Work Text:
At the time, the worst part about your boys getting amnesia-inatored was that they’d forget everything you experienced together.
Now, the worst part is that they kept remembering.
It never failed to send a sharp jolt of fear through you when you heard one of them humming the melody to that song about summer, only to pause mid-chorus and rub their chin curiously as they grappled for the lyrics, when Ferb would refuse to sit on a certain part of the couch out of a gut feeling he himself didn’t understand, when Phineas would stare blatantly at Isabella’s lips and his eyebrows would knit together like he was failing to see something that wasn’t there.
But then they’d shrug it off, and walk away, and give you a casual little scratch on your head as they passed you.
It was exhausting.
Because if they remembered, then the amnesia-inator failed, then there was no other option, then you’d be relocated and you’d never see your kids ever again.
You tried to trust Heinz’s craftsmanship, but it was no use. There was nothing you could do but sit there and fawn dumb and pray. And for now, it was working.
For now.