They usually say curiosity got the cat, but in my case, it led to something far greater. It helped a desperate family in ways I never could have imagined. The day I found that broken phone was the day my life changed forever.
It was a crisp autumn morning, the kind where the air was fresh, and the golden leaves crunched beneath my feet. My breath came out in soft clouds as I stepped out of my house. My mother, Helen, had already started breakfast, and as always, I was on my way to the bakery to pick up fresh rolls for us. It was a tradition, something that made our small world feel stable and warm.
Now, you might wonder why a thirty-year-old successful man still lived with his mother. Well, the answer was simple: I never knew my father. He had abandoned my mother the moment she told him about her pregnancy. So, in a way, we were both lonely. Instead of allowing that loneliness to consume us, we chose to live together. She was my anchor, and I was hers.
And as for my romantic life? Well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Dating had never come easy for me, and after years of unsuccessful attempts, I had given up entirely. Instead, I poured my time into my programming work. I spent my days coding and my nights tinkering with gadgets, finding comfort in the predictable logic of computers rather than the complexities of human relationships.
That morning, as I walked down the sidewalk, my sneaker scuffed against something hard. I glanced down and saw it—a phone, its screen shattered like a spiderweb, lying just off the curb in the damp grass.
Curious, I bent down and picked it up. The casing was dented, the back peeling off, as if it had been run over by a car. It wasn’t a new model, just an old keypad phone—the kind only used by people who couldn’t afford anything better.
I turned it over in my hands, inspecting the damage. “Maybe I can fix it,” I murmured to myself, slipping it into my pocket.
I continued to the bakery, but my mind kept drifting back to the phone. Something about it unsettled me. It wasn’t just the damage—it was the way it had been discarded, as if someone had thrown it away in a hurry.
By the time I arrived back home, I had forgotten about it momentarily. My mother and I had breakfast together, chatting about the weekend ahead. But after we finished eating, my curiosity got the better of me.
I pulled the broken phone from my pocket and studied it again. An idea struck me—I removed my own phone’s SIM card and replaced it with the one from the old phone. If the phone itself was dead, maybe the SIM card still worked.
When the screen lit up, I was met with a list of contacts. Most were numbers for hospitals, schools, and emergency services. But one stood out—saved as “Daughter.”
A strange feeling settled in my chest. Who had lost this phone? And why did it seem like the only important contact was this “Daughter”?
On impulse, I dialed the number. The phone rang once. Twice. Then, a small voice answered, excitement clear in her tone.
“Mom?!”
I hesitated. “I—no, I’m not your mom. I’m sorry for calling,” I said, ready to hang up. But then, the little girl’s voice wavered.
“Where is she?” she whispered, and my stomach clenched at the fear in her voice.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice softer now. “I found this phone on the ground. Who are you?”
“I’m Julie,” she said. “Mom went to the store yesterday and didn’t come back.”
A chill ran through me. “Julie, do you have anyone else with you? A dad, a grandparent?”
“I don’t have a dad. Or a grandma. Just Mom.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you know your address?”
“Independence Street. Building Seven. Apartment Eighteen.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “Julie, are you okay? Are you alone?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
I shot up from my chair. “Your legs—what do you mean?”
“I have a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But it’s hard to move when no one is here. And I’m scared.”
I didn’t hesitate. “Julie, listen carefully. My name is Alan, and I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
I ended the call and turned to my mother, who had been listening the whole time. She grabbed her coat. “You’re not going alone,” she said firmly. “If there’s a child in trouble, we have to help.”
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the apartment building. The hallways were dimly lit, and the mailbox outside was stuffed with old letters and bills.
I knocked on Apartment Eighteen.
A small voice came through the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Alan,” I said gently. “I spoke to you on the phone.”
The door creaked open, revealing a tiny, frail girl sitting in a wheelchair. She looked up at me with tired eyes, her face pale, her dark hair messy.
“Will you find my mom?” she asked, her voice shaking.
I knelt beside her and said, “I promise.”
She sniffled. “I’m really hungry.”
My mother immediately stepped in. “Let’s get you something to eat, sweetheart.”
While Julie ate, I searched online for any news about missing persons. My stomach dropped when I found an article. A woman had been hit by a car the day before on Parkova Street. She was in critical condition at the hospital.
I called immediately, and after some back-and-forth with the hospital staff, they confirmed it—Julie’s mother, Victoria, had been admitted the night before.
Julie couldn’t be left alone, so we brought her to our apartment. Our neighbor, Maureen, kindly agreed to look after her while my mother and I rushed to the hospital.
When we arrived, a nurse led us to Victoria’s room. She was pale, her face bruised, but when she opened her eyes and saw me, she tensed.
“Who…?” she croaked weakly.
“My name is Alan,” I said gently. “I found your phone. Julie is safe.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Julie… my baby…”
“She’s okay. She’s waiting for you.”
Victoria sobbed. “I never wanted this…”
We talked, and she told me everything—about her struggles, Julie’s medical condition, and how she had been desperately trying to save up for her daughter’s surgery.
I knew in that moment that I couldn’t just walk away. So I helped. I reached out to contacts, raised donations, and found a specialist who could perform Julie’s surgery.
Months later, I stood beside Victoria as we watched Julie take her first steps. Tears streamed down her mother’s face, and she turned to me. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said, smiling.
Over time, my bond with Julie and Victoria deepened. Love blossomed where there had once been loneliness.
I never expected to find a family. But now, standing beside my wife, Victoria, and our beautiful daughter, Julie, I realized I had one.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
