When my husband threw me out, I felt hopeless. Over time, I realized it had been a blessing.
When my spouse expelled me, I saw no purpose in life. Years later I understood it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I had married for love, never foreseeing the hardships ahead. After my daughter was born, I gained seventeen kilos, and my world turned upside down.
My husband began belittling me, calling me cow or slut, refusing to see me as a woman any longer. He constantly compared me to his coworkers wives, claiming they were elegant, while I, in his eyes, had become a beast.
His words tore me apart. Eventually I discovered he kept a lovera young woman he no longer tried to hide. He called her in front of me, sent her messages, while my daughter and I were reduced to nothing.
At night I wept silently, with no one to confide in. Orphaned of family, my friends had drifted away after my marriage. Feeling untouchable, my husband started to raise his hand against me. My daughters cries infuriated him; he shouted, demanding I silence her, threatening to throw us onto the street.
I will never forget that day. He came home from work and ordered me to leave the apartment immediately. Outside it was snowing, night falling. With only a suitcase and my daughter in my arms, I found myself standing in the courtyard, clueless about where to go. He didnt even give us a chance to collect our belongings. As I tried to grasp the situation, a taxi stopped at the building. His lover stepped out, a suitcase in hand, and entered our flat. In my pocket remained only a few euros.
My only refuge was the hospital where I had once worked. By chance a nurse I knew was on duty; she welcomed us, and we spent the night there.
The next morning I went to the pawnshop, selling a tiny chain with a crossthe sole keepsake of my motheralong with the earrings my husband had given me before the wedding and my wedding ring. I found an ad for a room in the suburbs, rented by an elderly lady, Grandma Claudette. She became a surrogate grandmother to us. With her care for my daughter, I managed to secure a job.
Without any qualifications, I was first hired at a slaughterhouse, then as a night cleaner. Later, a client for whom I cleaned offered me an assistant position in her company, with a good salary. Thanks to her, I entered university, earned my degree, and became a lawyer.
Today my daughter studies at the Sorbonne. We live in a threeroom apartment in Paris, own a car, and travel several times a year. My law firm thrives, and I thank fate for that day on the street; without it I would never have succeeded.
Recently my daughter and I were looking for land to build a country house and found a plot near Fontainebleau. Imagine my shock when the door opened to reveal my exhusband, his nowwellrounded lover behind him. I wanted to unleash all my grievances, but I merely stared at him in silence. Before me stood a drunken, potbellied man drowning in debthence their house sale. After a heavy pause, I called my daughter and we left.
I stay in touch with Grandma Claudette, visiting often with cakes and a bit of help. I will never forget her kindness. And I also remember Élodie, my former employer, who restored my confidence and enabled my success.
