It’s often said that curiosity is a bad thing, but in my situation, it helped a desperate family find the help they needed for a long time. My curiosity, the day I found that broken phone, also led me to a happy life I never imagined.
It was a crisp morning when I left my house, the autumn air refreshing my face. My mother, Helen, had already prepared breakfast, and like every morning, I went to the bakery to buy her some fresh rolls. Little did I know that this day would be eventful for both of us.
A man and his mother | Source: Midjourney
A man and his mother | Source: Midjourney
It was a small tradition between my mother and me to have breakfast together, which gave our little world a sense of stability. You’re probably wondering why a successful 30-year-old man still lives with his mother.
Actually, I never knew my father. He had abandoned my mother when she told him she was pregnant. So my mother was just as lonely as I was, and to avoid that, we decided to live together.
A man living with his mother | Source: Midjourney
A man living with his mother | Source: Midjourney
What about my love life, you ask? Well, I’m not exactly a social butterfly—never have been. My lack of conventional beauty also made dating difficult, and I’d long since given up trying. Instead, I devoted myself to my programming work, spending my days coding and my nights tinkering with things.
That morning, as I was walking along the sidewalk, my sneaker hit something hard. I looked down and saw it. It was a phone, its screen shattered like a spider’s web.
A broken phone | Source: Midjourney
A broken phone | Source: Midjourney
Piqued by curiosity, I picked it up. The case was dented, the back partially detached, as if it had been run over by a car. It wasn’t a model worth much—an old touch-tone phone, the kind you only see in the hands of those who can’t afford anything better.
I turned it over and thought, “Maybe I can fix it.”
I slipped it into my pocket and continued to the bakery, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the phone. It wasn’t just the damage, it was the way it lay there, abandoned, as if someone had disposed of it in a hurry.
A man in a bakery | Source: Midjourney
A man in a bakery | Source: Midjourney
When I got home, I had forgotten the broken phone in my pocket. My mother and I ate the delicious breakfast she had prepared before setting about our Saturday. Remembering the broken phone, I took mine out and removed its SIM card.
If the old phone was dead, maybe the SIM card inside still worked, I thought. I carefully slipped it into my backup phone and started it up. A list of contacts appeared. Most were hospitals, schools, and emergency services. Only one number was marked as a favorite: “My daughter.”
A man looking at his phone | Source: Midjourney
A man looking at his phone | Source: Midjourney
Something tightened in my chest. Who had lost this phone? And why did it seem like the only person who truly mattered to them was this “Girl”? Driven by an impulse, I dialed the number. One ring. Then another.
A small, excited voice finally answered. “Mom?!”
I gasped. “I… no, I’m not your mother. I’m sorry I called,” I quickly replied, ready to let the call go, but the next thing the little girl said made me think.
“Where is she?” His voice wavered slightly.
A worried man on a call | Source: Midjourney
A worried man on a call | Source: Midjourney
“Um, I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found this broken phone and used its SIM card. Who are you?” I asked curiously, sensing something was wrong.
The girl hesitated. “Julie. My mom went to the store yesterday and didn’t come back,” she revealed, her voice cracking with emotion.
A cold feeling spread through me. “Julie, where is your father, your grandmother, or someone I can talk to?”
“I don’t have a father,” she said softly. “Nor a grandmother. Just Mom.”
I swallowed. “Do you know where you live?”
“Independence Street. Building 7, Apartment 18.”
A dilapidated apartment building | Source: Midjourney
A dilapidated apartment building | Source: Midjourney
My hands gripped the phone tighter. “Julie, are you okay? Are you alone right now?”
“Yes, I’m fine and I’m alone,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
I stood up abruptly. “Your legs, what do you mean?”
“I have a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But it’s difficult to move around without someone to help me. I’m scared.”
I didn’t hesitate, because my protective instincts kicked in. “Julie, listen carefully. My name is Alan and I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“Okay,” she replied weakly before I dropped the phone.
A little girl on a call | Source: Midjourney
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