He caught it, muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”
We ate in silence for a while before he spoke up.
“I fought with my mom,” he admitted. “I ran away.”
“That must’ve been some fight,” I said.
“She wouldn’t let me go to France with my class,” he said, frustration clear in his voice. “Everyone else is going, but she said we can’t afford it. I hate being the poorest kid in school. She never even tries to understand how important this is to me.”
I nodded, pulling back onto the highway. “Tell me about your mom.”
“She works at a supermarket,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Dad left when I was little. She’s always working, always tired, always saying no.”
“She sounds like she’s doing the best she can,” I said.
He scoffed but didn’t argue.
“My husband left when my kids were little,” I said. “I had to figure out how to keep food on the table, fast.”
He looked over at me, curiosity replacing some of his anger. “Is that why you’re a truck driver? I’ve never seen a woman doing this before.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I missed a lot of moments with my kids. It still hurts. But they never went hungry.”
“But didn’t they hate you for never being there?” he asked, but I knew he was really asking if he’d be better off with his mom working a job like mine.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “We fought a lot when they were teenagers. But now they get it. Your mom’s there for you in ways money can’t buy. If you asked my kids now, I think they’d say they would’ve preferred that.”
Alex fell silent, fiddling with the wrapper of his sandwich.
We drove for a while before he spoke again. “She cries sometimes. When she thinks I’m asleep. I hear her on the phone with my aunt, talking about bills and stuff.”
“That must be hard to hear,” I said softly.
“I just wanted to go on one stupid trip,” he mumbled. “Everyone’s going to come back with stories, and I’ll be the one who stayed home.”
“You’re not a loser, Alex,” I said firmly. “And neither is your mom. You’re both doing the best you can.”
He sighed deeply. After a long pause, he asked, “Can you take me to the bus stop?”
I looked over at him and saw something in his eyes had shifted.
“No,” I said. “I’m taking you home.”
He groaned. “She’s gonna kill me.”
“Nah,” I said with a grin. “She’s gonna hug you so hard you won’t be able to breathe. Then she might kill you.”
That got a small laugh out of him.
When we arrived at a modest house, the front door flew open.
“Alex!” A woman ran out, her face filled with relief. “Oh my God, Alex!”
She wrapped him in a tight hug, and he sobbed into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was being stupid.”
She held him tighter, then turned to me, tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
I smiled. “I had teenagers once, too.”
She invited me in for coffee, but I declined. Instead, we took a picture together—something for Alex to remember this by.
That night, she posted on Facebook, thanking me, and it went viral. A week later, my boss called me into his office.
I thought for sure I was getting fired. Instead, he smiled and said, “Jules, our viral star!”
To my surprise, he offered me a promotion—logistics manager. More pay, no more long hauls, and a real home life.
For the first time in twenty years, I’d finally be there for the moments I had missed.
That night, I thought I was helping a boy find his way home. But in reality, he helped me find mine.