She’d just finally started having the life she always wanted.
The first 18 years of her adult life were spent with an abusive husband. Emigration, working at a poultry factory during the day and cleaning offices at night.
Then she got an education, read feminist authors, and found the strength to leave the horrible abusive rapist husband.
But then there were boyfriend troubles, job troubles, kid troubles, money troubles, the usual.
But finally she had the work she liked (low-pressure, stay-at-home translation services), a nice income, the house she looooved (overpriced, cramped, and in Anjou, but there’s no accounting for tastes), the boyfriend she turned from a loser deadbeat into a respectable middle-class fellow, a favorite local hangout place (a brasserie with gynormous – even by my standards – plates of really nice food), a collection of teas from David’s, and a favorite vacation spot in the Caribbean. Her very difficult daughter was finally grown, and even the abusive ex became a friend of sorts.
And right when it all came together, she got the death sentence. At 47! So unfair.