After two decades behind the wheel of a big rig, I thought I had seen it all—endless highways, unpredictable weather, and nights filled with solitude. But I never could have predicted that stopping for a hitchhiker would change everything, leading to a tearful reunion, an unexpected viral moment, and the end of my life on the road.
Being a woman in the trucking industry isn’t the norm, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. Life has a way of putting you on unexpected paths, and my journey began the day my husband walked out, leaving me to raise our four-year-old twins, Gia and Vinnie, alone.
My dad had been a trucker until he was 55, and I grew up watching him disappear for days, returning with stories of the road. Despite the hardships, trucking had always kept food on the table. When I found myself as a single mom, I knew this job would do the same for my kids.
So, I got my commercial license, found a company with benefits, and hit the road. But the cost? Weeks away from home. My mom stepped in to raise my kids, but I missed out on birthdays, school plays, and countless little moments that make up a childhood.
Now, my kids were grown, living their own lives. They still called, they still loved me, but my mother had been more of a parent to them than I ever was. And that guilt rode with me on every long haul, sitting quietly beside me as a constant reminder of what I had missed.
Then one overcast evening, on an empty stretch of highway, everything changed.
Ahead, I saw a teenage boy, no older than sixteen, standing by the side of the road. His clothes were wrinkled, his face worn, and his eyes carried a deep sense of being lost—as if he didn’t know where to go next.
My company had a strict no-hitchhiker policy. But sometimes, rules are meant to be broken.
I slowed the truck and rolled down the window. “Hey, kid. Need a ride?”
He hesitated, looking down the empty road.
“I don’t have all day,” I said, trying to keep it light. “It’s getting dark, and it’s not the safest place to be standing around.”
After a moment, he nodded and climbed into the cab, struggling with the height of the seat.
“First time in a big rig?” I asked as he fumbled with the seatbelt.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“My name’s Julianne,” I said, getting back on the road. “Most folks call me Jules.”
“Alex,” he mumbled, staring out the window.
We drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space between us.
“Where are you headed?” I finally asked.
“I don’t really know.”
“Running away from something?” I probed gently.
He nodded but said nothing more.
“I’ve been on these roads a long time,” I told him. “Seen a lot of people trying to escape things. Running away rarely fixes anything.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he snapped, though there was a crack in his voice.
“You’re right,” I said. “But I do know that look in your eyes.”
We passed a gas station, and I noticed my fuel was low. I pulled in and turned to him.
“I’m going inside to pay. Want anything?”
He shook his head, though his stomach growled loudly, betraying him.
“Nothing, huh?” I said with a small smile. “Guess that makes two of us.”
I grabbed a couple of sodas, some chips, and two turkey sandwiches before heading back to the truck. I tossed him a sandwich as I climbed back in.
“Can’t have you starving on my watch.”
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