We stopped at a gas station to fill up, and I noticed his stomach growling as we were inside. I grabbed a couple of sodas, some chips, and two turkey sandwiches. When I returned to the truck, I tossed one to him.
“Can’t have you starving on my watch.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
We ate in silence for a while, then he spoke up. “I fought with my mom. I ran away.”
“That must’ve been some fight.”
“She wouldn’t let me go to France with my class,” he said, his voice thick with frustration. “Everyone else is going, but she said we couldn’t afford it. I hate being the poorest kid in school. She doesn’t even try to understand.”
I pulled back onto the highway. “Tell me about your mom.”
“She works at a supermarket. My 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.”
He scoffed, but didn’t argue.
“My husband left when my twins were four,” I shared. “I had to figure out how to keep food on the table real quick.”
He looked over at me, finally interested. “Is that why you’re a truck driver? I’ve never seen a woman doing this before.”
“Yeah,” I said with a half-smile. “I missed a lot of moments with my kids. That still hurts. But you know what? They never went hungry.”
“But didn’t they hate you for never being there?” he asked, though I knew what he was really wondering: Would it be better if my mom worked a job like mine?
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “We had some pretty spectacular fights about it when they were teenagers. But now they understand. Your mom’s there for you in ways money can’t buy. I think, if you ask my kids, they’d tell you they would’ve preferred that.”
Alex fell silent, picking at the sandwich wrapper.
We were quiet for a long stretch 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 just wanted to go on one stupid trip,” he mumbled. “Everyone’s gonna 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 neither is your mom. You’re both just doing the best you can.”
He exhaled deeply. After a long pause, he said, “Can you take me to the bus stop?”
I glanced at him, seeing something change in his eyes.
“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.”
He let out a small laugh.
When we arrived at a modest house, the door flew open, and a woman ran out, her face a mixture of relief and shock. “Alex!” she cried, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sobbed. “I was being stupid.”
She held him tighter, then turned to me with 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—a memory for Alex to hold onto.
That night, his mom posted on Facebook thanking me, and the post went viral. A week later, my boss called me into his office.
I expected to get fired, but instead, he grinned and said, “Jules, our viral star!”
To my shock, he offered me a promotion—logistics manager. More than double the pay. No more long hauls. A real home life.
For the first time in twenty years, I would finally be there for my kids.
That night, I thought I had helped a boy find his way home. But in reality, he helped me find mine.