A nurse entered then and reminded them that the outstanding bill still needed to be settled. Seun turned to her and asked the total. When she told him, he took out his phone, made one short call, and said, “The full amount will be transferred within the hour. Move him to a private room immediately.”
Everything changed after that.
Bola was moved to a better room. The doctors explained that his heart was weak, but not beyond treatment. With medication, rest, and proper nutrition, he had a real chance to recover. Seun listened to every word, asked sharp questions, and told them to get whatever was needed.
Money, he said, was not the problem.
Outside the room, Dio sat on a bench holding his cardboard sign. The exhaustion finally caught up with him. He leaned against the wall and fell asleep sitting up.
When Seun saw him, something in his face softened. He called his driver to bring food. A few minutes later, he woke Dio gently and handed him a container of rice and stew.
“Eat,” he said.
Dio did. Fast.
Afterward, he looked up and asked quietly, “Are you really my uncle?”
Seun stared at the floor for a moment before answering.
“Yes.”
The next morning, the room was full of light. Bola looked a little better. Dio ate bread by the bed. Seun arrived early with groceries and sat down.
For a while, nobody said much. The room held too many unsaid things.
Then Bola asked the question that had lived inside him for twenty years.
“Why did you never come back?”
Seun looked at his hands.
“I was ashamed,” he said at last. “After Mama died, I left you when you needed me. I could not face what I had done.”
Bola was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “I called your number many times in those first years.”
Seun nodded without looking up. “I know. I changed it.”
“I thought you were dead.”
Seun had no answer.
Dio watched them both, feeling the weight of words he did not fully understand but pain he understood very well.
Then Seun’s phone rang.
He took the call in the corner of the room. His face changed as he listened. When he came back, the softness in him had disappeared.
He said he had to leave for a meeting. He said he would return.
He did not come back that day.
Or the next.
On the third day, a messenger arrived with an envelope. Inside was proof that Seun had paid three months of medical costs in advance, along with instructions for Bola’s care. There was also a short note:
I will come when I can.
The boy should not be on the street.
No address. No number. Nothing more.
On the fourth day, Seun returned.
This time he brought clothes, food, and books for Dio. He looked tired, like he had not been sleeping properly.
Bola woke and saw him by the window.
“You came back,” he said.
“I said I would.”
Bola held his gaze. “You also said that the night you left after Mama’s burial.”
Seun flinched.
Then he sat down and spoke plainly.
“I am not here to make excuses. What I did was wrong. I built everything and told myself you were fine. I told myself you did not need me.”
“I was not fine,” Bola said.
“I know that now.”
He leaned forward. “I cannot stop seeing that picture. You in a hospital bed. Your son in the dust asking strangers to save you.”
His voice broke.
Bola looked toward Dio, who was pretending to read but missing nothing.
“He never complained,” Bola said softly. “He just kept trying to solve the problem.”
Seun glanced at the boy. “He has your stubbornness.”
Bola almost smiled. “He has his mother’s heart.”
At the mention of Simei, the room changed.
Bola looked at his brother and said, “Before she died, she told me to tell you she forgave you.”
Seun stared at him in shock.
“You never told me.”
“You changed your number.”
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