They often say curiosity killed the cat, but for me, it was curiosity that helped a family in desperate need find the help they had been longing for—and it led me to a life I never saw coming. It all started with a broken phone, a seemingly insignificant object, but one that changed everything for us.
It was one of those crisp autumn mornings when the air felt sharp against my skin. My mom, Helen, was already in the kitchen, starting breakfast as she did every morning. I was headed to the bakery to pick up fresh rolls for us, a little tradition between us that grounded our world. You might be wondering why a 30-year-old successful man still lives with his mom. The truth is, I never knew my father. He left my mother when she told him about her pregnancy, and we’ve been each other’s only company ever since. To avoid feeling lonely, we decided to live together—just the two of us.
As for my love life—well, that’s another story. I’m not exactly the outgoing type. My lack of conventional looks never made dating easy, and after years of failed attempts, I gave up. Instead, I threw myself into my programming work, spending my days coding and my nights tinkering with gadgets.
That morning, as I walked to the bakery, my sneaker brushed against something hard. Looking down, I saw it: a broken phone, its screen shattered like spiderwebs, lying abandoned in the grass by the curb. My curiosity piqued, I picked it up. It was an old model, nothing special, the kind you’d see in the hands of someone who couldn’t afford better. Its casing was dented, the back peeling off as though it had been run over.
“This could be a fun challenge,” I muttered, slipping it into my pocket as I continued to the bakery. The phone stayed on my mind the whole way there, not just because of its condition, but because of the way it had been discarded—left in a hurry, as if someone had given up on it.
Later, back home with breakfast, I remembered the broken phone and pulled out my own to remove the SIM card. “What if the SIM still works?” I thought, as I slid it into my backup phone. When it powered up, a list of contacts appeared—hospitals, schools, and emergency services. But one number stood out, marked as a favorite: “Daughter.”
Something twisted inside me. Who had lost this phone? Why did this person seem to care so much about this “Daughter”? Without thinking, I dialed the number. It rang twice before a small, excited voice answered, “Mom?!”
My heart skipped a beat. “Uh, 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 wavered.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I found a broken phone and used its SIM card. Who are you?” I asked, my curiosity deepening as something felt wrong.
The girl paused, then answered, “Julie. My mom went to the store yesterday and didn’t come back.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
A chill ran down my spine. “Julie, where’s your dad or anyone I can talk to?”
“I don’t have a dad,” she whispered. “Or a grandma. Just Mom.”
I felt my stomach tighten. “Do you know where you live?”
“Independence Street. Building seven, apartment 18.”
My hands tightened around the phone. “Are you okay? Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m okay, but I’m alone,” she replied, her voice small and scared. “My legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
“Your legs? What do you mean?” I asked, my concern rising.
“I have a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But I can’t move by myself. I’m scared.”
I stood up, heart pounding. “Julie, listen to me. My name is Alan, and I’m coming to get you. Stay there. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay,” she whispered, before the line went silent.
Without missing a beat, my mom, who had been listening in, grabbed her coat. “You’re not going alone,” she said. “We need to help.”
And just like that, our weekend plans were derailed—but it didn’t matter. I knew we had to help this girl. We hopped in a cab, and in less than fifteen minutes, we were at the apartment complex—a run-down building with flickering hallway lights and mailboxes overflowing with overdue bills.
I knocked on apartment 18, my heart racing. A hesitant voice came from inside. “Who is it?”
“It’s Alan. I spoke to you on the phone,” I replied, anxiety creeping up my spine.
The voice answered, “The door’s open. Come in.”
The door creaked open, revealing a tiny girl in a wheelchair, her hair unkempt, her face pale and tired. She looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes.
“Will you find my mom?” she asked, her voice shaking with tears.
I felt my chest tighten. This was no ordinary day. My instincts kicked in as I knelt beside her. “We’ll find her, I promise. But first, let’s make sure you’re okay. Do you have food?”
She shook her head. “I ate a sandwich yesterday. That’s all.”
“I’ll get you something soon,” I reassured her, trying to stay calm.
“Julie, what’s your mom’s name?” I asked gently.
“Victoria,” she replied softly. “She never leaves me alone this long.”
The anxiety in my chest grew heavier. Something was seriously wrong. Julie’s mom was missing, and this little girl, alone and unable to move, was scared. But we weren’t going to leave her like this.
“I’m going to find you food,” I said, trying to steady my nerves. “My mom will stay with you, okay?”
“Okay,” Julie whispered.
When I returned, my mom had prepared food for Julie, who ate it hungrily, clearly relieved. We couldn’t waste time. We needed to find Victoria.
I searched online and found a news report: a woman had been hit by a Ford the day before on Parkova Street and was in critical condition at a local hospital. My stomach sank.
I called the hospital, and after multiple attempts, I reached a nurse. “Yes, she’s here. She’s stable, but unconscious. We couldn’t reach any family,” the nurse confirmed.
“I’m coming,” I said, hanging up without another word.
We made sure Julie was safe with our neighbor, Maureen, and rushed to the hospital. Once there, the nurse confirmed that Victoria had just regained consciousness, though her condition was still serious.
When we entered her room, she looked fragile, her face bruised and tired. Her eyes fluttered open when I approached.
“Who…?” she whispered.
“My name is Alan, and this is my mother, Helen,” I said softly. “I found your phone, and I spoke to Julie. She’s waiting for you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Julie… is she okay?”
“She’s scared, but she’s okay. She’s been waiting for you to come home,” I assured her.
Victoria’s face fell with guilt. “I never wanted this.”
I sat down beside her. “Victoria, what happened?”
She took a shaky breath. “I was hit while going to get medicine for Julie. She has a condition… I’ve been trying to save up for surgery, but it’s impossible. I have no family—just me and Julie. I’ve been trying to keep us afloat after my divorce from her father, but it’s been a struggle.”
Tears filled my eyes as I listened. “You’re not alone anymore,” I told her.
From that moment on, I knew we would help them. Together, we got Julie the surgery she needed, and months later, I watched in awe as she took her first shaky steps.
Victoria, now fully recovered, stood beside me, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
From strangers to family, we had built something beautiful—something I never imagined. And now, with the woman I had fallen in love with and the little girl I had saved, I realized I had finally found the family I’d always longed for.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
