Chasing Greatness :A Journey Of Hope

chapter 11: miracle

One fateful day, my dad called my mom. His voice was heavy, as though the weight of the world pressed against his chest. He started apologizing, begging her to forgive him, claiming he had been under a spell. “I wasn’t in my right senses,” he said. Funny, isn’t it? How a man can destroy a family and blame it on forces beyond his control.

He even sent my mom videos—yes, videos—of my aunt taking him to the river . In the videos, some native doctor was smearing strange substances on him, chanting words I didn’t understand. It was shocking, heartbreaking, and infuriating all at once. My dad begged my mom to pray for him, to break whatever spell had been cast.

My mom’s faith, which had already been carrying her through unbearable days, grew stronger. She prayed like never before—every night, every morning, every spare moment. Her prayers echoed through our small home, a desperate plea for salvation. But despite her prayers, nothing changed. He was still with her.

And then came the ultimate blow. The woman gave birth to a baby boy. It was the news that broke what little was left of my mom’s spirit. It wasn’t just the birth that hurt—it was how public everything was. Their perfect little family was all over Facebook. Photos of my dad cradling the baby, the woman beaming by his side, their hands entwined like they were soulmates.

The captions were worse. “Our little prince is here,” one read. “A blessing to our home,” said another. The comments were filled with congratulations, prayers, and blessings for their “beautiful family.”

Not a single mention of us. No photos of his first family, no acknowledgment of our existence. It was as though we didn’t matter, as though we were invisible.

I remember staring at those pictures, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. My mom, who saw them too, stayed silent for hours. Then, late at night, I heard her sobbing in her room. She cried so hard, I thought her heart might give out. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but what could I say?

My mom never said it, but I knew what she felt: abandoned. Forgotten. Replaced.

But the worst part? She still prayed for him. She still loved him. Despite everything, she held onto the hope that someday, he would come back to us.