After driving trucks for 20 years, I thought I’d seen everything on those long, lonely roads. But I never imagined a single moment could change my life in such a big way. A hitchhiker, a reunion full of tears, a viral thank-you—and the end of my time on the road.
Being a woman truck driver is rare, but I chose this path, knowing the challenges it would bring.
I didn’t always plan on driving trucks. Life took me here after my husband walked out on me and our four-year-old twins, Gia and Vinnie. My dad had been a truck driver until he was 55, and I grew up hearing his stories when he came back home after his long trips. He always came back with stories and a paycheck that kept food on the table.
When I was left to support my kids alone, driving trucks seemed like the best option. So, I got my commercial license, joined a company that offered benefits, and started driving. The only problem was that I had to be away for weeks, sometimes months at a time. My mom took care of my kids while I was gone, but I missed a lot of important moments.
I missed birthdays, school plays, and even the first days of school. I had to watch shaky video recordings of my kids’ milestones. But they never went hungry, and I did what I had to do to provide for them.
Now, they’re adults. They’re grateful, but my mother became more of a mother to them than I was. And I still feel guilty every time I think about it.
But everything changed one gray evening as I drove down a quiet stretch of highway.
I spotted a young boy standing on the side of the road. He couldn’t have been more than 16. His clothes were wrinkled, and his face looked exhausted, as if he didn’t know where to go. Something in his eyes told me he wasn’t just lost physically, but maybe emotionally too.
I slowed down and pulled over. I wasn’t supposed to pick up hitchhikers; company rules were strict about that. But something told me I needed to.
“Hey, kid. You need a ride?” I called out, my voice firm but friendly, like I was talking to one of my own kids.
The boy hesitated, looking up and down the empty road.
“Look, I don’t have all day to wait,” I added, trying to keep the mood light. “It’s getting pretty dark, and this isn’t exactly the safest place to be standing around.”
He finally nodded and struggled to climb up into the cab.
“First time in a big rig?” I asked, watching him try to buckle his seatbelt.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, finally getting it on.
I smiled. “Name’s Julianne. Most people call me Jules.”
“Alex,” he muttered, staring out the window.
We fell into a quiet rhythm, the truck’s engine humming as the miles passed. After a while, I asked, “Where are you headed?”
“I don’t really know,” he said quietly.
“Running away from something?” I asked gently.
He nodded but didn’t say more.
“Look, kid,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “I’ve been driving these roads for 20 years. I’ve seen people running from all kinds of things. Most of the time, running only makes it worse.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he snapped, but his voice cracked.
“Maybe not,” I replied softly. “But I know that look in your eyes.”
He stared out the window again, and I decided to leave it at that.
Soon, I saw a gas station up ahead, and my eyes landed on the fuel gauge. It was low. So I pulled over.
“I’m going inside to pay,” I said. “Want anything?”
He shook his head, but his stomach growled loudly.
“Right,” I said with a smile. “Nothing it is.”
Inside, I grabbed two sodas, some chips, and two turkey sandwiches, along with the diesel. When I got back, I could tell he was still lost in thought, so I got the truck fueled and climbed back in.
“Here,” I said, tossing him a sandwich. “I can’t have you starving on my watch.”
He caught it and muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”
I watched him take a few bites before asking, “Do you want to talk? You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
He fiddled with the sandwich wrapper for a moment, then said, “I fought with my mom. I ran away.”
“It must’ve been some fight,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“She wouldn’t let me go to France with my class,” he exploded, the words tumbling out. “Everyone else is going, but she said we couldn’t afford it. I hate being the poorest kid in class. She always says no to everything. It’s like she doesn’t even get how much this means to me.”
“That’s tough,” I said softly, knowing he needed to vent.
“She works at a supermarket,” he added. “My dad left when I was little. She’s always working, always tired. Always saying we can’t afford things.”
“I hear you, kid,” I said. “Things are hard, no matter how much you try. I know.”
He turned toward me, curiosity in his eyes. “Is that why you’re a truck driver? I’ve never seen a woman driving one of these before.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I missed a lot of moments with my kids. It still hurts. But they never went hungry, and they never wanted for anything.”
“But didn’t they hate you for not being there?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “We had some pretty big fights when they were teenagers. But now they understand. Your mom’s there for you in ways money can’t buy. With her time, her love. If you ask my kids, they’d tell you they would’ve preferred that.”
He looked away and kept eating, and I let the silence fall between us for a while.
The road stretched ahead, dark and quiet, and I could feel his mood change. It wasn’t the same lost kid I had picked up earlier.
“She cries sometimes,” he said, almost whispering. “When she thinks I’m asleep. I hear her talking to my aunt about bills and stuff.”
“That’s hard to hear,” I said softly.
“I just wanted to go on one stupid trip,” he muttered. “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. “Neither is your mom. You’re both doing the best you can with what you’ve been given. You have more than you think.”
He nodded slowly, a sign that maybe he was hearing me.
After a long silence, he looked at me. “Can you take me to the bus stop?”
I looked at him, noticing the lost look was gone, replaced by something calmer. I smiled and turned my eyes back to the road.
“No,” I said. “I’m taking you home. You need to talk to your mom. I’ve got time.”
“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 made him laugh a little.
He gave me directions to a modest house, and when he 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.”
The woman—Mary—turned to me, still holding her son. “Thank you,” she said shakily. “Thank you for bringing him back. I didn’t know what to think when I found his note. I’ve been calling everyone, driving around looking for him…”
“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “I had teenagers once, too.”
“Please,” she insisted, “at least let me make you a cup of coffee before you go.”
“I’ll take a rain check,” I said, laughing. “I’ve got deliveries to make. But how about a picture instead? A reminder for this young man to think twice before running away and hitching rides with strangers.”
Mary took the picture with me and Alex. Then, she insisted on writing down my name and company info. I had no idea she was going to post about it on Facebook.
That night, her post went viral.
A week later, I got a call from my boss, Mr. Luther. I was certain I was going to get fired for breaking the rules. But when I walked into his office, he was smiling like I’d won the lottery.
“Jules, our viral star!” he said, congratulating me for making the company look good.
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet.
He leaned in and said, “Honestly, Jules, you’ve been one of our best drivers. This story proves we’ve always known you had leadership potential. That’s why I’m offering you a promotion to logistics manager. The job comes with a bigger salary and better hours. You’d have to relocate or commute to the city, but it’s well worth it.”
I couldn’t believe it. After all the lonely nights on the road and all the sacrifices, I was being offered a chance to have a life beyond driving.
Sometimes the best opportunities come when you least expect them, and maybe by following my heart instead of the rules, I had done something more than just help one boy. I had changed my own life too.
