When my husband, Alex, walked out on me after three and a half decades together, it wasn’t just pain I felt—I was engulfed by an all-consuming emptiness. We had shared a lifetime, raised two children, built a home, and supported each other through tough times. And now, I found myself alone, heartbroken, feeling like my entire world had crumbled.

The day he packed his suitcase and left without a word, I stood by the window, unable to move. It was as if I was watching my life from the outside: a woman who had devoted herself to her family now rendered redundant. The children had long gone their separate ways, the house felt empty, and for the first time in a long while, I was faced with myself.

At first, I couldn’t grasp how it had happened. Had I done something wrong? I had always tried to be the good wife—caring, understanding, faithful. I thought about him, the children, the house, but never about myself. And that realization struck me hardest of all.

A few weeks after he left, it became clear: I had never lived for myself. My happiness had always depended on someone else, and now with that “someone” gone, I had to start over. So, I decided to set off on a journey—to a place I had long dreamed of visiting but always put off.

I chose Italy. In my youth, I daydreamed about this country, but back then, Alex saw such trips as a waste of money. Now, I could finally do what I wanted. The journey marked the beginning of my new life. I wandered through the narrow streets of Florence, savored coffee in Roman cafés, and felt a sense of lightness and freedom for the first time in ages.

It was there that I met Elizabeth—a French woman ten years my senior. She had an amazing story: once divorced and, like me, had dedicated much of her life to family. We sat on the terrace of a little café, talking about missed opportunities, fears, and what to do next.

Elizabeth said, “Life truly begins when you start looking at yourself from another angle.” Her words were a revelation. For the first time in many years, I pondered: what brings me joy? What do I want to do?

Upon returning home, I signed up for art classes. Once, in my youth, I loved to paint, but duties and the daily grind had pushed aside that passion. Now, standing in front of a blank canvas, I felt like I was rediscovering myself