(2/3) "I moved to Paris to be with the man. I brought...

(2/3)  "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.  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.”
(Paris, France)