They say curiosity killed the cat, but in my case, curiosity led to saving a family in desperate need—and to a happiness I never imagined for myself.
It all started on a crisp autumn morning. The air was cool, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as I stepped out of the house. Inside, my mother, Helen, was already preparing breakfast, her usual routine. I was heading to the bakery to pick up fresh rolls, just like every other morning. But that day would change everything.
Breakfast with my mother had always been our little tradition, a moment of warmth and stability in our small world. You might be wondering why a successful 30-year-old man still lived with his mother. The answer was simple: I never knew my father. He had walked out on my mother the moment she told him she was pregnant. It had always been just the two of us, and we had learned to find comfort in each other’s company.
As for my romantic life? Well, I wasn’t exactly the type to sweep women off their feet. I was introverted, far from conventionally handsome, and had long since stopped trying to fit into the dating scene. Instead, I immersed myself in my work as a programmer, spending my days coding and my nights tinkering with gadgets. It was safer that way.
That morning, as I walked down the sidewalk, lost in thought, my sneaker scuffed against something hard. I looked down and saw it—a phone, lying just off the curb, its screen shattered like a spiderweb.
Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. The casing was dented, the back partially peeled off, as if someone had run over it. It was an older model, the kind only used by people who couldn’t afford anything better.
“Maybe I can fix it,” I murmured to myself, slipping the phone into my pocket before continuing on my way.
Even as I went through the motions of buying the bread, my mind kept circling back to the broken phone. Something about the way it had been abandoned didn’t sit right with me. Had someone lost it? Or had they discarded it on purpose?
When I got home, the warm scent of my mother’s cooking filled the kitchen. We sat down for breakfast, and for a while, I forgot about the phone. But after we finished eating, it came back to me. I pulled it out, inspecting it more closely. The screen was completely unresponsive, but the SIM card might still work.
I removed the SIM and inserted it into my backup phone, powering it on. A list of contacts appeared. Most were hospitals, schools, and emergency services. But one number was saved under a special name: “Daughter.”
Something inside me tightened. Whoever owned this phone didn’t have many people in their life, but this “Daughter” was clearly important to them. On impulse, I pressed the call button.
The phone rang once. Then twice. Then, a small, hopeful voice answered.
“Mom?!”
I froze. A child.
“I—uh, no, I’m not your mom. I’m sorry for calling,” I stammered, feeling guilty for giving her false hope. But before I could hang up, the little girl’s voice wavered.
“Where is she?” she asked, her tone filled with worry.
Something was wrong.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found this phone, and I was trying to return it. Who are you?”
“I’m Julie,” she said hesitantly. “My mom went to the store yesterday… but she didn’t come back.”
My heart clenched. “Julie, is there anyone else with you? Your dad? A neighbor?”
She hesitated. “I don’t have a dad. Or a grandma. Just Mom.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “Do you know where you live?”
“Independence Street. Building seven, apartment eighteen.”
I took a deep breath. “Julie, are you alone right now?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. “Your legs—what do you mean?”
“I have a wheelchair,” she explained. “But it’s hard to move when no one’s here. I’m scared.”
That was it. I couldn’t ignore this. “Julie, listen carefully. My name is Alan. I’m coming to get you, okay?”
“Okay,” she replied weakly.
I dropped the phone and turned to my mother. She had been listening the whole time, her expression firm.
“You’re not going alone,” she said, already reaching for her coat. “If a child is in trouble, we help.”
We caught a cab and reached Julie’s apartment in less than fifteen minutes. The building was old, the paint peeling, the hallway lights flickering. When I knocked on the door, a soft, hesitant voice came through.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Alan,” I said. “I spoke to you on the phone.”
The door creaked open slightly, revealing a frail little girl in a wheelchair. She was no older than seven, her hair unkempt, her face pale with exhaustion. But her eyes—her eyes were filled with hope.
“Will you find my mom?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I knelt beside her. “We will. But first, let’s get you something to eat.”
She had run out of food the night before. My mother hurried to prepare a meal while I searched online for news of missing persons. My stomach dropped when I found an article—yesterday, a woman had been hit by a car on Parkova Street. She was in critical condition.
I called the hospital immediately. The nurse confirmed it. “She’s stable but unconscious. We had no emergency contacts.”
I turned to Julie, my heart heavy. “Your mom is in the hospital. She’s alive.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Can I see her?”
“We’ll take you,” I promised.
Before we left, we made arrangements with our kind neighbor, Maureen, to watch Julie while my mother and I confirmed her mother’s identity.
At the hospital, we met Victoria. She was weak but conscious. The moment I mentioned Julie, she choked back tears. “She’s okay?”
I nodded. “She’s waiting for you.”
Victoria broke down. “I was trying to buy her medicine… I didn’t have enough money. I’ve been struggling, working two jobs, trying to save for her surgery. But I failed her.”
I exhaled, gripping the chair’s armrests. “You didn’t fail her. You just needed help.”
In that moment, I made a decision. I had the resources. I could help.
Through donations and medical contacts, we arranged for Julie’s surgery. Months later, I stood beside her as she took her first shaky steps. Victoria, now fully recovered, watched with tears in her eyes. She turned to me, voice thick with emotion.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said simply.
Over time, we became more than just strangers who had crossed paths. I had fallen in love—with both Victoria and Julie. Eventually, we became a family.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
