When my grandpa passed away, I thought the hardest part would be moving on. I never expected him to start visiting me in my dreams with the same strange message every night. I didn’t want to believe it meant anything — until the day I finally gave in and went to the basement.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt truly stuck — like you’re running in place while the world around you keeps moving. That’s my life in a nutshell. I’m 22, and I work as a cashier at a run-down grocery store. It’s the kind of job where you smile and nod while people barely make eye contact, praying your register doesn’t freeze up again.
A young male cashier | Source: Midjourney
The pay is terrible, and by the time I cover rent and utilities for my tiny apartment, there’s barely enough left for groceries.
Life wasn’t always like this, though. I grew up in my grandpa’s house — a cozy place with creaky floors and walls full of old family photos. He raised me and my older brother, Tyler, after our parents died in a car accident.
Grandpa did his best to give us a good life and taught me everything I know about working hard and being decent.
But Tyler? He couldn’t have been more different. Immediately we turned 18, we found out our parents had left us a small inheritance. It wasn’t a fortune, but it could’ve made life a little easier.
Close up of two young adult men | Source: Midjourney
Tyler didn’t care about sharing. He drained the account, borrowed money from Grandpa, and vanished without a word.
I haven’t seen him since.
Grandpa and I didn’t talk about Tyler much after that. It hurt too much. We focused on getting by, fixing things around the house, and spending weekends fishing at the lake. Those were the good days.
Grandpa and grandson fishing | Source: Midjourney
After Grandpa passed, I thought the hardest part was over. I thought the silence in the house, the empty chair at the table, and the quiet hum of memories would be the worst. But I was wrong.
It had happened all so fast. Just two weeks ago, I walked into the house after my shift, groceries in hand, and found him on the floor. His favorite sweater was soaked in spilled tea, and the crossword puzzle he’d been working on was half-finished on the coffee table.
I remember dropping the bags, screaming his name, and shaking him like he could wake up if I just tried hard enough.
A heart attack, the doctors said. Quick and unexpected. Nothing anyone could’ve done.
Doctor delivering bad news to a patient about losing a loved one | Source: Midjourney
At the funeral, I kept waiting for Tyler to show up. Not because I wanted him there but because it felt wrong for him not to be. But, as always, my brother didn’t care enough to show his face. Just me, a scattering of neighbors, and a casket I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to.
That’s when the dreams started.
It wasn’t weird at first. Of course, I’d dream about Grandpa — he was the only family I had left. In the dreams, we were back at the lake, sitting on that old wooden dock with our fishing rods, just like we used to.
Grandpa was the same as ever: his baseball cap tilted back, his sleeves rolled up, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.
A young man sleeping | Source: Midjourney
“Caught anything yet?” I asked him in one dream, watching my line float lazily in the water.
“Nah,” he said, grinning. “You’re scaring the fish with all that talking.”
I laughed, and for a moment, everything felt normal. But then, his face grew serious, and he leaned in close.
“Listen to me, kiddo,” he said. “Check the red box in my basement.”
The first time it happened, I woke up and shrugged it off. Grief does strange things to people. But the dreams didn’t stop. Every night, the same scene. The same words.
A young man seated in his bed at night | Source: Midjourney
“Check the red box in my basement.”
After a week, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fine, Grandpa,” I muttered one morning, standing at the top of the basement stairs. “Let’s see what all this is about.”
The air down there was heavy, like the weight of a thousand memories. And then I saw it — a splash of red peeking out from beneath a pile of old newspapers.
My heart started pounding. Could this really mean something?
The red box was exactly where Grandpa said it would be, sitting beneath a dusty stack of newspapers. For a second, I just stared at it, unsure if I was more relieved or freaked out.
Young man staring at a large red box in the basement | Source: Midjourney
“Well, Grandpa,” I muttered, wiping my palms on my jeans, “let’s see what was so important.”
The lid creaked as I opened it, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Inside was nothing but fishing gear — spools of line, a box of rusty hooks, and a set of lures. There was even the old reel Grandpa used to call his “lucky charm,” though I don’t think it ever actually caught anything.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. “Is this what all the fuss was about?” I chuckled. “You really got me worked up for a tackle box?”
Shaking my head, I set the reel back inside and closed the lid. Maybe the dreams were just my brain’s way of clinging to him. Maybe it was all nonsense.
Young man opening a large old red box in the basement | Source: Midjourney
As I turned to leave, my foot clipped the edge of a nearby box.
“Crap!” I hissed as the whole stack wobbled dangerously before collapsing in a chaotic crash. Dust filled the air, and I coughed, waving it away. “Seriously? Perfect.”
But as I bent down to start picking up the mess, something caught my eye — a metal door embedded in the wall behind where the boxes had been.
A safe.
An old safe with a large circular dial | Source: Midjourney
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
It looked ancient, the kind with a big circular dial and no obvious keyhole. I crouched down, running my fingers over the cold metal.
“What’s the combination?” I muttered to myself, my mind racing.
I tried a few combinations, starting with Grandpa’s birthday. Nothing. Then I tried Tyler’s, just to see. Still nothing.
“Come on,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead. Then, almost on instinct, I tried my own birthday.
Click.
Young man opening an ancient safe | Source: Midjourney
The sound echoed in the quiet basement, and I froze. Slowly, I pulled the door open, revealing neat stacks of cash — so much that I could hardly believe my eyes. Fifty thousand dollars, at least.
My hands shook as I reached in and pulled out a note tucked beneath one of the stacks. It was Grandpa’s handwriting, shaky but familiar.
“For my boy — everything I couldn’t give you in life. Use it to build something good, and don’t let the world beat you down. Love, Grandpa.”
Tears blurred my vision as I sat back, clutching the note. He’d left it for me. After everything, he’d left me the inheritance he must’ve saved bit by bit over the years.
Thousands of US dollar notes inside an ancient safe | Source: Midjourney
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I whispered. My voice cracked, but for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to hope.
The money changed everything.
I didn’t blow it on luxury or take the easy way out. Grandpa’s note kept playing in my mind: “Build something good.” And so, I did.
Six months later, the doors to Peter’s Coffee opened, a cozy little shop tucked on the corner of Main Street.
The walls were lined with fishing memorabilia — a framed picture of Grandpa and me at the lake, his lucky reel mounted above the counter, and even the old red box, now polished and displayed by the register.
A cozy, inviting coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
People loved it. Maybe it was the smell of fresh coffee or the warm, homey vibe. Maybe it was because it was personal. I made sure to tell every customer about the man behind the name, the one who gave me everything when he had so little.
I thought about Tyler, too. I tried calling him, left messages on the only number I had, and even sent an email. But, just like before, there was no answer. Part of me wanted to be angry, but another part just hoped he was okay.
Young man smiling in his cozy coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
One evening, as the shop closed for the night, I lingered behind the counter, wiping down tables. The fishing reel above the door caught the light, and I smiled.
“See, Grandpa?” I said softly, looking around the shop. “I did it.”
I swear I felt a warm breeze sweep through the room, even though the doors were shut.
And in my mind, I heard his voice, as clear as ever:
“You did good, kiddo. You did real good.”
A young man standing in his cozy coffee shop at night | Source: Midjourney
Curious about another family mystery? You’ll love this next one: At My Grandfather’s Funeral, a Stranger Handed Me a Note – When I Read It, I Laughed Because Grandpa Had Tricked Us. What did he leave behind?
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Man Finds a Smashed Phone on the Roadside—When He Inserts the SIM Card Into His Own Phone and Calls ‘Daughter,’ His Heart Stops
They usually say curiosity got the cat, but in my situation, it helped a desperate family find the help they had needed for a long time. My curiosity on the day I found that broken phone also ended up leading to a happy life I never anticipated.
It was a crisp morning when I stepped out of my house, the autumn air cool against my face. My mother, Helen, had already started breakfast, and like every morning, I was on my way to the bakery to pick up fresh rolls for her. Little did I know that this was going to be a very eventful day for both of us.
A man and his mother | Source: Midjourney
It was my mother’s and my little tradition to have breakfast together—something that made our small world feel stable. You’re probably wondering why a 30-year-old successful man would live with his mother.
See, I never knew my father. He’d abandoned my mother when she told him about her pregnancy. So my mother was as lonely as I was, and to prevent that, we decided to live together.
A man living with his mother | Source: Midjourney
What about my romantic life, you ask? Well, I’m not exactly a social butterfly—never have been. My lack of conventional good looks also means that dating has always been a struggle, and I’d long given up trying. Instead, I poured myself into my programming work, spending my days coding and my nights tinkering with gadgets.
That morning, as I strolled down the sidewalk, my sneaker scuffed against something hard. I looked down and saw it—a phone, its screen shattered like a spiderweb, lying in the grass just off the curb.
A broken phone | Source: Midjourney
With my curiosity piqued, I picked it up. The casing was dented, the back partially peeled off, as if it had been run over by a car. It wasn’t a model worth much—an older keypad phone, the kind you only saw in hands that couldn’t afford better.
I turned it over in my hand, seeing an interesting challenge. “Maybe I can fix it,” I murmured.
Slipping it into my pocket, I continued to the bakery, but the phone was on my mind the entire time. It wasn’t just the damage—it was the way it was just lying there, abandoned, as if someone had discarded it in a hurry.
A man at a bakery | Source: Midjourney
By the time I arrived back home, I had forgotten about the broken phone tucked into my pocket. My mom and I had the delicious breakfast she prepared before we set about our Saturday. Remembering the broken phone, I pulled out my own and removed its SIM card.
If the old phone was dead, maybe the SIM card inside still worked, I thought. I carefully slid it into my backup phone and powered it on. A list of contacts appeared. Most were hospitals, schools, and emergency services. Only one number was marked as a favorite—”Daughter.”
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 they truly cared about was this “Daughter”? On impulse, I dialed the number. It rang once. Then twice.
A small, excited voice eventually answered. “Mom?!”
My breath caught. “I—no, I’m not your mom. I’m sorry for calling,” I quickly replied, ready to drop the call, but the next thing the little girl said made me pause.
“Where is she?” Her voice wavered slightly.
A worried man on a call | Source: Midjourney
“Um, 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 curiously, sensing that 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’s your dad, grandma, or anyone I can speak to?”
“I don’t have a dad,” she said softly. “Or a grandma. Just Mom.”
I swallowed. “Do you know where you live?”
“Independence Street. Building seven, apartment 18.”
A rundown apartment building | Source: Midjourney
My hands gripped the phone tighter. “Okay, Julie, are you okay? Are you alone right now?”
“Yes, I’m okay and alone,” she whispered. “But my legs don’t work. I can’t leave.”
I stood abruptly. “Your legs—what do you mean?”
“I have a wheelchair,” she said simply. “But it’s hard to move with no one around to help me. I’m scared.”
I didn’t hesitate as 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
My mother, who had been listening, immediately grabbed her coat. “You’re not going alone,” she said firmly. “If there’s a child in trouble, we need to help.”
This wasn’t how I had imagined spending my weekend, but it felt like the right thing to do. Finding that phone when I did was fate. We caught a cab and arrived at the apartment complex in less than fifteen minutes.
It was a run-down building, the kind with flickering hallway lights and mailboxes stuffed with overdue bills.
I held my breath as I knocked on Apartment Eighteen, uncertain of what I’d find.
A man about to knock on a door | Source: Midjourney
A soft, hesitant voice came through the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Alan,” I said. “I spoke to you on the phone.”
She replied, “The door’s open. Come in.”
The door creaked when I pushed it open just a few inches. A tiny and frail little girl, no older than six or seven, peered up at me from a wheelchair in the makeshift living room. Her hair was unkempt, her face pale and full of sadness, and she looked at me with tired, wide eyes.
My heart clenched.
A frail sad girl | Source: Midjourney
“Will you find my mom?” she asked, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes.
At that moment, I understood that the journey ahead would uncover truths I wasn’t ready to face, but it was too late to turn back now.
So I knelt in front of her and said, “We will, 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 go find something in a bit,” I comforted her.
Taking a breath of resignation, I asked, “Julie, what’s your mom’s name?”
“Victoria,” she said softly. “She never leaves me alone this long.”
That only made my anxiety worse.
A anxious man | Source: Midjourney
“She is the best mom ever and usually returns when she goes out to run errands, but this time, she didn’t. I tried calling her, but her number didn’t go through. None of the neighbors would come to check on me because people here keep to themselves,” the little girl confessed.
My heart ached, and my mind raced. I realized that this wasn’t a simple case. Something was terribly wrong. Julie’s mother had gone missing, and now she was alone, in a wheelchair, unable to move properly, with no one to rely on.
A sad little girl in a wheelchair | Source: Midjourney
But we were here now, so I said, “I’m going to look for food. My mom, Helen, will stay here with you, okay?”
“Okay,” Julie replied.
When I returned, my mother quickly prepared food for the little girl, who scarfed it down hungrily as we sat together. I knew we couldn’t waste time. We needed to find Victoria as soon as possible.
Whipping out my phone, I searched online, checking news reports, and my stomach dropped when I found it: a woman had been hit by a Ford yesterday on Parkova Street. She was in critical condition at a local hospital.
A woman in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
I called immediately but had to ring more than once to get through the busy line.
“Yes,” the nurse who answered confirmed after I explained who I was and that I was with Victoria’s worried daughter. “She was admitted yesterday. She’s stable now but unconscious. We couldn’t reach any family.”
My chest tightened. “I’m coming,” I said without bothering to wait for a response.
My mother and I decided it would be best if we dropped Julie off at our apartment while we went to confirm whether the patient at the hospital was really her mother.
A nice apartment building | Source: Midjourney
We had to reassure Julie that she was safe with our friendly neighbor, Maureen, who gladly offered to watch her in our absence.
When Helen and I got to the hospital, I 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 talking to her about everything. Maybe she’ll want to see you.”
When the nurse returned, she had a hopeful smile. “She’s willing to see you, but please don’t take too long. She needs her rest.”
A happy nurse | Source: Midjourney
We entered her room cautiously. Victoria was pale, her face bruised. Her eyes fluttered open when I stepped closer.
“Who…?” she rasped.
“My name is Alan, and this is my mother, Helen,” I said gently. “I found your phone, and I spoke to Julie. She’s waiting for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Julie… is she okay?!”
I nodded. “She’s scared, but she’s alright. She’s been waiting for you to come home.”
Victoria turned away, guilt written all over her face. “I never wanted this.”
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
I pulled up a chair. “Victoria, what happened?”
She swallowed. “I was hit on my way 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. I was adopted as a child—no relatives, no safety net. I’m an orphan. It’s just been me and Julie for as long as I can remember.”
My heart ached for her.
“We weren’t supposed to be in this situation. 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 won’t help me, and I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
A mean-looking man | Source: Midjourney
She continued, her voice shaking. “I never wanted Julie to feel abandoned, but I was too scared to reach out for help. I thought if I kept quiet about our situation, maybe no one would find out how I’d failed as a parent.”
“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 came to, not for myself, but because I knew Julie was alone,” she revealed.
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
I exhaled, gripping the arms of my chair. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Her gaze lifted, wary but hopeful.
I made a decision right then. “I’ll help you. Julie deserves a chance.”
I reached out to some contacts, and with the help of donations and a specialist, we arranged for Julie to have surgery. It was a long process, but one that changed everything.
A little girl ready for surgery | Source: Midjourney
Months later, I watched as Julie took her first steps. It was shaky, and she clung to my hand, but she was walking! Victoria, who had fully recovered, stood beside me, tears streaming down her face. She turned to me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
A man and woman talking | Source: Midjourney
We became something more than just strangers who had crossed paths. Over time, Julie and I grew close, and my bond with her mother deepened because of the love we had for her. Eventually, our relationship turned into something deeper.
I never expected to have a family, but now, standing beside the woman I’d fallen in love with and married, and the little girl whom I had saved and adopted, I realized I had found one.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
A happy family | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story to keep you entertained. When Charlotte’s fiancé failed to arrive on their wedding day, her world shattered into a million pieces. Finding strength in her friends and family, she made the most of the occasion and found something unexpected.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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