I Work as a Truck Driver & Picked Up a Boy on a Lonely Road – After Hearing His Story, I Turned Back and It Changed My Life

I’ve been a truck driver for years. Being a woman in this profession isn’t common, but I chose this path, knowing the challenges it would bring.

Life has a way of pushing you down roads you never expected to travel. For me, that road opened up when my husband walked out on me and our four-year-old twins, Gia and Vinnie.

My dad drove trucks until he was 55. I grew up watching him leave for days at a time, always coming back with stories from the road. And despite what most believe, this job comes with a nice enough salary. It kept food on the table while I was growing up.

So, when I needed to support my kids alone, I knew this would be the best option. I got my commercial license and started driving. The company was even better than my dad’s because it included insurance and other benefits.

The downside was that it put me on the road too much. I was lucky that my mother stepped up to care for my kids while I was away, but I missed too much. Many birthday parties were planned around my schedule.

Other things couldn’t be moved, like school plays. In many cases, I was left to watch shaky video recordings of my kids’ milestones. But this paid the bills, and they never went hungry. In fact, they had even more than I did.

Unfortunately, they’re now adults and out of the house. They still call, and they’re grateful, but my mother was more of a mother to them than I was. And the guilt of missing their childhood still rides shotgun with me most nights.

On one quiet stretch of highway during a particularly gray evening, I saw a boy, maybe 16, standing by the roadside. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked exhausted, but there was something else in his eyes, something lost like he didn’t know where to go.

I slowed down and pulled over. My company’s policy strictly forbade me from picking up hitchhikers, but something told me I should.

“Hey, there, kid. Do you need a ride?” I asked through the open window. My voice came out firm but kind, like I was talking to one of my own children.

He hesitated, looking up and down the empty road.

“Listen, I ain’t got all day to wait, kid,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “It’s getting pretty dark, and this ain’t exactly the safest place to be standing around.”

Finally, he nodded and climbed in, struggling a bit with the height of the cab.

“Is this your first time in a big rig?” I asked, watching him fumble with the seatbelt.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, finally clicking it in place.

“My name’s Julianne,” I said, pulling back onto the highway. “Most folks call me Jules.”

He stared out the window, shoulders hunched. “Alex.”

I nodded and got back on the road. We drove in silence, the truck’s engine filling the void. After a while, I asked, “Where are you headed?”

“I don’t really know,” he mumbled, still staring out the window.

“You running away from something?”

He nodded slightly but didn’t elaborate.

“Look, kid,” I said, “I’ve been driving these roads for 20 years. Seen all sorts of people trying to escape all sorts of things. Most times, running just makes everything worse.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snapped, but his voice cracked at the end.

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “But I know that look in your eyes. Seen it in the mirror plenty of times myself.”

The kid looked out the window, and I let him be.

Up ahead, I saw a gas station and my gaze landed on the fuel gauge. It was low. So I pulled into the station and got out of the rig.

“I’m going inside to pay,” I told him. “Do you want anything?”

He shook his head, but his stomach growled loudly enough for both of us to hear.

“Right,” I said with a small smile. “Nothing it is.”

Inside the store, I grabbed a couple of sodas, some chips, and two turkey sandwiches and paid for them as well as the diesel.

When I returned, he still wouldn’t meet my eyes, so I pumped the diesel and climbed into the truck to wait while it fueled up.

“Here,” I said, tossing him a sandwich. “I can’t have you starving on my watch.”

He caught it reflexively. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Do you want to talk?” I asked softly after he’d taken a few bites. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

He fiddled with the sandwich wrapper. “Fought with my mom,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “I ran away.”

“It must’ve been some fight,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“She wouldn’t let me go to France with my class,” he burst out. “Everyone else is going, but she said we can’t afford it.” His voice cracked again. “I hate being the poorest kid in class. She always says no to everything. It’s like she doesn’t even try to understand how much this means to me.”

“Hold on to that thought for a second,” I said, getting out and putting the pump back now that the tank was full. I climbed back in and pulled onto the highway. “Okay, now. Tell me about your mom.”

“She works at a supermarket,” he said, his words heavy with resentment. “My dad left when I was little. She’s always working, always tired. Always saying we can’t afford things.”

“Sounds rough,” I said. “Must be hard on both of you.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, but I could hear the hurt behind the attitude.

“My husband left when my twins were four,” I said. “It was a long time ago, but I had to figure out how to keep food on the table real quick.”

That got his attention. He glanced at me sidewise. “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. Still hurts thinking about it. But you know what? They never went hungry. Never had to worry about keeping the lights on.”

“But didn’t they hate you for never being there?” he asked, and I could hear the real question underneath.

“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—her time, her love. Sometimes that’s all we can give.”

Alex looked away from me, and I sensed he needed the quiet time while he picked on the rest of his sandwich.

The highway stretched ahead, now fully dark except for my headlights. I realized that it was nice having a companion, even if we weren’t speaking.

“She cries sometimes,” he said suddenly. “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 said, swallowing thickly. “Everyone’s gonna come back with all these 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 with what you’ve been given. You have more already than many.”

After another long silence, Alex asked, “Can you take me to the bus stop?”

I looked at him, noticed his lost expression had changed to something much different, and smiled, turning back to the road.

“No,” I said. “I’m taking you home. I’m ahead of schedule, so I’ve got time to make sure you get there safely. You need to talk to your mom.”

“She’s gonna kill me,” he groaned.

“Nah,” I said. “She’s gonna hug you so hard you won’t be able to breathe for a minute. Then maybe she’ll kill you.”

That got a small laugh out of him.

He gave me directions to a modest house. As soon as Alex stepped out of the truck, the front door flew open.

“Alex!” a woman cried, running out. “Oh my God, Alex!”

She wrapped him in a tight hug, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sobbed into her shoulder. “I was being stupid. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I had teenagers once, too.”

“Please,” Mary said, “at least let me make you a cup of coffee before you go.”

“I’ll take a rain check,” I said with a smile. “I’ve got deliveries to make. But how about a picture instead? Something to remind this young man to think twice before running away AND hitching rides with strangers again.”

Alex actually smiled at that. Mary took the picture of him and me on her phone, then insisted on writing down my name and company information.

I stupidly forgot to tell her that my company had a strict no-hitchhikers policy, and unfortunately, Mary made a Facebook post thanking me that went viral.

So, a week later, when my boss, Mr. Luther, called me into his office, I was sure I was sacked. I walked in there, feeling the sweat down my back.

But he was smiling from ear to ear. “Jules, our viral star!” he exclaimed and congratulated me on raising the profile of the company.

When he invited me to sit, I remained quiet. This was not what I expected.

“Honestly, Jules,” he said, getting serious. “You’ve been one of our best drivers for years. This story just proves what we already knew about you. That is why I’d like to offer you a promotion. I think you have a leader potential, so I believe the position of logistics manager is perfect for you. You’ll have to relocate or commute to the city, but it’s more than double the pay and much better hours.”

I couldn’t believe it. After all these years of midnight runs and missed moments, I finally got the chance to have normal hours.

Even if this opportunity came slightly late, it meant that I would be able to see my kids graduating from college, get married, help with my grandbabies (or grand-furbabies if needed), and more.

Sometimes the best turns in life come from following your heart instead of the rules. I helped that boy get back to his mom, and maybe altered his perspective of life. But he and his mom had unknowingly helped me much more.

Here’s another story: A heavily pregnant taxi driver offers a homeless and injured stranger a free ride to the hospital on a rainy night. The next morning, she wakes up to a parade of SUVs outside her house. Suited men knock on her door with a truth that alters her life forever.

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.