Obie smiled. “Don’t worry, Father. Just rest. Everything will be all right now.”
His father could hardly believe what he was seeing.
Obie knew his father’s sickness was not only physical. The doctor had mentioned a strong poison, but Obie believed dark magic was involved as well. He knew what to do. Quietly, he summoned a famous traditional healer from a nearby village, a wise old man known for helping people harmed by dark magic.
The healer arrived carrying a bag of herbs and old tools. Obie explained everything about his father’s sudden illness.
“The dark arts are powerful, young one,” the healer said, stroking his long beard. “But a son’s love is stronger. I will do what I can.”
He spent several days in the new house performing special rituals. Obie watched with hope as the healer worked.
Slowly, day by day, his father began to improve. The confusion in his eyes faded. His strength returned. His mind grew sharp again.
One morning, his father sat up in bed and looked at Obie with clear eyes.
“Obie, my son,” he said, his voice strong again, “I remember everything. Your stepmother, how cruel she was, how she treated you and me. It is as if my eyes have been opened again.”
Obie knelt by the bed and took his father’s hand.
“I knew you were not truly gone, Father. I had to come back for you.”
His father’s eyes filled with tears.
“You saved me, my boy. You truly saved me. How did you manage all of this—the hospital, this house, everything?”
Obie smiled gently. “Don’t worry about that now, Father. Just focus on getting your strength back. We have a new beginning here.”
A deep sadness mixed with growing determination filled his father’s heart.
“Thank you, my son. You saved me. I owe you more than you can imagine.”
Just a few days after his father had fully recovered, he received a phone call. It was from an old friend, a smart and honest lawyer.
