The road has a way of breaking you down if you let it. After fifteen years of long hauls, I should’ve been used to it—the endless asphalt, the nights where the hum of the engine was my only lullaby, the weeks that bled together until I wasn’t sure what state I was in anymore. But that particular week had been brutal.
Tight deadlines, too many sleepless nights, and a load that felt heavier than the eighteen wheels beneath me.
My name is Jack Miller, and at the time, I thought all I needed was a tank of diesel, a strong cup of coffee, and maybe a moment to stretch out my aching back. I didn’t know I was about to meet the one companion who would change my life forever.
It was just past midnight when I pulled off the highway. The exit sign was faded, and the road leading to the station was cracked and barely lit.
It wasn’t one of those big travel centers where drivers like me could shower, grab a hot meal, and talk with other truckers.
No, this was the kind of station that seemed frozen in time—two pumps, a flickering fluorescent sign, and an old convenience store that probably hadn’t seen a remodel since the seventies. I cut the engine, and for a moment, the silence pressed down on me. Out there, surrounded by empty fields and the faint howl of wind, it felt like I was the only soul alive.
My joints cracked as I climbed down from the cab, and I muttered to myself, “Just gas and coffee, Jack.
Then back on the road.”
That’s when I heard it. A sound so faint I thought it was the wind at first—a soft, broken whimper.
I froze, fuel nozzle in hand, and glanced around the lot. Nothing but shadows and the distant hum of a buzzing light.
Then I heard it again, clearer this time, coming from the corner near the dumpster.
I squinted through the dim glow of the station lights, and that’s when I saw him. A dog. He was small to medium in size, with a scruffy coat that had once been golden but was now matted with dirt and grime.
His ribs showed through his thin frame, and his ears were pinned back as if he’d long since stopped expecting kindness.
His eyes, though—those wide, trembling eyes—locked onto mine, and I swear I felt the weight of his fear and loneliness in my chest. “Hey there, buddy,” I whispered, crouching slightly.
My voice echoed too loudly in the stillness of the night. He didn’t move.
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