When my husband threw me out, I felt utterly hopeless. Over time, however, I realized it was actually a blessing. Being forced to leave the house left me questioning any purpose in life, yet years later I understood that it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I had married for love, never foreseeing the hardships that would follow. After my daughter was born, I gained seventeen kilograms, and my world turned upside down.
My husband began to belittle 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, in his eyes, I had become an animal. His words tore at my heart. Later I discovered he was keeping 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 left feeling worthless.
At night I wept in silence, with no one to confide in. Orphaned of support, my friends had drifted away after my marriage. Feeling untouchable, my husband started to raise his hand against me. My daughters cries only infuriated him; he shouted, demanding I silence her and threatened 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 night was falling. With only one suitcase and my daughter clutched in my arms, I found myself standing in the courtyard, clueless about where to go. He didnt even give us a chance to gather our belongings. While I was trying to make sense of the chaos, a taxi stopped at the building. His lover stepped out, suitcase in hand, and walked into our flat. In my pocket remained only a few euros.
My only refuge was the hospital where I once worked. By chance, a nurse I knew was on duty. She took us in, allowing us to spend the night there.
The next morning I went to the MontdePiété and sold a small chain with a crossthe only keepsake of my motheralong with the earrings he had given me before the wedding and my wedding band. I found an advertisement for a room in the suburbs, rented by an elderly lady, Grandma Claudette. She became a surrogate grandmother to us. With her help caring for my daughter, I was able to secure a job.
Having no qualifications, I first worked in a slaughterhouse, then as a nighttime cleaner. Later, a client for whom I cleaned offered me a position as an assistant 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 apartment in Paris, own a car, and travel several times a year. My law firm thrives, and I thank fate for that day I was forced onto the streetwithout 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. My surprise was total when the gate opened to reveal my exhusband, his nowwellrounded lover behind him. I wanted to unleash all my anger, but I only stared silently. In front of me stood a drunken, potbelly man buried in debtexactly why they were selling their home. After a heavy pause, I called my daughter and we left.
I still keep in touch with Grandma Claudette, visiting her often with cakes and a little help. I will never forget her kindness, nor the generosity of Élodie, my former employer, who restored my confidence and made my success possible.
