There were years of my life when my only human contact was with my Dentist.

 “The situation was horrible. The Soviet Union had just collapsed. Nobody was able to adapt except for the criminals. You’d see people you loved begging on the streets for food. Everyone around me had one dream: to leave Moldova. But not me. It seemed like a foolish idea. I thought: ‘Why go someplace where there’s nobody waiting for you?’ It seemed too risky. So I stayed. I got a degree. I worked as an economist in the Ministry of Statistics and Prices. I bought my own apartment. And I felt safe. I knew how to manage my life and solve any problem. 

But suddenly I had this very strong feeling that my life was finished. I’d reached the limits of my world. I’d never experience anything new. I’d never be surprised again. But I was still young at the time. I was thirty-five. I was strong and not afraid of anything. I told myself: ‘I can do this. I have just enough energy to live one more life.’ So I decided to change my life completely. But that isn’t the reason I finally left Moldova. I’m embarrassed to even tell you. Because I’m better than this—but I left because I met a man. He was visiting from Paris. He seemed very nice. He was handsome. He looked like a university professor. He looked like someone I could trust.”

“I moved to Paris to be with the man. I brought along my teenage son. The city was so beautiful compared to where we’d come from. The man paid for everything. He told me: ‘Anything you need, I’ll give you.’ And for a few moments I felt protected from the troubles of life. His home was like a prison, but I cannot say that the prison was uncomfortable. He told me not to worry about residency papers. He said that he’d talk to his lawyers and everything would be arranged. But time went on and the papers never arrived.

Whenever I questioned him, he’d change the subject. Then he started to say: ‘I won’t do it. Because if you have papers, you’ll leave me.’ I was trapped. I couldn’t work. I didn’t have a bank account. I didn’t speak the language. Over the years I became like a child. All I ever said was ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry.’ He convinced me not to trust anyone. I could see on TV that French people had friends, and went to the office, and took vacations. But it was like a different world. There were years of my life when my only human contact was with my dentist. I lost hope. You can’t live in pain all the time. You have to give up. So I just focused on survival. I couldn’t leave because my son would have no life back in Moldova. He was the only thing I loved. Eventually he turned eighteen and got his official papers. 

Then he wrote a letter explaining my situation. He sent it to some ministry-- I don’t know. He didn’t even tell me about it. One morning he asked me to sit down, and he said: ‘Mama, don’t get too excited. But I just got a phone call. They told me your papers are ready.”

TO BE CONTINUED.