father in the world," Frank murmured.
Fiona didn't respond—her expression was complicated, her silence louder than words.
"Right… what about your mother?" Frank asked suddenly, the thought striking him.
"She left a long time ago," Fiona said, pressing her lips into a thin line.
"She… passed away?" Frank froze.
"No, she just… left," Fiona replied.
"Oh." Frank instantly understood what she meant.
He might have lost his memory, but that didn't mean he'd lost his ability to think. From Fiona's words, it was clear—the children's mother, his wife, had abandoned them. Whether she'd left long ago or after he was hospitalized, he couldn't tell. And not wanting to touch on Fiona's wounds, he chose not to ask further.
"It's okay… if she left, then she left. You still have your dad. I'll take care of all of you. I won't let anyone hurt you," Frank said, wrapping his arms around Fiona.
Fiona froze for a moment. Then slowly, she returned the hug.
"Why are you crying?" Frank asked nervously, seeing the redness in her eyes.
"It's nothing. We should get going," Fiona said with a smile, wiping away her tears.
"Are these my clothes? Ugh… what is that smell? How long has it been since they were washed?" Frank grimaced as he took the clothes.
They were filthy and reeked—not just of sour sweat, but also of vomit. Even a beggar wouldn't wear them.
Frank couldn't imagine what kind of life he had been living before waking up in the hospital if he had been dressed like that.
Whatever it had been, there was no way he was putting on those clothes again. He didn't even want to touch them.
Noticing Frank's obvious discomfort, Fiona turned and left the hospital room without a word.
Frank watched as she strolled casually down the hallway like she was out for a walk, peeking into rooms as she passed. Then, with a swift motion, she slipped into one of the rooms. Moments later, she reappeared with a set of clean clothes in her arms—obviously stolen.
"This… isn't right," Frank said nervously as she handed him the clothes.
"It's fine. Hurry up and change," Fiona said, eyeing him like he was being ridiculous for caring. "We'll get caught if you don't hurry."
"Why don't we just return these and buy some new ones?" Frank hesitated.
"We don't have money for new clothes. Just put them on—quickly," she said, already pulling the clothes over his head.
"Alright, alright! I'll do it myself," Frank said hurriedly.
Once he was changed, Fiona took him out of the hospital. She walked out confidently, but Frank crept along nervously like a thief. He only relaxed once they made it past the front door.
They didn't drive or take a cab. Fiona simply led him on foot and onto the subway.
As they walked through the streets of Chicago, Frank looked around. Everything felt foreign… yet strangely familiar.
Instead of heading straight home, Fiona brought Frank to a government office building, where two boys were waiting.
The boy on the left looked about seventeen or eighteen—tall and handsome, with a pair of lifeless, dead-fish eyes that made him oddly stand out.
The one on the right was younger, around fifteen or sixteen, with a face that still held some boyish softness. He was good-looking too, almost pretty, with freckles across his cheeks.
"Thank God. You finally made it," one of them said as they walked up.
"Who are they?" Frank asked.
"This is Lip. And this is Ian," Fiona said simply.
The older boy with the dead-fish eyes was Lip.
The younger boy on the right, the one with freckles, was Ian.
"Fiona, what's going on with him?" Lip, the one with the dead-fish eyes, asked as he eyed the two of them with surprise.
"It's… a long story. To keep it short—Frank has amnesia," Fiona replied helplessly.
"What!?" Lip and Ian exclaimed in unison, stunned.
"He really lost his memory?" Ian asked again, needing confirmation.
"Lip, Ian—you said in the hospital that these two are my sons!" Frank said excitedly.
"Come give your dad a hug—my sons, oh my God!" Frank threw his arms around both boys and kissed their foreheads enthusiastically.
"...!!" Lip and Ian stood frozen, completely dumbfounded.
"Wait, daughter—what are we doing here? Weren't we going home?" Frank asked, turning to Fiona.
"It's the last Friday of the month," she replied.
"…What does that mean?" Frank asked, visibly confused.
"Well, I believe you now—he really lost his memory. He doesn't even remember something this important," Lip muttered to Fiona, giving Frank another assessing look.
"What's so special about today?" Frank asked again.
"It's disability benefits day," Ian answered.
"Oh… and?" Frank prompted.
"Let's talk later. First, we need to get inside and collect the money," Fiona said, pulling Frank into the office lobby.
"This… this is my name… Wait—I'm disabled!?" Frank exclaimed in disbelief after seeing his name on the disability form they were helping him fill out.
After collecting the benefits, they walked out of the building. Fiona held the money in her hands, glancing over at Frank.
"He doesn't even remember this money," Lip said. "We might as well keep it. It's enough to keep the heat on through the winter."
"Do you think he'll ever get his memory back?" Ian asked. "If he does, he's gonna freak out for sure. What did the doctor say?"
"The doctor said it could be one of two things: long-term drug damage, which is irreversible… or a head injury, which might heal with time," Fiona replied.
"Either way, we're keeping this money," Lip muttered. "Even if he does remember, we're not giving it back."
The three of them huddled, speaking quietly among themselves.
"What are you guys talking about?" Frank asked as he walked over. "Shouldn't we be heading home?"
Since Frank hadn't asked for the money, Fiona stuffed the cash into her pocket. The three kids led Frank home.
Their house was located on the South Side of Chicago—a two-story wooden home with a spacious yard. It looked like a small villa, but in reality, it was just a modest, middle-class American home.