She Collapsed, Her 2yrs old Twins Dialled A Random Phone Number, A Billionaire Showed Up With…
.
.
The Call That Changed Everything
The sun beat down mercilessly on the corrugated iron roof of a small, one-room apartment in Surulere. Inside, the air was thick and stifling, heavy with the acrid smell of kerosene from a small stove tucked in the corner. A pot of watery pap simmered gently, the only meal Amaka could afford to prepare for her two-year-old twins that afternoon.
Chisum and Chioma played quietly on a torn raffia mat beside the bed. Their innocent giggles masked a deeper hunger — not just for food, but for the warmth and security their mother struggled daily to provide. Amaka stirred the pot slowly, her arms trembling. For days, she had felt faint, her chest tightening intermittently, but she pushed on. “I must not give up. Not for them,” she whispered, glancing lovingly at her children.
As she turned to remove the pot from the fire, a sudden, sharp pain shot through her chest. She gasped, clutching her heart as her knees buckled beneath her. “Mommy!” Chisum’s small voice rang out, confused and scared. Amaka staggered toward the bed but collapsed hard onto the cold cement floor before reaching it. Her body went still, breath shallow.
The twins froze in place, then Chioma let out a piercing scream. “Mommy! Mommy!” Chisum crawled quickly to her side, tugging at her wrapper. “Mommy, wake up! Wake up!” His babyish pronunciation broke into sobs, but Amaka did not move. The children cried louder, their wails filling the cramped room.
In her panic, Chioma spotted the battered Nokia phone lying on a stool beside the bed. She grabbed it with tiny hands, pressing buttons at random. The phone came alive, dialing a number. Neither child knew what they had done, but fate had already decided someone somewhere would hear their cry.
On the other side of Lagos Island, in a towering glass building at Victoria Island, Cola Adimi sat behind his wide oak desk. At 36, he was a billionaire CEO of one of Nigeria’s fastest-growing tech companies. Around him, his office buzzed with activity—executives rushing with files, laptops, reports—but Cola’s mind was far away.
He leaned back in his chair, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling city skyline. To the world, he had everything: wealth, power, respect. Yet inside, an emptiness gnawed at him—a void money could never fill. He lived alone in his mansion, his days swallowed by endless meetings and boardroom battles.
Just as he closed his eyes for a brief moment of rest, his phone rang. The screen flashed an unknown number. “Another spam call,” he muttered, about to hang up. But something nudged him to pick it up.
“Hello, this is Cola Adimi speaking.”
Silence.
He was about to hang up when he heard it—a loud, heart-wrenching cry of a child. “Wawa, mommy, I wake up…”
Cola sat upright, gripping the phone tighter. “What? Who is this? Hello? Can you hear me?”
Through the receiver came more cries. A tiny voice, broken and desperate, sobbing, “Mommy, fall down. Mommy, no. Stand up. Help…”
Cola’s heart pounded. He turned in his chair, gripping the phone tighter. “Child, listen. I need you to tell me where you are. Okay? Where are you? Can you tell me?”
Only crying answered him—the sharp, helpless wails of children who could not explain. In the background, faint static hummed from a small television, the clatter of something falling, muffled sobs echoing in a small room.
Cola rose to his feet immediately and pressed the intercom button. “Segan, get the IT team here now.”
Within moments, his personal assistant rushed in. “Yes, sir?”
“I just received a call from children. Something’s wrong. Trace the call location, fast.”
Segan blinked in shock but nodded, dialing the internal team.
Minutes later, a voice came through the speaker. “Sir, we’ve traced the number. It’s coming from Surulere, a small compound off Alhaji Musa Street.”
Cola grabbed his car keys without hesitation. “Call emergency services—ambulance, police, everyone. I’m heading there now.”
Segan stammered, “Sir, should you—?”
But Cola was already striding out of the office, voice firm. “If I don’t go, those children may lose their mother tonight.”
The elevator doors slid open with a sharp ding, and Cola stormed out, his long strides echoing through the marble-floored lobby of Ady Tech headquarters. His driver, Musa, stood waiting by the sleek black Range Rover, puzzled by his boss’s sudden urgency.
“Musa, start the engine. We’re going to Surulere.”
“Fast,” Cola ordered, his voice sharp with urgency.
“Yes, sir,” Musa replied, rushing to open the door.
As the car roared to life, Cola dialed emergency services. “This is Cola Adimi. I just received a distress call from children in Surulere. Their mother has collapsed. Send an ambulance to Alhaji Musa Street immediately. They’ll meet you there.”
The dispatcher hesitated, but Cola’s commanding voice left no room for delay. “We’re dispatching now, sir.”
Cola ended the call and sat forward, jaw clenched. His mind replayed the tiny voices—broken, terrified, pleading. “Mommy, fall down. Help…”
He ran his hand across his forehead. What if he was too late? What if those children lost her before they arrived?
The car weaved through Lagos traffic, honking and swerving past Danfos and Okadas. The city was alive with chaos—street vendors calling out their wares, hawkers tapping on windows. But inside the SUV, silence reigned except for the pounding of Cola’s heart.
“Musa finally asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror, “What exactly happened?”
Cola’s eyes were fixed out the window. “Two children, maybe twins. They called me by mistake. I heard them crying over their mother. She collapsed. They can’t explain where they are, but my team traced the number. If we don’t get there in time, she could…”
He stopped, voice breaking slightly.
Musa swallowed hard. “God forbid, sir. We’ll get there on time.”
Minutes felt like hours. The SUV sped past the Third Mainland Bridge. The cityscape shifted from polished skyscrapers to the crowded, bustling streets of Surulere. Finally, they turned into a narrow lane where small compounds stood packed tightly together.
By then, an ambulance was already parked outside a faded yellow building. Neighbors had gathered, murmuring anxiously, pointing toward one of the rooms.
Cola jumped out before the car fully stopped, his expensive shoes splashing into muddy puddles without a second thought. He pushed through the crowd.
“Where is she? Where are the children?” he demanded.
A woman carrying a baby pointed toward a door. “Inside that room, sir. The children have been crying since the mother… she has not moved.”
Cola’s heart clenched as he rushed toward the open doorway. Inside, the room was dim and cramped. On the cement floor lay a woman, unconscious, her wrapper twisted, her face pale and damp with sweat. Two tiny toddlers clung to her, their little faces streaked with tears.
One of them, Chioma, still held the Nokia phone in her tiny hand, her sobs filling the air. Her brother, Chisum, tugged weakly at his mother’s wrapper, his voice broken from crying. “Mommy, mommy, wake up.”
Cola’s throat tightened. He had seen many things in his life, but never this innocence pleading against death.
“Over here!” he called to the paramedics. They rushed in with a stretcher, checking Amaka’s pulse.
“She’s still breathing, weak but alive. We need to move her now.”
As they lifted her, Chioma wailed louder, refusing to let go. Cola bent down gently, scooping both children into his arms. They clung to him, their tiny fists gripping his shirt as though sensing he was their only hope.
“It’s okay,” Cola whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You did well, both of you. You saved your mommy.”
The children buried their wet faces against his chest as he carried them out into the night. The ambulance doors slammed shut, its siren blaring as it tore through the narrow Surulere streets toward Lagos University Teaching Hospital.
Inside, Amaka lay on the stretcher. An oxygen mask covered her face, pulse faint but steady. Behind the ambulance, Cola’s Range Rover followed closely. He sat in the back seat with the twins still clinging to him, their tiny bodies trembling, cheeks wet with tears.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Cola whispered, rocking them gently. His voice was soft in a way even he did not recognize. “Your mommy is going to be fine. We’ll make sure she’s fine.”
But deep inside, his chest tightened. He had no guarantee she would live. He didn’t even know this woman’s name. Yet the thought of those children losing her filled him with a fear he couldn’t explain.
When they arrived at the hospital, nurses rushed Amaka into the emergency ward. Cola tried to follow but a stern nurse blocked his way.
“Sir, only medical staff beyond this point.”
“It’ll cover all her bills,” Cola said quickly, voice urgent. “Just save her.”
The nurse blinked, surprised by his tone, then nodded before hurrying away.
Left in the waiting area, Cola lowered himself onto a plastic chair. The twins still in his arms. They had quieted now, their exhausted sobs reduced to hiccups. Chioma clutched his tie tightly while Chisum’s little head rested against his chest.
A curious nurse passing by stopped. “Sir, are those your children?”
Cola glanced at them, their small hands gripping him as though they had known him all their lives. Something stirred inside him. He swallowed hard.
“No, but maybe tonight God wanted them to call me.”
The nurse gave him a puzzled look but said nothing, moving on.
Minutes turned into hours. The white walls of the waiting room, the faint smell of disinfectant, occasional cries of other patients—all blurred around Cola. He couldn’t take his eyes off the door leading to the emergency ward.
Finally, a doctor emerged, removing his gloves.
Cola stood immediately, heart pounding. “How is she?”
“She’s stable for now,” the doctor said. “She suffered a cardiac episode. Very dangerous, but luckily help arrived on time. Another 10 or 15 minutes, and she might not have survived.”
Cola exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief. He looked down at the children still clutching him and whispered, “You did it. You truly saved her.”
The doctor’s gaze softened. “Are you family?”
Cola hesitated. “No, not really, but I’ll take responsibility for her care.”
The doctor nodded. “She’ll be transferred to the ward shortly. You can see her once she’s awake.”
As the doctor left, Cola sat back down, the weight of the moment pressing deeply into him. He glanced at the twins, now asleep in his arms, their innocent faces peaceful despite the storm of the night.
For the first time in many years, Cola felt something stir in him—something stronger than business, stronger than wealth. It was the feeling of being needed, and he knew without a doubt this was only the beginning.
The ward was dimly lit, filled with the faint hum of medical machines. A soft breeze slipped through the half-open window, stirring the white curtains. Amaka lay on the hospital bed, her body weak, skin pale, but her chest rising steadily with each breath.
Beside her, on two plastic chairs pushed together, Chisum and Chioma slept curled against Cola’s arms. Their little fists clutched his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.
Cola hadn’t moved for hours, eyes fixed on the woman lying unconscious before him. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt as though the lives of these three strangers had suddenly entwined with his.
At dawn, a faint murmur broke the silence.
“Mm, my babies…”
Cola straightened instantly, leaning forward. Amaka’s eyelids fluttered open, confusion clouding her gaze. She turned her head slowly, weak eyes finding the sleeping twins.
“Chisum… Chioma…” Her voice cracked, barely audible.
“They’re fine,” Cola said quickly, voice gentle but steady. “They cried for help, and help came.”
Her eyes darted to him for the first time, weary and questioning. “Who? Who are you?”
Cola hesitated, then offered a small smile. “The man your children called by mistake.”
Amaka’s brows furrowed, lips trembling. She tried to sit up, but pain gripped her chest.
Cola leaned forward immediately. “Don’t move. The doctors said you need rest. You’re safe now.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the twins again. Her whisper cracked with emotion. “They saved me?”
“Yes,” Cola said softly, glancing down at the children. “Your little girl pressed my number. She cried into the phone until I came. If not for them…”
His voice trailed off, thick with unspoken words.
Amaka covered her face with trembling hands, sobbing quietly. “God, you used my babies… my little ones.”
Cola looked at her with a mix of admiration and sadness. She was frail, exhausted by life’s weight, yet her first thought was gratitude.
After a moment, she lowered her hand and looked at him again.
“Why would you come? You don’t even know us.”
Cola met her eyes steadily. “I couldn’t ignore them. Not when I heard their cries. Some things you don’t question—you just do.”
Silence lingered between them, broken only by the soft breathing of the twins.
For the first time, Amaka noticed how tenderly they clung to him, how safe they looked in his arms, as though he had been theirs all along. Her lips trembled.
“Thank you for not ignoring them. For not ignoring me.”
Cola shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank these two heroes.”
He brushed a strand of Chioma’s hair away from her face. The twins stirred, blinking awake.
Chisum rubbed his eyes, then gasped when he saw his mother sitting up slightly.
“Mommy!” he cried, scrambling onto the bed.
Chioma followed, tiny arms wrapping around Amaka’s waist.
“Mommy, no stand up yesterday. Mommy sleep on floor,” Chioma said, words slurred but clear.
Amaka burst into fresh tears, hugging them tightly. “My angels… my little heroes.”
Cola rose quietly, giving them their moment. But his heart swelled at the sight. It was the purest picture of love he had ever seen—fragile, desperate, yet powerful enough to defy death.
As he turned toward the door, Amaka called after him weakly.
“Wait, sir… please. What did you say your name was?”
Cola paused, meeting her gaze.
“Cola. Cola Adimi.”
For a long second, their eyes held—hers filled with gratitude, his with something deeper he couldn’t yet name—and in that quiet hospital ward, both felt it.
Destiny had walked in uninvited.
The days after Amaka’s collapse passed slowly, stitched together with hospital visits, whispered prayers, and the restless energy of two toddlers trying to make sense of their new surroundings.
For Amaka, the gratitude of being alive mingled with the fear of what lay ahead.
The doctors warned her gently: “You need rest, madam. Stress and poor nutrition triggered the cardiac episode. If you push yourself further, you may not survive the next one. Rest. Nutrition.”
Amaka almost laughed at the words. How could a widow struggling daily to feed her children in a one-room apartment find rest?
Yet every day since that terrifying night, Cola Adimi returned.
At first, she thought it was pity—a rich man touched by the cries of children doing charity. But soon she realized it was more.
He came not with cameras or bodyguards, but with quiet persistence.
A flask of food one day, fresh clothes for the twins another, a soft toy that made Chioma laugh so hard she hiccupped.
He would kneel on the hospital floor to play catch with Chisum using a rubber ball, his laughter echoing through the ward, drawing smiles even from the nurses.
When Amaka asked him once, voice weary, “Why do you keep coming back?”
He simply smiled. “Because they called me, and I answered. Maybe I was meant to.”
One afternoon, while Amaka dozed lightly, she woke to the sound of giggles.
She turned her head and froze.
There was Cola sitting cross-legged on the floor in his expensive shirt and trousers, letting Chioma braid his tie into messy knots while Chisum climbed onto his lap.
“Cola, you’ll spoil your clothes,” Amaka exclaimed, half scolding, half surprised.
He looked up at her, grinning. “They’re only clothes. They’re not as important as smiles.”
Her heart stuttered at the sincerity in his voice.
She quickly looked away, afraid of what her face might reveal.
But not everyone understood.
The nurses whispered when they saw him. “Every day that man comes. Do you know who he is? They say he’s a billionaire. What’s he doing with a poor widow like her?”
Amaka heard them.
And though she tried to shield her heart, a quiet warmth bloomed inside her whenever Cola walked in.
Still, she reminded herself, “Don’t be deceived. Men like him don’t stay. Men like him don’t build homes with women like me.”
That night, when he offered to settle the hospital bill, she shook her head stubbornly.
“No, I don’t want charity. Can’t repay you.”
Cola studied her for a moment, then said softly, “Who said you need to repay me? Sometimes helping is not charity—it’s purpose.”
The way he said her name made her chest tighten. She looked away, unable to respond.
Yet despite her resistance, despite her fears, she could not deny one truth.
Her children were already attached to him.
“Mommy,” Chisum said one evening as he drifted to sleep beside her, “Uncle Cola will come tomorrow.”
Amaka hesitated, then whispered, “Yes, my son. He will come.”
And she knew, whether she liked it or not, this man was weaving himself into the fabric of their lives.
Destiny was pulling, and she was too tired to fight.
