Oh shit, here we go again.
That's right, folks, updating my biggest source of depression. Haha, honestly, I don't want to give spoilers, but I just want to say everything I have planned all at once.
There were no critical reviews in the last chapter. (Let's leave it at 'there were no reviews.') So I want to assume I'm on the right track.
And to be honest, that's all I have to say. Now, enjoy.
Bandit now felt different.
Talking with his family had given him brief relief—the kind of calm that only comes from the silent embrace of those who know you beyond words and mistakes.
However, the return of the pain had been brutal, like a freshly reopened wound, when his brothers reminded him of something he himself had forgotten: the death of his father. How could he have forgotten something so important? Wasn't his Alzheimer's supposed to be in its early stages? Each question felt like a dagger driving deeper into his already wounded conscience.
The drive to Radley's house was silent. Chilli was beside him, gripping the wheel firmly with one hand and holding his hand with the other. Since they'd left the hospital, she hadn't let go of his hand. "Wow, she really hasn't let go," Bandit thought, leaning his head on his wife's shoulder.
Chilli, despite driving, didn't oppose the gesture, even though it could have been a distraction that might cause an accident. To be honest, she wouldn't mind dying if it meant being with her entire family. Reuniting with her parents wouldn't be such a bad idea. "I miss you too, Dad," she thought as she tightened her grip on Bandit's hand. But now wasn't the time to die—not when her daughters needed her.
When they arrived at Radley's house, they found their daughters asleep, curled up on the couch. Their cheeks were slightly stained with remnants of kids' makeup from the "salon" Frisky had set up for them. They'd played so much that they'd passed out, and the sight of their little, innocent faces, filled with trust and love, nearly brought Bandit to tears.
He watched them for several long seconds, wondering how much longer he'd be able to remember nights like these.
Frisky's voice, drowsy but curious, pulled him out of his thoughts. She stood up from the armchair, squinting and trying to focus as she gave them a scrutinizing look. "Now you're going to tell me what's going on," she murmured, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Rad will tell you," Chilli replied softly, letting the words fall from her lips like a sigh. "I don't have the strength or the words to explain it right now."
Frisky blinked, surprised. She and Chilli always shared everything, even the smallest secrets, and Bandit knew that his sister-in-law hadn't expected such an evasive response. The mere fact that Chilli wasn't willing to tell her something made it clear to Frisky that whatever it was, it was serious.
Bandit, watching Frisky's expression, felt a knot in his stomach. Radley wasn't going to have it easy. He was so bad at communicating that he hadn't even been able to properly tell his wife he wanted to move.
Without asking any more questions, Frisky gave them a silent look of understanding. She glanced at the sleeping girls, then at Bandit, giving him a slight nod. "I'll find out sooner or later. I'd prefer it came from you, but I'll respect your choice not to tell me now," she said as she sat down, waiting for Radley to arrive.
Chilli hugged her friend, silently lamenting that she couldn't bring herself to tell her about Bandit just yet.
Bandit carried his daughters from the couch to the car. As he walked out of the house with the girls in his arms, he felt a strange mix of fear and compassion. He knew his greatest challenge was still ahead: he would have to tell his daughters that he wouldn't remember them by the time they graduated from university.
Bandit opened the car door and carefully placed each girl in her seat. Oh, how much he loved those girls with all his heart! "I hope my heart never forgets that," Bandit thought as he climbed into the driver's seat.
"Oh, Bandit, you're not driving! Remember, you could forget the truck," Chilli shouted, running toward the car to stop him from taking the wheel.
Bandit gave himself a light smack on the head. "I'd already forgotten about that," he thought, irritated. It had only been a few days since the diagnosis had been confirmed, and he already hated Alzheimer's with all his being. Why had God punished him this way? Was the devil trying to take his soul while leaving his family with a burden? He didn't know if beings from the beyond were fighting to keep him in his body.
Snapping back to reality, he moved to the passenger seat. He hated not being able to drive, but they couldn't risk him losing the car again. The police had already done so much to find it and return it.
The silence in the car during the drive home was tense. Chilli and Bandit both knew it was time to have a difficult conversation with their daughters, but neither could find the right way to approach it.
And honestly, how the heck do you tell your kids you have Alzheimer's?
Telling his brothers had been painful, but it had been easier because they were adults who could reason and process the news. The girls, though, would undoubtedly ask: Why? Why this? Why that? And all the typical questions kids would ask.
"Are you trying to figure out how to tell them?" Chilli asked, keeping her eyes on the road.
Bandit snapped out of his thoughts, trying to stay present. "No, I know exactly how we'll tell them," he replied, his words filled with an unusual confidence.
That night, once they were back in the calm of their home, Chilli and Bandit sat together on the couch after putting their daughters to bed. Bandit had given them their goodnight kisses—one for each of them, just in case he forgot later.
They both knew that the next day would bring a complicated conversation, and every word they had to say felt like an overwhelming burden. The reality of what they were facing was deeper and more challenging than anything they had encountered before.
"How do we explain it without scaring them too much?" Bandit murmured, staring at the floor where the lamp's light cast long shadows. His voice revealed frustration and a hint of fear. He didn't want his daughters to feel afraid, but he wasn't willing to lie to them either.
Chilli sighed and gently took his hand, giving it a soft squeeze, just as she had done so many times over the past few days. "We have to be honest, but we don't need to tell them every detail," she replied calmly, though her eyes reflected the same anguish he felt. "We can explain that Daddy has a condition that sometimes makes him forget things… even important things. That he's going to need help and patience, but that he will always, always love them."
Bandit nodded, though he felt a restlessness inside that he couldn't shake. "What if they ask us if it's going to get worse? Or what will happen in a few years? Bluey is very perceptive; she'll definitely ask. And Bingo…" His voice broke as he imagined his youngest daughter's reaction, always so empathetic, and he felt fear swell in his chest.
Sensing his worry, Chilli leaned toward him and looked at him with infinite tenderness. "Bandit, they need to know they will always be your girls, no matter what. We don't have to give them all the answers right away. We can answer their questions little by little. Besides, I don't think they'll ask such complicated things about memory."
With a sigh, Bandit rested his head on Chilli's shoulder, letting himself be enveloped by the calm she radiated. "I wish they didn't have to go through this," he murmured, feeling his eyes burn with the pressure of unshed tears. Ever since receiving the diagnosis, it felt like his tears had dried up, like the Atacama Desert.
Chilli delicately ran her fingers through his hair. "I know it's hard, but they will learn to process it," she said softly, squeezing his hand once again.
At that moment, Bandit realized she had been holding his hand all day, giving it gentle squeezes—even now, late at night. "My love," Bandit said, ready to ask about the question that had been lingering in his mind since that afternoon. "You've been squeezing my hand all day, every day. Why do you do it?" he asked, looking at her with curiosity.
Chilli looked at Bandit with an expression full of tenderness and sorrow. She held his hand firmly and answered in a soft voice, "Bandit, I've been squeezing your hand because I need to feel you close. I'm so afraid of losing you, just like a few days ago. If it weren't for the police, you wouldn't have come back that day. Besides, it's something we women do to protect our children. I don't think it's wrong to do it for my husband." Her eyes filled with tears, which began to slide down her cheeks. "I won't leave you alone in this, my love. Much less will I let you drift away from me."
Bandit felt his heart tighten at Chilli's words. He intertwined his fingers with hers and pulled her closer, wrapping her in a protective embrace.
"Thank you, my love. Thank you for being with me through this. I know it won't be easy, but with you by my side, it will be bearable. I love you, Chilli, and I promise I'll do everything I can to remember you, to remember our daughters, and to hold on to the moments we've lived together."
"Oh, are you going to get this romantic every day?" Chilli asked, smiling as she felt Bandit's warmth.
Bandit looked at his wife, mock offense written on his face. "When have I not been romantic, Chilli?"
Chilli let out a small laugh. "Oh, now my husband's offended over a little joke."
"Hey, you know I've always been romantic. Though I think if you help me tell my mom about my Alzheimer's, I might forgive you."
Chilli froze. "Bandit," she whispered with concern. "I'll take care of it tomorrow."
Finally, they decided they'd done enough for one day. Exhausted but united, they climbed the stairs to their bedroom. In silence, they let the routine bring a semblance of peace to their minds, though the conversation awaiting them the next day still weighed heavily in the air. They slid under the covers, and Bandit felt the accumulated fatigue of the past few days begin to lull him to sleep.
Chilli curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Even though they didn't say another word, they both knew that beat was enough to bring closure to the day's conversation.
With his eyes closed, Bandit felt the warmth of Chilli beside him, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to stop thinking about those little moments of forgetfulness. Though the pain and uncertainty remained, that night, held by the woman he loved, he knew that facing the next day would be a little easier.
In the stillness of the early morning, as the house lay silent, Bandit let himself drift into sleep—sleep to escape the memories of what was happening. Ironically, he would forget he had the disease because of the disease itself.
Radley had waited until the atmosphere in his house had settled. He knew he couldn't avoid it any longer; he had promised Bandit and Chilli that he would tell her, but he still didn't know how to approach the subject.
Taking a deep breath, he sat down next to Frisky on the couch. She looked up, immediately sensing the tension in her husband. She closed her book and set it aside, leaning slightly toward him.
"What's wrong, Rad? You've been pacing like a nervous dog all night," she said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile.
Radley ran a hand through his hair, a habit he always resorted to when he was anxious. "It's about Bandit," he began, staring at his hands. He couldn't meet her eyes. "There's something you need to know."
Frisky straightened her posture, her smile vanishing as worry took over her expression. "Is he okay? What happened? Is it serious?" Her tone was firm, but Radley could hear the latent panic in her voice.
"Yes, I mean… he's okay physically," Rad replied, drumming his fingers against his thigh. "But he won't always be. The doctors gave him a diagnosis." He paused, searching for the right words, but in the end, he blurted it out. "Bandit has Alzheimer's."
The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive. Frisky stared at him as if she wasn't sure she had heard correctly. "Alzheimer's?" she repeated slowly, her eyes filling with disbelief. "Radley, Bandit is young. That… that doesn't make sense."
"I know," Radley replied, his voice tense. "That's exactly what I thought. But no matter how many times you say it, it doesn't change the fact that it's true. He's in the early stages, but even now… it's noticeable. Today, he forgot that Dad died." His words broke at the end, and he had to pause to compose himself. "He forgot Dad's death."
Frisky brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears. "Oh God… Bandit," she whispered, feeling the pain as if it were her own. Bandit was more than just her brother-in-law; he was a friend. "How's Chilli? Do the girls know?"
Radley shook his head. "Chilli is being strong for him, but you can see how much it's affecting her. And the girls… not yet. They're going to talk to them tomorrow." Radley swallowed hard, struggling against the emotion swirling in his chest. "It's terrible, Frisk. I can't imagine Bandit facing this, knowing that one day he might not remember us."
Frisky leaned toward Radley, wrapping her hands around his. "He won't be alone. We can help with the girls, maybe even find him a job if he ends up losing his. We'll be here for him, for Chilli, for the girls. No matter what."
Radley nodded slowly, though his shoulders remained tense. "I know Bandit has a strong family. But… I'm scared, Frisk. What if we don't know how to handle this? What if we can't help him the way he needs?"
Frisky moved closer, placing a hand on his cheek and gently forcing him to look at her. "Rad, he trusts you. He trusts us. We can't change his diagnosis, but we can stand by his side every step of the way. That's the only thing that matters right now."
Tears finally escaped Radley's eyes, but he didn't look away from his wife. Frisky pulled him into a strong embrace, letting her own pain and worry surface as well.
When the hug ended, Radley spoke again, his voice steadier this time. "Tomorrow, I'm going to see Mom. I've barely seen my sweet old lady."
Frisky nodded in agreement.
At Stripe's house, things weren't any easier. The news had hit Stripe hard.
Stripe bit his lip as he looked at Trixie. The moonlight filtered through the kitchen window, casting shadows across their faces. He knew that what he was about to say would change everything.
"Trixie," he began, his voice trembling, "there's something you need to know about Bandit."
Trixie's eyes met his, immediately sensing the gravity of the moment. She set down the cup of tea she was holding, bracing herself for what she suspected would not be a light conversation.
Stripe took a deep breath. The words were caught in his throat, hard to say. Memories of recent visits with Bandit swirled in his mind like leaves swept up by an unrelenting wind.
"He's starting to forget," he finally said. "It's not just normal absentmindedness; it's something more serious."
He told her straight away that Bandit had Alzheimer's.
Trixie felt her world come to a standstill. Bandit, so lively, so full of energy—how could he be forgetting?
"What exactly do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and hope.
Stripe told him about recent events—moments when Bandit would get lost in the middle of conversations, forget recent events, and have his memory begin to crumble like a sandcastle hit by waves.
"Chilli is devastated," Stripe added. "But she's trying to keep her composure for the girls."
Trixie closed her eyes. Bluey and Bingo. Two little girls who deserved to have their father at full strength. And they weren't going to have him because of a damn disease. "We can't tell Muffin or Socks," Trixie said, looking at Stripe somewhat pained.
Stripe nodded slowly, understanding Trixie's concern. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the kitchen table and burying his face in his hands. "I know," he murmured. "But sooner or later, they're going to notice. Muffin's too smart not to realize something's wrong with her Uncle Bandit."
Trixie remained silent, letting the weight of the conversation settle between them. The idea that her own daughters might face this reality so soon pained her deeply.
"I don't know how to deal with this," Trixie finally admitted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Stripe, he's your brother—how are you doing?"
Stripe looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the internal struggle he'd been fighting for days. "I'm not sure I'm handling it," he confessed in a whisper. "Every time I notice him repeating something he's already said or not remembering something important, I feel like I'm losing my brother a little more."
Trixie moved closer to Stripe, placing a hand over his. "You're not losing him yet," she said firmly, as if trying to convince herself as much as him. "And as long as he's here, as long as he can still laugh with us, we need to make sure he feels loved and supported. That's what matters."
Stripe nodded, but the pain in his face didn't quite subside. "And what happens when the day comes that I don't remember who I am?" he asked quietly. "What happens when he looks at me and doesn't know I'm his brother?"
Trixie didn't have an answer. The possibility was too painful to contemplate, but she knew she had to be honest. "When that day comes, Stripe, you'll still be his brother. And he'll still be Bandit, even if he can't remember it. What matters is that we never stop being there for him."
Stripe let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "You're right," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "I can't focus on what we'll lose. I need to be here for him now, while we still have him."
The darkness was thick, like a fog that enveloped everything. Bandit felt as though he were floating in a void where memories slipped through his fingers like wet sand. He tried to grasp them, but they mercilessly escaped his hold.
Suddenly, faces began to appear. First, his brothers. Their features faded, erasing as if they were chalk drawings under relentless rain. Their names... what were their names? He remembered knowing them his entire life, but now they were only blurry silhouettes, stripped of identity.
"No!" Bandit shouted in his dream, feeling panic rise in his chest.
The images shifted. His daughters, Bluey and Bingo, appeared in front of him. But their faces kept transforming, like multiple overlapping photographs changing uncontrollably. Their smiles, their eyes, their voices... everything was fragmenting.
"Dad, do you know us?" they asked, their voices growing more distant with each word.
Bandit extended his hands, desperate to touch them, to recognize them, but his fingers passed through their bodies as if they were ghosts. He couldn't feel them; he couldn't remember them.
The nightmare advanced relentlessly. Chilli appeared, but her face was a blank mirror, featureless. Just a human form smiling at him with infinite sadness.
"Do you remember me?" she whispered.
Bandit wanted to scream yes, that of course he remembered her, that she was his life, his love. But the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn't say her name. He couldn't remember her name.
The images multiplied—faces without names, names without faces. Voices that felt familiar but were incomprehensible. His own identity began to crumble, like a building consumed by invisible flames.
A stronger voice emerged from the darkness. It was the voice of the doctor who had given him the Alzheimer's diagnosis. "I'm sorry, Bandit. Your memory will gradually fade. First, the small things, then the most important ones. In the end, you won't even recognize yourself."
The memories started disappearing like pages torn from a book. His childhood, his youth, his happiest moments... everything turned white, an absolute void.
"I don't want to forget," he thought desperately. "I don't want to lose them."
His hands kept trying to catch the memories as they slipped away. He saw fragments of moments he knew had been important: the day he met Chilli, the birth of his daughters, and adventures with his brothers. But they were like broken photographs, meaningless and out of context.
Suddenly, he saw himself as an old man in a care home, staring at a family of strangers who claimed to be his loved ones. No one looked familiar. Not even his reflection in the mirror.
"Who am I?" he asked in a voice he didn't recognize.
The darkness grew denser, more suffocating. The faces continued to change, merging into each other and losing all clarity.
A heart-wrenching scream emerged from the depths of his being—a cry of pain, fear, and helplessness in the face of inevitable loss. "Don't forget me!" he screamed into the void.
Then, he felt a warm hand take his own. A comforting presence cut through the nightmare like a ray of light piercing dark clouds.
"Bandit, wake up. I'm here."
Chilli's voice gently shook him awake. His eyes shot open, covered in tears. He was sweating, and his breathing was ragged and uneven.
The room was dimly lit by the light filtering through the window. Chilli was looking at him with concern, holding his hand exactly as she had in his dream. "Are you okay?" she asked, stroking his forehead.
Bandit stared at her, recognizing every detail of her face. His wife. His love. His strength against Alzheimer's. "I remember you. I remember you," he whispered, squeezing her hand.
In that moment, beyond the fear of the nightmare, he felt immense gratitude. He could still remember. He was still here. He still knew them. He hugged her tightly, as though that embrace could shield him from the forgetfulness to come. Chilli held him silently, stroking his back and conveying the most important message: he was not alone.
"Did you have a nightmare?" Chilli asked, wrapping herself around Bandit.
Bandit wiped away the last of his tears. He'd cried so much that his eyes felt dry. Only God knew where he kept finding tears to shed. By now, he'd cried enough to fill an entire bathtub. He loved the salty water of the sea, but not the salty tears from his eyes.
Then he remembered the dream. It had been a maze of lost moments. He'd seen his daughters, Bluey and Bingo, but he couldn't touch them. They were like ghosts, fading away every time he tried to get closer. Their laughter echoed in the distance, and he, powerless, kept trying to reach them.
Chilli knew him well. She knew he needed time. She got up, made him a cup of hot tea, and came back with the steaming mug. "Tell me," she said simply, sitting down beside him.
Bandit took a deep breath. Talking was his best medicine. Speaking meant remembering, and remembering meant existing. He'd read something like that once on a Reddit page for people with Alzheimer's.
The morning light shone softly as the car came to a stop in front of the school. Bluey and Bingo jumped excitedly out of their seats, their backpacks almost as big as they were, bouncing against their backs with every step.
Bandit lingered in the car for a moment, watching through the rearview mirror as his little ones ran toward the entrance. That everyday scene, so simple and familiar, filled his heart with a warmth that was both comforting and painful. "I never thought I'd treasure this."
Chilli got out of the car first, helping Bingo with the zipper on her backpack, while Bluey chattered excitedly about a game she wanted to play during recess. Bandit followed with a sigh, struggling to keep his composure, though the lump in his throat was hard to ignore.
"What's for lunch today?" Bluey asked with a big smile, turning toward them as she adjusted her backpack strap. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, as if it were the most important question of the day.
Chilli leaned down toward her, smiling as she smoothed her hair. "That's a surprise, sweetheart. But promise me you'll eat it all, okay?"
"Promise!" Bluey replied, raising a finger in the air for emphasis.
Bingo, distracted by a fallen leaf on the ground, quickly turned to her dad. "Can we play something after school, Dad? Maybe hide and seek?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Bandit knelt in front of her, adjusting her scarf to shield her from the cold air. "Of course, Bingo. I'll always play with you," he assured her with a smile, though his voice carried a slight tremble. How many more of these games would he have before he started forgetting them?
The girls said goodbye with quick but loving hugs. Bluey even gave him a kiss on the cheek before grabbing her sister's hand to hurry her along. "Come on, Bingo! I don't want to be late for the line," she said, pulling her toward the entrance.
Chilli and Bandit watched in silence as their daughters disappeared into the crowd of other children and parents. The girls' backpacks bounced with every step, and the sound of their laughter faded into the noise of the schoolyard.
Bandit stood still for a moment longer, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the door they had just gone through. Chilli, standing beside him, looked at him with concern and took his hand.
Before entering the school, Bluey turned around and blew him a kiss. Bandit caught it as if it were a treasure, engraving it into his memory with the intensity of someone who knows that every moment could be their last clear memory.
"I love you, Dad!" Bluey shouted.
"I love you," Bandit replied.
"They'll be fine," Chilli said softly, trying to comfort him. "This afternoon, we'll tell them everything so they can have a normal day at school today."
Bandit squeezed Chilli's hand but couldn't tear his eyes away from the entrance. "I love them so much, Chilli," he finally murmured, his voice barely audible.
This time, it was Bandit who squeezed Chilli's hand. Now, he was the one who needed to be guided back to the car.
"I don't know what I'll do the day I can't remember that—the day I can't remember how happy they look running together or how excited they get over something as simple as lunch."
Chilli squeezed his hand tighter, turning toward him. "That will never change, Bandit. No matter what happens, you'll always love them. That doesn't need to be remembered. It's in you; it's who you are."
Bandit nodded slowly, but the lump in his throat didn't go away. He looked at his wife before getting back into the car. The engine purred softly, but the silence inside the vehicle was heavy as they drove away from the school.
Inside, Bluey started to wonder, "Why didn't Dad go to work?"
The thought lingered as she walked toward her classroom. Over the last few days, she had been observing everything, piecing together little clues.
As Bluey walked down the school hallway to her classroom, her mind began to wander. Something didn't feel quite right. In the past few days, she had noticed small changes in her parents—things that hadn't been there before.
First, there was the fact that her dad had been spending more time at home than usual. He always went to work in the mornings, but lately, he seemed to be there when she got back from school. While she loved spending more time with him, she couldn't ignore the way her mom spoke to him in hushed tones when they thought she and Bingo weren't listening. Why wasn't he going to work? Was he sick?
In class, while the teacher talked about forest animals, Bluey could hardly focus. Her mind kept drifting back to scenes from home. She remembered the night her dad forgot to serve them water at dinner—something so simple that he had never forgotten before. Everyone had laughed, and Bingo had even made a joke about how forgetful he was. But her mom didn't laugh the same way. Chilli's smile had been different, smaller, as if she were worried.
And then there was the time at the park. They had gone to play hide-and-seek, and when it was her dad's turn to find them, it took him longer than usual, even though Bingo was hiding right behind an obvious tree. Bluey had assumed he was just playing around, but now she wasn't so sure.
"Is Dad okay?" Bluey thought as she stared out the classroom window. The blue sky seemed so peaceful, but her mind was full of questions. During recess, instead of running around with her friends as usual, she decided to sit in a corner of the playground, watching the other kids play.
"What's wrong, Bluey?" Chloe asked, sitting down next to her. "You're not playing today."
Bluey hesitated. It was hard to explain what she was feeling, especially because she didn't even know exactly what was wrong. "It's just… my dad's been acting a little strange lately," she finally said. "I don't know why."
Chloe tilted her head, curious. "Strange how?"
"Well, he forgets things, like where he leaves his keys. And he hasn't been going to work lately. Mom is always talking to him in quiet voices, and I don't know what they're saying. It makes me feel… like something bad is happening." Bluey looked at Chloe, hoping her friend might have an answer.
Chloe thought for a moment. "Maybe he's just tired," she suggested. "My dad sometimes stays home when he needs to rest. But if you're worried, why don't you ask him?"
Bluey considered the idea. She'd always had an open relationship with her parents; she could ask them anything. But something told her that if they hadn't explained what was happening, maybe it was because they didn't want her to know. And that scared her even more.
That afternoon, after picking them up from school and watching them run to their rooms, Chilli and Bandit decided they couldn't delay the conversation any longer. They prepared a small snack—cookies, orange juice, and something to make the atmosphere a little less heavy. The girls sat at the table, looking at their parents with curiosity, as if they already knew something important was about to happen.
"Did we do something wrong, Dad?" Bluey asked, tilting her head.
"No, sweetheart," Bandit replied quickly, his voice shakier than he had intended. "You haven't done anything wrong. But there's something Mom and I need to talk to you about."
Bingo looked at her parents with wide, curious eyes as she nibbled on a cookie. "Is it something fun or something serious?" she asked.
Chilli took a deep breath and held Bandit's hand under the table. "It's something serious, darling," she answered softly, pausing to find the right words.
"Oh great, what lesson are we getting now?" Bingo said with a little pout.
"It's about Dad. He's okay right now, but… he has something called Alzheimer's."
Chilli mentally kicked herself. That was probably the worst way to explain it. The girls exchanged glances. Bluey frowned, clearly trying to process what she'd just heard, while Bingo seemed to wait for more details.
"What's that?" Bingo asked in a quiet voice.
Bluey's heart began to race. She glanced at Bingo, who seemed entirely unbothered. As she moved closer to her dad, her mind spun with questions. "What's Dad going to say? Is he sick? Will he be okay? What is Alzheimer's?"
Bandit leaned forward slightly, looking at them with warmth. He figured Chilli had done enough by trying to start the conversation. Now it was his turn to step up as the man of the house. "It's a condition that affects my memory," he explained slowly. "Sometimes I have trouble remembering things, like where I left my keys or what day it is. But over time, it can make it harder to remember bigger things… even names or important moments."
Bluey's expression changed, her curiosity morphing into concern. "Does that mean you're going to forget us?" she asked in a whisper.
Bandit's heart shattered at her words, but he forced himself to stay strong. "No, Bluey. I will never stop loving you. That will never change, even if my memory plays tricks on me. You'll always be my girls, my Bluey and Bingo, no matter what."
With tears welling up in her eyes, Bingo got up from her seat and ran to hug her dad. "We're going to help you, Dad. Don't worry, we won't let you forget anything."
Bluey, more serious but just as affected, nodded. "We can do things to help you, like put up notes or reminders. We can draw pictures of important moments. That way, you'll always have them."
Chilli, who had been watching the scene with tears in her eyes, chimed in. "That would be wonderful, girls. The most important thing is that we're all in this together."
Bandit hugged his daughters tightly, feeling a mix of sadness and pride. It hadn't been as difficult as he thought it would be. Speaking honestly and directly had been the right choice.
Bluey and Bingo seemed to be plotting something. They whispered to each other, exchanged mischievous looks, and scribbled in a notebook they had brought from their room.
"What are you up to?" Chilli asked.
Bluey looked up with an enigmatic smile. "It's a secret, Mom. A super important plan to help Dad."
"Can I know what it is?" Bandit asked, looking at Bluey.
"Nope, it's a secret," Bluey replied before darting out of the room and back to her bedroom.
During dinner, the atmosphere was different—warmer and more united. The looks shared between Chilli and Bandit reflected a mix of worry and unconditional love.
"Dad," Bluey suddenly interrupted, "can you tell us a story from when we were little?"
Bandit hesitated for a moment. He knew his memory wasn't always reliable. "What kind of story do you want to hear?"
"One you haven't forgotten," Bingo joked.
Chilli shot her a sharp look but decided not to say anything.
Bandit took a deep breath. Some memories were still clear. "Do you remember when we played hide-and-seek in the garden?"
The girls' eyes lit up. "Yes!" they shouted in unison.
The story flowed naturally. Bandit described how Bluey always found the best hiding spots, and Bingo laughed as she remembered her own attempts at hiding.
After finishing their chat, Chilli had an idea. Seeing Bluey's expression, she knew her daughter had thought of the same thing.
"We have a plan," Bluey declared seriously.
"A plan?" Bandit asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I want us to go to that garden where you and Mom had your date with the stork."
Bandit turned red as a tomato while Chilli nearly spat out the water she was drinking. Bandit felt a knot form in his throat. His daughters, so young, and yet they already knew how to embarrass him with subtle jabs at Chilli.
"Stork?" Bandit stammered, looking at Chilli with panic in his eyes. "Where did you get that idea?"
"From Aunt Trixie!" Bingo said cheerfully. "She said storks bring babies and that you and Mom had a date with one to ask for us."
Chilli tried to keep her composure, but she couldn't help letting out a laugh. "I think we'll need to have a little chat with Aunt Trixie about the stories she tells."
"But it's true!" insisted Bluey. "She even said Dad fell off a bench in the garden when the stork flew in."
Bandit scratched his head. "Well, technically, I did fall off a bench in that garden, but there was no stork involved…"
"See!" Bingo exclaimed triumphantly. "Dad remembers!"
"And I also remember," Bandit continued, seizing the moment, "that your mom was wearing a beautiful blue dress that day, and—"
"Bandit!" Chilli interrupted, blushing.
The girls started laughing, and soon the whole family was sharing a hearty laugh. It was a precious moment when worries about Alzheimer's seemed far away.
"So, are we going to the garden?" Bluey insisted.
"How about we go to the new park instead?" Chilli suggested, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.
"No!" Bingo protested. "We want to go where the stork was. We can have a picnic and—"
"And take pictures," Bluey quickly added. "For Dad's memory book."
Bandit looked at his daughters with affection. Even in their wildest ideas, they were thinking about helping him.
"You know what?" he finally said. "What if I tell you the real story of that garden?"
"No storks?" Bingo asked, slightly disappointed.
"No storks," Bandit confirmed, "but an even better story. You see, that day your mom and I… let's go to the big couch so I can tell you properly." He got up and moved to the larger sofa.
They all settled in. Bingo rested on her dad's lap, and Bluey snuggled up next to him. Their little eyes began to grow heavy as Bandit started his story.
Bandit recounted how that garden had become special to him and Chilli. He spoke of their dates there, the magic of the surrounding roses, and the light in her eyes whenever they were together.
Little by little, Bingo's eyes closed, her breathing slowing. Bluey fought to stay awake, but exhaustion overcame her.
"We love you, Dad," Bingo murmured through a yawn.
"We'll always remember you," Bluey added, her words slurring as sleep claimed her.
Bandit held them close. His memory might fail him one day, but his love never would—at least not in that moment.
That night, after tucking the girls into bed, Bandit and Chilli curled up together in their room, exhausted but relieved to have taken that difficult step. Bandit stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting the peace of the night wash over him.
"They did so well," Chilli said, breaking the silence. "Our girls are amazing. They're going to be okay."
Bandit smiled, turning toward her and caressing her face. "That's because they have the best mom in the world," he whispered, his voice full of gratitude. "Thank you for everything, Chilli. I don't know how I would've done this without you."
Chilli kissed him softly and rested her head on his chest. "We'll always be together, Bandit. No matter what happens, always."
Sleep slowly claimed them both, and for the first time in a long while, Bandit felt that the future, though uncertain, would be easier to face with Chilli and their daughters by his side.