Man Finds a Smashed Phone on the Roadside—When He Inserts the SIM Card Into His Own Phone and Calls ‘Daughter,’ His Heart Stops
People often say that curiosity led to the cat’s downfall, but in my case, it guided a struggling family to the support they had been longing for. My inquisitiveness on the day I stumbled upon that damaged phone also set me on a path toward a happiness I had never foreseen.
The morning was brisk as I stepped outside, the autumn breeze crisp against my skin. My mother, Helen, had already begun preparing breakfast, and as usual, I was heading to the bakery to grab fresh bread for her. Unbeknownst to me, this would become a day neither of us would ever forget.
Sharing breakfast had always been a cherished routine for my mother and me, a small ritual that made our little world feel stable. You might be wondering why a 30-year-old man, successful in his career, still resided with his mother.
The answer was simple: I had never met my father. He had abandoned my mother upon learning she was pregnant. Because of that, my mother knew loneliness just as I did, and to avoid that emptiness, we chose to live together.
And as for my love life? Well, let’s just say I’ve never been the outgoing type. Socializing wasn’t my strength, and my lack of traditionally attractive features only made dating more of a challenge. I had long since given up on romance, instead immersing myself in my work as a programmer. My days were spent coding, and my nights were filled with experiments on various gadgets.
That particular morning, as I walked along the sidewalk, my shoe scraped against something solid. Glancing down, I spotted it—a cell phone, its screen splintered like a web of cracks, discarded on the grass near the curb.
Curiosity sparked within me. I picked up the phone, turning it over in my hand. The casing was battered, the back cover slightly detached, as if it had been run over. It wasn’t a fancy model—just an outdated keypad phone, the kind people with limited means often used.
I examined it closely and felt a familiar thrill at the challenge. “I wonder if I can repair this,” I muttered under my breath.
Slipping the phone into my pocket, I resumed my walk to the bakery, but the device lingered in my thoughts. It wasn’t just its condition that intrigued me—it was how it had been left there, as if someone had discarded it in haste.
By the time I returned home, the phone had momentarily slipped my mind. My mother and I enjoyed the delicious meal she had prepared, going about our usual Saturday routine. But later, the memory resurfaced, and I pulled out the broken phone, my fingers itching to investigate.
Swapping out its SIM card with the one in my backup phone, I powered it on, eager to see if there was any remaining data. A contact list appeared—most entries were hospitals, schools, and emergency numbers. Only one stood out, marked as a favorite: “Daughter.”
A strange feeling settled in my chest. Who did this phone belong to? And why was this person’s only priority their child? Acting on impulse, I dialed the number.
The phone rang once. Then twice.
Finally, a small, hopeful voice answered. “Mom?!”
I froze for a moment. “I—no, I’m not your mother. I’m sorry,” I said quickly, about to hang up. But then, the girl’s next words made my heart clench.
“Where is she?” Her voice quivered.
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found this phone on the street and used its SIM card. Who am I speaking with?” I asked, sensing something was terribly wrong.
The girl hesitated. “I’m Julie. My mom went to the store yesterday and never came back.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Julie, do you have anyone else with you? Your dad? A relative?”
“I don’t have a dad,” she whispered. “No grandma either. It’s just me and my mom.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you know your address?”
“Independence Street. Building seven, apartment 18.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “Are you okay, Julie? Are you alone right now?”
“Yes… but my legs don’t work. I can’t leave,” she admitted softly.
I shot up from my seat. “Your legs—what do you mean?”
“I use a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But it’s hard to move by myself. And I’m scared.”
I didn’t think twice. “Julie, listen to me. My name is Alan, and I’m coming to help you. Just hold on.”
“Okay,” she whispered as I ended the call.
My mother, who had been listening, immediately grabbed her coat. “You’re not going alone,” she stated firmly. “If a child is in danger, we have to act.”
This wasn’t how I had planned my day, but there was no turning back. Finding that phone was no coincidence—it was meant to happen. We hailed a taxi and reached the apartment building in under fifteen minutes.
The building was in poor condition. Dim hallway lights flickered, and mailboxes were stuffed with unopened bills.
I took a deep breath and knocked on Apartment 18, unsure of what awaited me.
A hesitant voice spoke from behind the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Alan,” I responded. “I spoke to you on the phone.”
A moment of silence. Then, “The door’s open. Come in.”
I pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. In the center sat a frail little girl in a wheelchair, no older than six or seven. Her hair was tangled, her skin pale, and her eyes wide with uncertainty.
My heart ached.
“Can you find my mom?” she pleaded, her voice trembling.
In that instant, I knew I was stepping into something bigger than I had expected. But it was too late to back down.
I knelt before her and promised, “I will. But first, let’s make sure you’re okay. Do you have anything to eat?”
She shook her head. “I had my last sandwich yesterday.”
I exhaled. “Alright. We’ll take care of that.”
Determined, I asked, “Julie, what’s your mom’s name?”
“Victoria,” she murmured. “She never leaves me alone this long.”
A fresh wave of worry settled over me.
“She always comes back. She’s the best mom ever,” Julie added, tears welling up. “But this time, she didn’t. I tried calling her, but her number wouldn’t connect. The neighbors wouldn’t check on me—people here don’t talk much.”
My chest tightened. This wasn’t just a delay—something was seriously wrong.
“We’re here now,” I assured her. “I’ll find something for you to eat. My mom will stay with you, okay?”
She nodded.
I left to get food, and when I returned, my mother quickly prepared a meal. Julie ate ravenously, and as I watched, I knew time was against us. We had to find Victoria.
Grabbing my phone, I scoured online news reports. My stomach dropped when I read it: A woman had been struck by a car on Parkova Street the night before. She was in critical condition at a local hospital.
I immediately called the hospital.
“Yes,” the nurse confirmed after I explained our situation. “She was brought in yesterday. She’s stable but unconscious. We had no contact information for her.”
My heart pounded. “I’m coming.”
Before heading there, we arranged for Julie to stay with our kind neighbor, Maureen.
At the hospital, the nurse hesitated before finally saying, “She just woke up. She’s weak, but she’s willing to see you.”
Victoria was pale, her face bruised. Her eyes fluttered open as I approached.
“Who…?” she rasped.
“I’m Alan, and this is my mother, Helen,” I said gently. “I found your phone and spoke to Julie. She’s waiting for you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Julie… is she safe?”
“She’s scared but alright,” I reassured her.
Tears slid down Victoria’s cheeks. “I never wanted this.”
I sat beside her. “What happened?”
She exhaled shakily. “I was hit while rushing to buy Julie’s medicine. She needs surgery, but I couldn’t afford it. I have no family. I was adopted, and when I divorced my abusive husband, I was left with nothing. I didn’t know who to turn to.”
Her voice broke. “I was just trying to survive.”
Emotion swelled in my chest. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
And I meant it.
With time, support, and fundraising, we helped Julie get her surgery. She took her first steps months later, holding my hand. Victoria stood beside me, tears streaming down.
She whispered, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
And in the end, I gained something I never expected—a family. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
