It’s often said that “curiosity killed the cat,” but in my case, it helped a desperate family find the help they had been needing for so long. My curiosity on the day I found that broken phone also led me to a life of happiness I never imagined.

It was a cool morning when I stepped out of my house, the crisp autumn air touching my face. My mother, Helen, had already started breakfast, and as was our morning tradition, I was heading to the bakery to fetch fresh rolls for her. Little did I know that day would become exceptionally significant for us both.

Breakfast together was our routine—a stabilizing ritual in our small universe. You might wonder why a successful 30-year-old man lives with his mother.

The truth is, I never knew my father. He left my mother when she informed him about her pregnancy. So, my mother was as alone as I was, and to avoid loneliness, we decided to live together.

What about my romantic life? Well, I’m not exactly a social butterfly—and I never have been. My lack of conventional attractiveness made dating challenging, and at one point, I gave up trying. Instead, I devoted my time to programming, spending my days writing code and my nights tinkering with gadgets.

That morning, while walking down the sidewalk, the sole of my sneakers kicked something hard. I looked down and saw it—a phone, its screen shattered like a spider’s web, lying in the grass by the curb.

Curiosity pushed me to pick it up. The casing was bent, the back partially peeled off, as if a car had run over it. It wasn’t a fancy model—an old phone with a keypad, the kind you only saw people using if they couldn’t afford anything better.

I turned the phone in my hand, viewing it as an intriguing challenge. “Maybe I can fix it,” I murmured.

I slipped it into my pocket and continued to the bakery, but the phone stayed on my mind the whole time. It wasn’t just about it being broken; it was about how it had been left there, discarded, as if thrown away in a hurry.

By the time I got home, I had nearly forgotten about the broken phone in my pocket. My mother and I enjoyed the delicious breakfast she prepared together, then went about our Saturday. Then, I remembered the phone I found and took out my own phone, removing its SIM card.

If the old phone was dead, maybe its SIM card still worked, I reasoned. I carefully inserted it into a spare phone and turned it on. A list of contacts appeared. Most were hospitals, schools, and emergency services. Only one number was marked as a favorite—”Daughter.”

A lump formed in my throat. Who had lost this phone? And why did it seem like the only person they genuinely cared about was this “Daughter”? Without thinking much, I dialed the number. It rang once. Then twice.

Finally, a small, eager voice answered. “Mom?!”

I was breathless. “I—I’m not your mom. I’m sorry for calling,” I quickly said, ready to end the call, but the girl’s following words made me pause.

“Where is she?!” Her voice quivered slightly.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found a broken phone and used its SIM card. Who are you?” I asked, sensing something was wrong.

The girl hesitated. “Julie. My mom left for the store yesterday and hasn’t come back,” she revealed, her voice breaking with emotion.

A cold shiver ran through me. “Julie, where is your father, your grandmother, or someone I can speak to?”

“I don’t have a dad,” she said slowly. “Or a grandma. Just Mom.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you know where you live?”

“On Independence Street. Building seven, apartment 18.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Julie, are you okay? Are you alone now?”

“Yes, I’m okay and alone,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”

I stood up abruptly. “Your legs—what do you mean?”

“I use a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But it’s hard to move without help. I’m scared.”

I didn’t hesitate. My protective instinct kicked in immediately. “Julie, listen to me carefully. My name is Alan, and I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright?”

“Okay,” she replied softly before I hung up the phone.

My mother, who had heard the entire conversation, grabbed her coat instantly. “You’re not going alone,” she said firmly. “If a child is in danger, we must help.”

This wasn’t how I imagined spending my weekend, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Finding that phone had been fate. We took a taxi and reached the apartment building in less than fifteen minutes.

The building was in a deplorable state, with flickering hall lights and mailboxes stuffed with unpaid bills.

I held my breath as I knocked on the door of apartment 18, unsure of what awaited us.

A timid voice came from behind the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Alan,” I said. “I spoke to you on the phone.”

She replied slowly, “The door is open. Come in.”

I pushed the door, which creaked slightly. Inside, in a corner of a makeshift living room, a small and frail girl, no more than six or seven years old, looked at me from a wheelchair. Her hair was tangled, her face pale and sad, and her big, tired eyes fixed on me with hope.

My heart tightened.

“Are you going to find my Mom?” she asked, her voice trembling, tears gathering in her eyes.

At that moment, I realized the path I had stepped onto was going to uncover truths I wasn’t prepared to handle, but it was too late to turn back.

I sat in front of her and said, “We will 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 was the last one.”

“I’ll get you some food right away,” I told her, trying to reassure her.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Julie, what’s your mom’s name?”

“Victoria,” she said quietly. “She never leaves me alone this long.”

That only heightened my anxiety.

“She’s the best mom in the world and always comes back after shopping, but this time she didn’t return. I tried calling her, but her number doesn’t work. None of the neighbors came to check on me because people here mind their own business,” the girl confessed.

My heart ached, and my mind was racing. I realized this case was not simple at all. Something was terribly wrong. Julie’s mom had disappeared, and now the girl was alone, in a wheelchair, unable to move properly and with no one to rely on.

But I was here now, so I told her, “I’m going to get some food. My mom, Helen, will stay here with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Julie replied.

When I returned, my mother had quickly prepared some food for the girl, who ate hungrily, as if she hadn’t seen food in days. While we sat together, I knew we couldn’t waste any time. We had to find Victoria as soon as possible.

I took out my phone and started searching online, checking the news. My stomach sank 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 immediately, but it took several tries before someone answered.

“Yes,” the nurse confirmed when I explained who I was and that I was with Victoria’s daughter, who was worried about her mom. “She was admitted yesterday. She’s stable now but unconscious. We haven’t been able to contact any family members.”

My chest tightened. “I’m coming right away,” I said without waiting for a response.

My mother and I decided it would be best to leave Julie at our apartment while we went to the hospital to confirm if the patient was indeed her mom.

We had to reassure Julie, ensuring her she would be safe with our friendly neighbor, Maureen, who kindly agreed to watch over her while we were gone.

When Helen and I arrived at the hospital, we explained everything to the staff. The nurse hesitated but eventually said, “She just regained consciousness. She’s very weak, and her condition is still quite serious, but I’ll try to talk to her. She might want to see you.”

When the nurse returned, she had a slightly optimistic smile. “She wants to see you, but please don’t stay too long. She needs rest.”

We entered the room cautiously. Victoria was pale, her face bruised. As I approached, she slowly opened her eyes.

“Who…?” she whispered hoarsely.

“My name is Alan, and this is my mother, Helen,” I said gently. “We found your phone and talked to Julie. She’s waiting for you.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Julie… is she okay?!”

I nodded. “She’s scared, but she’s okay. She’s waiting for you to come home.”

Victoria’s gaze turned, guilt washing over her face. “I never wanted this to happen.”

I sat in a chair. “Victoria, what happened?”

She swallowed with difficulty. “I was hit while getting medicine for Julie. She has a condition… I tried to save money for her surgery, but it’s impossible. I have no family. I was adopted as a child—no relatives, no support. I’m an orphan. It’s always been just Julie and me.”

My heart ached for her.

“We shouldn’t have ended up like this. After I divorced Julie’s abusive father, I was left with nothing, and I’ve been struggling ever since. My ex-husband and his family refuse to help, and I didn’t know who to turn to.”

She continued, her voice trembling. “I never wanted Julie to feel abandoned, but I was too scared to ask for help. I thought if I stayed silent and endured, nobody would find out how much I had failed as a mother.”

“I couldn’t afford a car, so I walked everywhere. Last night, I was hurrying home when the accident happened. I was so scared when I regained consciousness, not for myself, but because I knew Julie was alone,” she admitted.

I exhaled deeply, gripping the arms of the chair. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Her gaze lifted to me, cautious yet hopeful.

That’s when I made a decision. “I’ll help you. Julie deserves a chance.”

I reached out to some people, and with donations and a specialist’s assistance, we managed to organize the surgery Julie needed. It was a long process, but one that changed everything.

Several months later, I watched Julie take her first steps. She was unsteady and clung tightly to my hand, but she was walking! Victoria, who had fully recovered, stood next to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned to me, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” I replied.

We were no longer just strangers who had met by chance. Over time, Julie and I grew closer, and my bond with her mother deepened through my love for the little girl. Eventually, our relationship evolved into something more profound.

I never expected to have a family, but now, standing beside the woman I had fallen in love with and married, and the little girl I had saved and adopted, I realized I had found my family.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

What are your thoughts? We’d love to hear your stories or comments on this remarkable journey!