Bewildering Revelation: A Son’s Witness to His Mother’s Tears and Unfamiliar Voices

“Daddy, please come home!! Mom is screaming…”

On a typical workday, my son called me incessantly while I was in a meeting. Each missed call sank my heart deeper. Finally, during a break, I returned his call, my hands trembling.

“Daddy, I don’t know what to do. I just got home and I can hear Mom screaming in her room,” he said, his voice quivering.

“Why didn’t you go into her room?” I asked, trying to sound calm despite the rising panic inside me.

“I’m too scared to go in. I hear other voices,” he replied, fear evident in his tone.

I immediately tried calling my wife, but she didn’t pick up. With no other choice, I dialed 911, hoping they could respond quickly. The drive home felt interminable, my mind racing with dire possibilities.

When I finally got home, I didn’t hesitate. I dashed to our bedroom door, hearing the faint sound of police sirens in the distance. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I burst through the door, and what I saw paralyzed me.

My wife lay on the bed, convulsing and screaming, her eyes wide with terror. Three strangers—two men and a woman—were chanting in an unfamiliar language, holding strange objects. The room was bathed in an eerie light.

“Get away from her!” I yelled, but they continued. I lunged at the nearest person, knocking him down. The other two stepped back, startled by my sudden aggression.

“Daddy!” my son cried from the doorway, tears streaming down his face.

“Call the police again and tell them to hurry!” I shouted, turning back to my wife. She was still convulsing, her screams piercing the air. I grabbed her shoulders, trying to hold her still. “It’s going to be okay, honey. I’m here,” I whispered, more to reassure myself than her.

Minutes later, the police arrived, bursting into the room and pulling the intruders away. Paramedics followed closely behind, rushing to my wife’s side. I watched helplessly as they worked to stabilize her, my heart breaking at the sight of her pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the paramedics managed to settle her down. She was transferred to the hospital, sedated, and kept under observation. The police apprehended the invaders, leaving me to piece together what had transpired.

At the hospital, I sat by my wife’s bedside, holding her hand and praying for her to wake up. My son sat beside me, his tiny hand gripping mine.

“Daddy, what happened?” he asked, his voice small and terrified.

“I don’t know, buddy,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “But we’ll get through this. I promise.”

When my wife finally woke up, she was confused and terrified. She could barely remember what had happened—just that she had felt strange all day and then everything went dark.

The police investigation revealed that the intruders were part of a cult. They believed they had the power to heal and had targeted my wife, thinking she was extraordinary.

The following days were a whirlwind of hospital visits, police interviews, and comforting our child. But through it all, we stayed united, drawing strength from each other.

My wife slowly recovered, though it took time. Her physical wounds healed, but the mental scars lingered. We moved to a new house, seeking a fresh start, and focused on rebuilding our lives.

Looking back, I realize how close I came to losing everything. Yet, in the midst of anxiety and uncertainty, I discovered a strength I never knew I had. I learned that no matter what happens, the love and bond of family can help us endure even the darkest times.