I was fleeing my abusive husband. My son was just 2 (I was 23), and we left without much money in my pocket (the rest was in our bus tickets). Halfway through the trip (NC to OR), we stopped for a couple hours in Grand Junction, Colorado, at a tiny station with a tiny diner at night.

I didn't have my glasses (husband had destroyed them), so that meant going far into the restaurant to see the menu. I figured out what it said, counted what I had, and told my son I couldn't afford it. That I'd need to get him some crackers from the vending machine.

Halfway toward the outer door, the owner's wife stopped me. I didn't speak Spanish, and she didn't speak English, but everyone knows the hand sign for "Come with me."

She sat us at a table. I was confused and tried to explain. Her husband then set burgers and water in front of us. I was still trying to explain I couldn't pay.

He patted my shoulder. "Is good. You eat." He gestured to my son, me, and the burgers. "You eat."

Of course I cried. His wife also patted my shoulder, and gave us a bunch of napkins. We ate what we could, the owner boxed the rest so we could take it with us.

One of the kindest memories I have of the whole terrifying four day trip.