“Has he ever done anything to you when I haven’t been around?” I ask, needing to know.
He shakes his head. “Other than hitting me tonight, he has never touched me.”
I nod, grateful. Looking into those little brown eyes, I realize I thought I was protecting them, but I was really failing them.
He’s right. We need to leave.
“Grab your sister,” I tell him.
He does, pulling the sleeping girl from his closet. He carries her down the stairs as he follows me into the garage. I take out the three backpacks I have set aside for this moment.
As quietly as possible, we slip out the side door, the alarm long since damaged for this moment. I hesitate for only a second.
He will kill all three of us if he ever finds us, but he will kill us if we stay.
We have to go.
Walking at a brisk pace, I lead Tanner with a sleeping Emily down to the truck stop six blocks away. Once there, I search for the friendliest-looking driver.
“Stay here,” I tell Tanner, leaving him by the entrance to the store.
Carefully, I approach an older man.
“Hello,” I say to him.
“I’m not interested.” He doesn’t even look my way.
I clear my throat.
“I heard there’s an angel heading your way.”
His eyes blink my way as if he is seeing me for the first time.
It’s the phrase Denise from the shelter told me most truck drivers know. It means I’m in immediate danger and in need of help.
I can see him take in my injuries. Then he looks behind me, likely seeing my two children.
He nods once. “Load up in the truck. I’ll take you as far as I can, but we will need to switch quickly. As soon as he realizes you are missing, he will check the tapes. Best you keep on the move.”
“Thank you. I can pay you,” I tell him.
He waves me off. “No need.”
Waving the children over, we climb up into his rig. He gets the kids set up on his bedding in the back before he tells me to take a seat in his passenger seat.
As we pull away, I look down the road, wondering if I’m making the right decision or if I doomed us all.
Two months later
It’s been a long two months. Jumping from trucker to trucker is the only way to stay safe, but constantly being on the road is wearing both me and the kids down. Even the couple of times we have stayed at a hotel waiting for our next ride have been exhausting.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
Looking back at my sleeping children, I take a deep breath.
This is worth it. I’m doing all of this for them.
“You okay, hun?” Bertha, our most recent truck driver, asks.
