Driving freight with a toddler in the cab isn’t exactly the life most people imagine. But for me, it was the only way to survive. Childcare costs were impossible, and quitting my job meant losing everything. So my two-year-old son Micah and I built our own rhythm on the open road. We wore matching hi-vis jackets, sang terribly off-key to country songs, and turned truck stops into tiny adventures. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. For months, the miles passed quietly between us—until one afternoon outside Amarillo when Micah suddenly asked a question that made my heart freeze.
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