My family left me at a petrol station, and a stranger on a motorbike took me in.
It all started as a “road trip”. That’s what my son called it. According to him, it would do me good to “get out of the house” and see a bit of the world. I didn’t object, even though I can’t stand sitting in a car for hours. I packed a small bag and decided I could handle it.
We stopped at a petrol station in the middle of the motorway, in the middle of nowhere. He told me to stretch my legs while he filled up the car. I walked around a bit, bought a packet of mint sweets and, when I came back outside… I saw emptiness. The car was gone.
At first, I thought he had just moved it. But five minutes passed. Then ten. And a terrible thought struck me: he wasn’t coming back.
It started to rain. A downpour — sharp, merciless, soaking you to the skin in seconds. I stood there, pitiful in my light dress, with a small plastic bag in my hands. At that moment, I heard the roar of a motorbike.
He rode up to me — tattoos, leather vest, bandana, as if he had stepped out of a picture. Not at all the kind of person my son would approve of. But he just looked at me for a couple of seconds, then took off his jacket and held it over my head like an improvised umbrella.
‘Are you lost, madam?’ he asked with a smile, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
I told him the truth. Everything. And he didn’t laugh or turn away, but just nodded as if it were nothing surprising. And then he said something that both frightened and strangely reassured me:
‘Get in. I know where to go.’
I hesitated. Who wouldn’t? A stranger on a Harley, rain, the motorway, a woman who had just been abandoned by her family. But I looked around — the empty road, the flashing petrol station sign, the indifferent cashier — and realised I had no choice.
I got on.
He handed me a helmet that was too big and told me to hold on tight. I wrapped my arms around his waist and prayed I wouldn’t fall off. When he pulled out onto the wet road, the wind whipped my face, but suddenly I wasn’t cold anymore.
We hardly spoke for the first hour. He just drove, the rain gradually turning into drizzle, cornfields and crooked houses rushing by. I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t care. The main thing was not to wait in the rain for someone who would never come back.
Finally, we reached a small town where the neon lights of an old-fashioned diner, straight out of the 60s, glowed. He helped me off the motorbike — surprisingly gently for such a ‘tough guy’.
‘My name is Bo,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry?’
I was hungry. I only realised it when I saw the display of pies behind the counter. He ordered two coffees and a slice of lemon meringue pie.
He didn’t ask any unnecessary questions, but the words just poured out. I told him about my son, Thomas, who had changed after marrying Candice. She had always been cold to me, but I never thought it would come to this.
Bo listened silently, nodding occasionally. When I finished, I felt ashamed, as if it were my fault that I hadn’t become the mother they wanted me to be.
‘You don’t deserve this,’ he said finally. ‘Family should be supportive.’
I had a lump in my throat. It had been a long time since anyone had said such simple and truthful words to me.
We sat there until closing time. I thought he would leave and it would all be over. But he surprised me again:
‘My cousin’s inn is nearby. Stay there for the night. I’ll pay.’
I wanted to refuse, but he waved me off:
‘You need rest, not pride.’
And I stayed. The cottage was small, smelled of lavender, and was cosy. I slept to the sound of rain and woke up for the first time in a long time without feeling like a burden.
In the morning, Bo was waiting with a bag of sandwiches and a cup of tea.
‘I have to go north,’ he said. ‘But if you want, I’ll take you to my sister. She runs an antique shop. She could use some help.’
‘But you don’t know me,’ I whispered.
‘I know enough,’ he shrugged. ‘You’ve been through hell and haven’t broken. That says a lot.’
I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe there was something in his voice. Or maybe I was just tired of waiting for Thomas to apologise.
His sister Irene was a whirlwind of energy: red hair, a sharp tongue, and an eye that could instantly determine the value of any object. Her shop was like a museum. From the moment I stepped inside, I felt like I was starting a new life.
‘So you’re Bo’s charity case?’ she smiled.
‘You could say that,’ I replied.
She immediately put me to work: dusting, sticking labels, learning the history of the items. And gradually she taught me the most important thing — to believe in my own voice again.
Days turned into weeks. Irene offered me a place to stay in the flat above the shop. Bo sometimes came by, bringing back curiosities from his travels and stories. I learned to laugh again.
One day, as I was cleaning an old music box, the phone rang.
It was Thomas.
‘Mum?’ His voice was trembling. ‘Where… where did you go?’
‘Where did I go?’ I repeated. ‘You left me at the petrol station.’
He hesitated. He assured me that Candice had told him I had disappeared, that they had come back for me but couldn’t find me. I knew he was lying, or that he himself believed her lie.
‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said.
I believed that. But I replied that I couldn’t go back. Maybe never. I told him that I was working and doing well. He was surprised:
‘You’re working?’
‘Yes. And doing pretty well.’
Since then, he’s been calling often. Sometimes he comes to visit. Even with Candice. She’s cold, but I think I’ve noticed a shadow of regret in her eyes.
Bo continued to visit. He brought strange things and asked me to come up with a story for them. And once, on a rainy evening, a year after we met, he handed me an old frame with a photograph of a woman with a baby.
‘She reminds me of you,’ he said quietly.
‘Were you married?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘A long time ago. It didn’t work out. But I learned something.’
Without thinking, I took his hand.
‘Me too,’ I replied.
We sat in silence, but that was enough.
Almost three years have passed. I still live above the shop. Thomas and I have reconnected. And Bo?
He still travels. But he always comes back.
Sometimes I remember that petrol station. That moment when my life ended and began again. When my closest friend abandoned me, and a stranger gave me a second chance.
They say that everything in life happens for a reason. I don’t know if that’s true. But I do know one thing:
The family we choose sometimes comes when our relatives turn away.
So if you suddenly find yourself alone and wet at an abandoned petrol station, don’t give up. Life knows how to send you exactly the people you need — even if they are not at all like the ones you expected to meet.
