I chose to raise two sons alone after violence and cancer

I was twenty years old when I became a mother for the first time. It wasn't the life I had planned. I was pregnant with my son, Enzo, and the relationship I was in was already crumbling. Three weeks after Enzo was born, two weeks before his due date, the violence became too much to ignore. I left. The police put me on a train back to Paris, where I returned to my parents' home. I was twenty, a single mother, and I felt a crushing shame that I couldn't shake.

For the first two years after the separation, I tried to forget him. I tried to forget the violence. But the past has a way of returning. When I was twenty-eight, I found myself pregnant again. This time, I was alone. I had decided I would not let a man define my future, but the universe had other plans. During my pregnancy with my second son, Robin, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer.

I would rather my children grow up without a father than with one who made them feel unsafe. I chose to be the only constant in their lives, even if it meant facing the world…

The doctors told me I needed treatment immediately. But I was terrified. I refused the anticancer treatments during the pregnancy to protect the fetus. I spent three weeks undergoing fifteen blood tests and multiple ultrasounds, waiting for the confirmation of Robin's heartbeat. When it finally appeared at seven weeks, I felt a surge of hope that I hadn't felt in years. I decided not to have an amniocentesis, despite the risk of Down syndrome, because I wanted to protect the pregnancy from any potential harm.

The birth was a battle. I had lost fifteen kilograms and my hair had fallen out due to the stress and the cancer. Robin was born in the early hours of a summer morning in Belgium. The birth itself seemed to eliminate a significant portion of the cancer cells. Afterward, I underwent localized radiotherapy to clear the rest. I had to rebuild my life from scratch, financially and professionally, while recovering from a life-threatening illness.

I am thirty-three now. I live in a house near Bordeaux. I work as a certified parental companion and a babywearing instructor. I changed my last name to my own three years ago, so Enzo and Robin share my name. I am a single mother, and I have never looked back, though I acknowledge the difficulty of the separation.

The decision to keep Enzo away from his father was not made lightly. I refused visitation rights to protect him from the violence he had witnessed. I remember when Enzo was seven; he refused to go back to his father's house. He simply wouldn't go. That refusal was the turning point. I realized that my need to protect him was not a burden, but a necessity. I had to be the only constant in their lives.

I have never lied to my children about their father. I tell them the truth: he is not here. I impose strict honesty in our home; lying is punished more severely than failure. I want them to understand their history, even if it is painful. I refuse to let a partner assume parental authority over them. I want them to know that they are safe with me, and that is enough.

I teach them neutral household tasks. Enzo cooks twice a week and walks the dogs. Robin sorts his laundry by color and takes his own shower. We spend one-on-one time with each of them every week. I want them to learn how to be independent, how to handle boredom, and how to be kind. I believe I am building the men of tomorrow.

There are days when I feel completely alone. I am 100% financially and daily responsible for everything. I have days where I stay in bed, overwhelmed by the stress. I admit that sometimes I drink to manage the pressure. But I also have moments of magic. Enzo is like a firework to me. Robin unlocked mental barriers I didn't know I had. I feel different now than I did at twenty.

I don't know why the father rejected his first child. I don't know if he has touched his first child since. I don't know if he has changed his mind about custody. I don't know if my children will feel a lack of a father in the future. I don't know how they will react to questions about the cancer or the details of my past. These uncertainties hang over me, but I do not let them paralyze me.

I would rather my children grow up without a father than with one who made them feel unsafe. I prefer the absence of a toxic relationship to the presence of one. I hope to find love someday, but I am also comfortable staying alone. I want to inspire others who are in difficult situations. I don't want pity. I want to show that it is possible to survive violence, to survive cancer, and to raise children with love and honesty, even when the world feels like it is against you.

I am not a hero. I am just a mother who made a choice. I chose to protect my children. I chose to be the only constant. And I chose to live my life on my own terms.