Chasing Greatness :A Journey Of Hope

chapter 8: miracle

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My dad was planning to come to Nigeria. What a wonderful piece of news! My mom heard about it late, but even then, she was overjoyed. She tried calling him several times, hoping to discuss his plans and prepare for his arrival. But something felt off—he wasn’t the same. His words were distant, and the warmth she had longed for wasn’t there.

Still, my mom held onto hope. She had been praying for this moment, for her family to be reunited. Every night, she cried silently, pleading with God to save her marriage. She couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. The pain of the unknown weighed heavily on her.

Then, on a quiet Sunday morning, the call came. My dad was back.

The news was shocking—not just to her but to all of us. No one knew he was arriving this month. There was no warning, no preparation. But my mom wasn’t angry. How could she be? After four long years, her husband was finally home. She smiled through her tears, her heart swelling with relief.

But joy quickly turned to confusion. My dad didn’t come home. Instead, he checked into a lodge. My mom, determined to see him, took us to visit him there. I can still remember that day. The moment I saw my dad, my heart leaped. He looked so different, but he was still my dad. For the first time, he set eyes on Angel, our last born. She reached for him, smiling shyly.

It should have been a happy reunion, but something was off. My mom sat silently, her hands clasped tightly together as if holding onto her sanity. My dad barely spoke to her. The distance between them was palpable, and the silence hung heavy in the air. My mom, sensing she wasn’t welcome, gathered us and left that same day.

“He said he’ll come in three days,” she told us when we got home. Three days came and went. Then another three. My dad didn’t show up.

At home, there was no food to eat. My mom struggled to provide for us as usual, while whispers from others reached our ears. We heard he was spending time at my aunt’s house—the same one who had been the root of so much pain. They said she killed a goat for him, celebrating his return. Celebrating while we suffered in silence, forgotten.

My mom tried to push the rumors aside, but her heart grew heavier each day. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Then one fateful day, my cousin, Owen—the same cousin who had helped me open my bank account—called my mom.

“Aunty!” he shouted over the phone. “There is fire on the mountain ooo! I’m coming to your house now. I have something to show you.”

My mom was confused, but she stayed calm. “What is it, Owen? What are you talking about?”

“Aunty, just wait for me. You go see am yourself.”

When Owen arrived, he held his phone out to her. On the screen were pictures. Pictures that would shatter her world.

There, staring back at her, was my dad in a crisp white suit, standing beside a woman in a flowing white gown. Their smiles were wide and radiant. The caption read: Congratulations to the newlyweds.

My mom laughed. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, but one of disbelief. “Owen, what is this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Aunty, na wetin I dey try tell you. Brother don marry for dat side. And dem say the woman follow am come Nigeria for traditional marriage. The white wedding na this one we dey see.”

The words felt like knives piercing her heart. My mom stared at the pictures, her hands shaking. She whispered, “It’s not true. It can’t be true.”

But the truth was right there in front of her. The man she had loved, sacrificed for, and prayed endlessly for had betrayed her in the most unimaginable way.

Her body gave out. Without warning, she fainted, collapsing to the floor as Owen screamed, “Aunty! Aunty