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

It was a normal workday when my son called me 10 times while I was in a meeting. My heart sank with each missed call. Finally, during a break, I called him back, my hands shaking.

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

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

“I’m too scared to go inside. I hear other voices inside,” he replied, his fear palpable through the phone.

I immediately called my wife, but there was no answer. I had no choice but to call 911 in case they could get there faster. The drive home felt like an eternity, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

When I finally reached home, I didn’t hesitate. I ran to our bedroom door, hearing the faint sound of police sirens in the distance. I broke the door down, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and what I saw froze me in place.

My wife was on the bed, convulsing and screaming, her eyes wide with terror. Surrounding her were three people, two men and a woman, chanting in a language I didn’t understand. They were holding strange objects, and the room was filled with an eerie glow.

“Get away from her!” I yelled, but they didn’t stop. I lunged at the nearest person, knocking him to the ground. The other two backed away, startled by my sudden aggression.

“Daddy!” my son cried from the doorway, and I turned to see him standing there, tears streaming down his face.

“Call the police again, 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.

Within minutes, the police arrived, bursting into the room and pulling the intruders away. Paramedics followed, 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 hours, the paramedics managed to calm her down. She was taken to the hospital, where she was sedated and put under observation. The police took the intruders into custody, and I was left to piece together what had happened.

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

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

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

When my wife finally woke up, she was disoriented and scared. She couldn’t remember much of what happened, only that she had been feeling strange all day and then everything went dark.

The police investigation revealed that the intruders were part of a cult, believing they could channel their energy to heal people. They had targeted my wife, thinking she was someone special.

The days that followed were a blur of hospital visits, police interviews, and trying to comfort my son. But through it all, we stuck together, drawing strength from each other.

It took time, but my wife eventually recovered. The physical wounds healed, but the emotional scars lingered. We moved to a new house, seeking a fresh start, and focused on rebuilding our lives.

Looking back, I realized how close I came to losing everything. But in the face of terror and uncertainty, I discovered a strength I never knew I had. And I learned that no matter what happens, the love and bond of family can help us overcome even the darkest of times.