Chapter 217 – Renovation
Human beings are deeply influenced by their bodies. Teenagers, for example, become impulsive and rebellious due to hormonal surges—always thinking about women.
Frank was in Frank's body, with all of Frank's memories.
This body had been Frank's for over fifty years. His presence was etched into every fiber of it. How could Frank not be affected by that?
If it weren't for Monica's sudden appearance, Frank might never have realized it.
Monica's actions deeply disgusted Frank. He truly loathed her. And yet, when he saw her, he couldn't stop himself from kissing her, from thinking about her constantly.
It was this stark contrast—between thought and action—that made Frank suddenly snap to awareness.
Frank had truly loved Monica. Loved her so deeply, it had seeped into his very body.
Monica was a madwoman—mentally ill, truly unstable.
And Frank liked women like that. His obsession had now started to infect Frank too.
Frank finally understood why he had felt inexplicably drawn to Marie—the thrill-seeking, purple-obsessed kleptomaniac. It was because she carried that same kind of dangerous madness.
But no matter how aware he became, Frank couldn't stop the assimilation.
As long as he remained in this body, that influence would continue.
His only option was to stay true to himself—to avoid becoming just Frank with Frank's memories: a selfish, shameless man who ignored his kids, would sell his body—and even his soul—for money.
This assimilation, though, could be resisted. As long as Frank kept a strong will, he could fight back.
For instance, Frank had been a drug addict for decades. But since the day Frank took over this body, he hadn't touched drugs. He'd even stopped using meth, only taking it on rare occasions.
In his past life, he'd grown up surrounded by anti-drug campaigns—that deeply ingrained mindset had helped him resist.
That night, Frank thought a lot. He didn't even know when he fell asleep.
The next morning, Frank was woken by the chaotic noise of the kids scrambling to use the bathroom.
Still groggy, he didn't get up right away. He dozed back off after the children ran downstairs.
By the time Frank finally got out of bed, it was already noon.
"Dad~" Debbie squealed and ran to hug him as he came downstairs.
"My little angel, what are you up to?" Frank asked.
"Just checking our food supplies. We're out of macaroni and bread. And we have those kids from the daycare," Debbie replied.
"Daycare?" Frank asked, confused.
"Yeah, nine kids signed up—Lamelo's twins, Cammy, Mingus…" she listed.
Back when Frank was around, he didn't care about the household—and they had no money. The kids had done everything they could to keep the house running and earn what they could.
It was different in the winter. There weren't many ways to earn.
But summer? Summer was the season of opportunity. With school out, the kids could do a lot more.
They started offering daycare services—basically like a small home-run preschool. Parents too busy with work could drop their kids off here.
All the siblings had their own things going on, so Debbie usually managed the daycare. After all, she was already looking after Liam. A few more kids didn't make much difference—and it made money.
Debbie had been running the daycare for two years now. She was good at it. The phrase "poor kids grow up fast" described her perfectly. She was already showing glimpses of Fiona's strength.
Frank stroked Debbie's hair gently, a pang of guilt and affection in his heart. She was only eleven. While other little girls her age were still crying for dolls, his was calculating how to earn money.
"Debbie, you're amazing," Frank praised.
"Hehe, it's actually pretty easy if you follow a routine: one hour of playtime, then some cartoons or Bambi—but we skip the part where Bambi's mom dies—next it's arts and crafts, story time (nothing scary), free play, lunch, naptime, swimming, milk and bread after exercise… Then we just wait for the parents to pick them up."
Proudly listing off the day's schedule, Debbie clearly enjoyed showing off her skills. It really did sound like a proper preschool.
"It must be exhausting. You don't have to run daycare anymore. Dad's got money now. You just need to study hard and enjoy being a kid," Frank said with a loving tone.
"I don't know… I'd have to check with Fiona," Debbie replied, hesitant.
Even though Frank was their father, Fiona was still the one managing the household.
"No problem. I'll talk to Fiona," Frank reassured her.
"Dad, there's pizza in the fridge if you're hungry. Want some coffee?" Debbie asked as she took a big gulp from her own mug.
"Why are you drinking so much coffee?" Frank asked, a little surprised.
"I couldn't sleep. Liam was up in the middle of the night, banging his head for fun and woke me up. I really need my own room. He's a boy—he should bunk with the other boys," she grumbled.
With so many kids and so few rooms, they were all packed in tightly.
Debbie shared a room with Liam. Lip, Ian, and Carl all squeezed into one.
But Debbie did need her own space. She was a girl, after all. She couldn't share a room with Liam forever. The only solution was to move Liam into the boys' room—but four kids in that cramped room would be a nightmare.
"Why not move into the house next door?" Frank suggested.
"Because we can't afford the renovation," Debbie said.
"No problem. Dad's got money now. Renovations start today!" Frank declared.
He'd been helpless before—because he was broke. But now that he had money, he couldn't let the kids suffer any longer.
"Really!?" Debbie's eyes lit up.
"Of course! Come on, let's check it out. You tell me how you want your room," Frank said with a smile.
"Yay!" Debbie cheered and followed him next door. Frank still had the keys to the place.
"We could build a skybridge between the two houses—like a hallway in the air!" Debbie said excitedly.
The two houses were right next to each other—less than half a meter apart. Connecting them was definitely doable.
Nowadays, if you had money, anything was possible. Frank made one phone call, and soon workers arrived.
But before starting renovations, Frank did a full inspection of the basic infrastructure—plumbing, wiring, the works.
Sure enough, there were problems—lots of them. Old pipes, dangerous wiring, shoddy circuits. It was an old house, after all. Everything needed to be replaced.
Looking at the long list of issues, Frank realized: the house they were currently living in had been built the same year as this one. If this house was falling apart, theirs probably wasn't much better. And if his memory served him right, Frank had never once properly repaired their home.
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