When my partner finally kicked me out, I felt utterly hopeless. Over time, however, I realized it had been a blessing.
Being thrown onto the street by my husband left me wondering what purpose remained in life. Years later I understood that it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I had married for love, never anticipating the hardships ahead. After my daughter was born, I gained seventeen kilograms, and everything in my life turned upside down.
My husband began to demean me, calling me cow and slut, refusing to see me as a woman any longer. He constantly compared me to his coworkers wives, claiming they were elegant, while he said I had become an animal.
His words tore at my heart. I later discovered he kept a mistressa young woman he no longer tried to hide. He phoned her in front of me, sent her messages, while my daughter and I were left feeling worthless.
At night I wept silently, with nobody 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, snow fell and darkness deepened. With only one suitcase and my daughter in my arms, I found myself on the courtyard steps, clueless about where to go. He didnt even give us time to collect our belongings. As I tried to make sense of the situation, a taxi pulled up to the building. His mistress stepped out, suitcase in hand, and entered our flat. I was left with only a few euros in my pocket.
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 Mont-de-Piété and sold a small 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 advertisement for a room in the suburbs, rented by an elderly woman named Grandma Claudette. She became a surrogate grandmother for us. With her looking after my daughter, I was able to secure a job.
Without a diploma, I first worked in a slaughterhouse, then as a nighttime cleaner. Later, a client for whom I was cleaning offered me an assistant position in her company, with a decent salary. Thanks to her, I entered university, earned a degree, and became a lawyer.
Today my daughter studies at the Sorbonne. We live in a threeroom flat in Paris, own a car, and travel several times a year. My law practice thrives, and I thank fate for that day on the street; without it I would never have succeeded.
Recently my daughter and I were scouting land for a country house and found a plot near Fontainebleau. My surprise was total when the door opened and my exhusband stood there with his nowwellpadded mistress behind him. I wanted to unleash all my anger, but I simply stared in silence. In front of me was a drunk, rotund man buried in debtexactly why they were selling their home. After a heavy pause I called my daughter, and we left.
I stay in touch with Grandma Claudette, visiting often with cakes and a little help. I will never forget her kindness, nor Élodie, my former employer, who restored my confidence and made my success possible.
