They say curiosity killed the cat, but for me, curiosity led to something life-changing. The day I found that broken phone was the day I helped a desperate family—and unknowingly, changed my own life forever.
It was a crisp autumn morning, the air cool against my face as I stepped out of my house. My mother, Helen, had already started making breakfast, filling our home with the comforting scent of fried eggs and buttered toast. Like every morning, I was on my way to the bakery to pick up fresh rolls for us. What I didn’t know was that this would be a day unlike any other.
Breakfast was a cherished tradition for my mother and me, something that made our small world feel stable. I know what you’re thinking—why would a 30-year-old man still live with his mother? Well, the truth is, I never knew my father. He abandoned my mother the moment she told him she was pregnant. She raised me alone, and as I grew older, I saw no reason to leave her lonely. We were a team.
As for my romantic life, let’s just say I was never lucky in that department. I wasn’t the most handsome guy, and my social skills weren’t the best either. I had given up on dating a long time ago and buried myself in my work as a programmer, spending my nights coding and tinkering with gadgets. It was simpler that way.
That morning, as I strolled along the sidewalk, my foot hit something hard. I looked down and saw a phone lying in the grass near the curb, its screen shattered like a spiderweb. The back was dented and partially peeled off, as if it had been run over.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. It was an old keypad phone, not worth much, but something about it intrigued me. “Maybe I can fix it,” I murmured to myself before slipping it into my pocket and continuing to the bakery.
I didn’t think about the phone again until I returned home. My mother and I had breakfast, enjoying our peaceful morning. But later, as I cleaned up the table, I remembered the damaged phone in my pocket. Curiosity got the best of me, so I took out my spare phone and removed its SIM card. Maybe the old phone was dead, but its SIM card might still work.
When I inserted it into my backup phone, a list of contacts appeared. Most were hospitals, schools, and emergency services. Only one number was marked as a favorite—“Daughter.”
My heart squeezed. Someone had lost this phone, and the only person they seemed to truly care about was their daughter. Without thinking, I tapped the number and called.
The phone rang once. Then twice.
Finally, a small, hopeful voice answered. “Mom?!”
My breath caught. “I—no, I’m not your mom. I’m sorry for calling,” I said quickly, about to end the call. But then, the little girl’s next words stopped me in my tracks.
“Where is she?” Her voice trembled.
I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found a broken phone and used its SIM card. Who are you?”
“Julie,” she said. “My mom went to the store yesterday and never came back.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. “Julie, where’s your dad? Or a grandparent? Someone I can talk to?”
“I don’t have a dad,” she said softly. “Or a grandma. Just Mom.”
My stomach twisted. “Do you know where you live?”
“Independence Street. Building seven, apartment eighteen.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “Are you alone right now?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
I stood abruptly. “Your legs—what do you mean?”
“I have a wheelchair,” she explained. “But it’s hard to move with no one around. I’m scared.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Julie, my name is Alan. I’m coming to you. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“Okay,” she said weakly before I ended the call.
My mother had been listening the whole time. Without missing a beat, she grabbed her coat. “You’re not going alone. If there’s a child in trouble, we need to help.”
We caught a cab and arrived at the apartment complex in fifteen minutes. The building was run-down, the hallway lights flickering, mailboxes stuffed with overdue bills.
I knocked on Apartment Eighteen. A soft, hesitant voice came from inside. “Who is it?”
“It’s Alan,” I said. “I spoke to you on the phone.”
There was a pause, then, “The door’s open. Come in.”
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. A frail little girl, no older than six or seven, sat in a wheelchair in the living room. Her dark hair was unkempt, her face pale, and her eyes wide with exhaustion.
“Will you find my mom?” she asked, her voice trembling.
I knelt in front of her. “We will. But first, let’s make sure you’re okay. Do you have food?”
She shook her head. “I ate a sandwich yesterday. That was the last one.”
My mother immediately busied herself in the kitchen while I searched online for news. My stomach dropped when I found an article: A woman had been hit by a car yesterday on Parkova Street. She was in critical condition at a local hospital.
I called the hospital immediately. “Yes,” the nurse confirmed. “She was admitted yesterday. She’s stable but unconscious. We had no emergency contact on file.”
My mother and I took Julie to our home, leaving her in the care of our kind neighbor while we rushed to the hospital.
When we arrived, the nurse led us to Victoria’s room. She looked fragile, bruises covering her pale skin. Her eyes fluttered open when I stepped closer.
“Who…?” she rasped.
“My name is Alan. I found your phone and spoke to Julie. She’s safe.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Julie… she’s okay?”
I nodded. “She’s been waiting for you.”
She turned away, guilt etched into her face. “I never wanted this…”
“What happened?” I asked gently.
She swallowed. “I was hit while getting medicine for Julie. She has a condition… I’ve been trying to save up for surgery. But I have no one. No family. No support. I’ve been struggling since my divorce…”
My heart ached for her.
“You’re not alone anymore,” I said firmly.
With time, we raised money for Julie’s surgery. Months later, I held her tiny hands as she took her first shaky steps. Victoria, fully recovered, stood beside me, tears streaming down her face.
She turned to me and whispered, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
In time, we became more than just strangers who had crossed paths. Our bond grew deeper, and love found its way into our hearts. Eventually, Victoria and I married, and I adopted Julie.
I never expected to have a family. But standing beside them, I knew I had found one.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
