For years, I’ve driven trucks for a living. It’s not a typical career path for a woman, but I chose it knowingly, understanding both the hardships and rewards that come with life on the road.
Life has a strange way of pushing us down roads we never imagined. For me, that road opened when my husband walked out on me and our four-year-old twins, Gia and Vinnie.
My father was a trucker until the age of 55. As a child, I watched him leave for days, returning with tales of highways and diners. It might surprise some, but trucking offers a stable income. Dad always managed to provide for us.
So, when I found myself alone with two kids to support, I didn’t hesitate. I earned my commercial license and hit the road. The company I joined treated me well—offering insurance, benefits, and a reliable schedule.
The hardest part? Being gone for weeks. Thankfully, my mother stepped in to help with the kids, but I missed so much. Their birthdays had to be timed around my hauls. I watched their school plays through shaky videos. But I kept going—because my job put food on the table. More than that, it gave my children a better life than I had.
Now they’re grown, starting lives of their own. They still call often, full of love. But deep down, I know my mother was more of a parent to them than I ever could be. That guilt rides with me, a silent passenger in my cab.
One rainy evening, my route took me down a quiet country highway. That’s when I saw him—a boy, maybe sixteen, standing on the roadside. His clothes were wrinkled, his face weary, and there was something lost in his eyes.
I hesitated. My company strictly forbids picking up hitchhikers. But something about him made me pull over.
“Need a ride?” I asked, leaning out my window. My voice was firm but warm—more mother than stranger.
He glanced down the empty road. I added, “I can’t wait here all night. It’s getting dark, and this isn’t the safest place.”
He nodded and climbed in awkwardly. He struggled with the seatbelt.
“First time in a rig?” I smiled.
“Yeah,” he muttered, finally clicking it in place.
“I’m Julianne—most people call me Jules.”
He stared out the window. “Alex,” he replied quietly.
We drove in silence for a while, the engine the only sound between us.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“I don’t really know,” he whispered.
“Running from something?”
A slow nod, but no explanation.
“I’ve been doing this job for twenty years,” I said gently. “I’ve met all kinds of people on the run. Most of the time, it only makes things harder.”
“You don’t know me,” he snapped, his voice cracking.
“You’re right,” I replied calmly. “But I know that look in your eyes.”
He turned away again. I didn’t push.
Eventually, we rolled into a gas station. My tank was nearly empty. I pulled in and turned to him.
“I’m going inside. Want anything?”
He shook his head, but his stomach growled loud enough to answer for him.
“Alright,” I said with a small grin. “Nothing it is.”
Inside, I bought two sodas, a bag of chips, and two turkey sandwiches. After fueling up, I tossed him a sandwich.
“Can’t have you starving on me.”
He caught it. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
“Want to talk?” I asked after a few bites.
He fiddled with the wrapper. “I had a fight with my mom. I left home.”
“Must’ve been a serious argument.”
“She won’t let me go to France with my class,” he blurted. “Says we can’t afford it. Everyone else is going. I’m always the poor kid. She doesn’t even try to understand how much this means to me.”
I stepped out to return the pump handle and climbed back in.
“Tell me about your mom,” I said once we were back on the road.
“She works at a grocery store,” he grumbled. “My dad left when I was little. She’s always tired. Always saying no.”
“That sounds tough. For both of you.”
“Whatever.”
“My husband left when my twins were four,” I shared. “I had to learn fast how to survive.”
He looked at me, half-smiling. “That’s why you became a trucker? Never met a woman driver before.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Missed a lot of moments with my kids. It still hurts. But they never went hungry. They never did without.”
“Didn’t they hate you for always being gone?” he asked, though I knew the question was really about his own mom.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But they understand now. Your mom’s been there in ways that money can’t buy—her time, her love. Ask my kids—they’d trade gifts for that in a heartbeat.”
Alex looked away again. I let silence fill the cab.
“It’s weird hearing her cry,” he said suddenly. “She thinks I’m asleep, but I hear her on the phone with my aunt, talking about bills and stuff.”
“That’s not easy to hear.”
“I just wanted one dumb trip,” he whispered. “Now everyone will come back with stories and pictures, and I’ll be the loser who stayed home.”
“You’re not a loser, Alex,” I said firmly. “And your mom isn’t either. You both are doing your best. That’s already more than many have.”
He nodded slowly. After a long pause, he asked, “Can you drop me at the bus station?”
I glanced at him. Something in his expression had changed. He didn’t look lost anymore.
“No,” I said. “I’m taking you home. I’m ahead of schedule anyway. You need to talk to your mom.”
“She’s gonna kill me,” he groaned.
“No, she won’t,” I smiled. “She’ll hug you so tight you won’t breathe. Then maybe she’ll kill you.”
He laughed for the first time.
He gave me directions to a modest little house. As he stepped down from the cab, the front door burst open.
“Alex!” a woman cried, running out. “Oh my God, Alex!”
She threw her arms around him, sobbing.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he choked. “I was stupid. I’m really sorry.”
Still holding him, she looked at me. “Thank you,” she said through tears. “I didn’t know what to think when I found his note. I’ve been calling everyone, walking the streets…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve raised teens too.”
“Please,” she said, “at least stay for coffee.”
“Another time,” I smiled. “Still got deliveries to make. But how about a photo? Something to remind him not to run off—or hop in trucks with strangers.”
Alex smiled at last. Mary snapped a picture of us, then took my name and company info.
What I forgot to mention? My company’s strict no-hitchhiker policy. And Mary? She posted our photo that night on Facebook. Her heartfelt post went viral fast.
A week later, my boss, Mr. Luther, called me in. I braced for the worst.
But he was beaming. “Jules, our viral superstar!” he said. “You’ve brought the company more goodwill than any campaign we’ve ever run.”
He offered me a promotion—logistics manager. It meant relocating or commuting, but with double the pay and a family-friendly schedule.
After years of missed moments and lonely roads, I finally had a shot at being present—for graduations, weddings, grandkids, or maybe even just a Sunday dinner.
Sometimes, following your heart instead of the rules brings the biggest rewards. That night, I helped a boy find his way back to his mom—but they gave me something priceless in return.