A poignant moment saddened yet moved me, in an unlikely setting. It was during an administrative registration for health insurance. The agent, a very nice lady, apologised when her phone rang, and I said she should take the call while I filled in forms. She did, and it seemed routine at first. Later something was troubling her. We got to the part where I said I’m single.

“That’s lucky. That’s good for you,” she said. “It’s too late for me.”
“Too late?”

That was her husband on the phone. She’s been married 11 years, has 3 kids aged 3, 7 and 10, but now her husband is treating her badly, blatantly keeping a mistress, and seems to enjoy publicising this and humiliating her. She was in tears by then, trying to hold them back, but admitting she still loves him and that’s the worst part.

“Do you have friends and family to talk to?”
“Yes, my sister, and mother, but – I did not tell them the problem yet. I was hoping … to solve the problem. Now it looks like divorce.”

She said this with dread. This is far more of a stigma here, than elsewhere. Many women have told me that it is far better to never marry, than to marry and divorce. You’ll be called a failure as a woman. They’ve told me this with real fear and horror.

“It’s not my fault!” she wailed, and I assured her it sounded that way. I could hear, behind her exclamation, all the people in her life who would try to blame her, for his wandering off.

She hates what it might do to her kids, but then there were plenty of tales of kids who got through it. I’ve been told by those who know, that when both parents really love the kids and say so and act so, this can be kept good and whole and separate from the couple’s split.

Kids can get through it. If it has to end, it has to end. She did listen, and seemed to believe it. But it was too soon for her to be thinking this way.

I wished I could somehow help, and said so, and we both knew I couldn’t do much, except listen and let her cry.

“When can you talk to a friend?”
“Soon,” she said, pointing to the second chair behind the counter. “She’s at lunch. She’ll be back soon.”
“Are you ready, to tell someone? Is now the time?”

She nodded. Then she did that amazing thing some women can do, when they skilfully fold a tissue into a precise tool with which to blot tears and not disturb their mascara or eyeliner.

She pulled herself together, and summarised my paperwork, concluding our business. I said I’d be thinking of her, and hoping for her, and she gave me a dazzling, beautiful smile. She is good woman.

I didn’t want to go before the friend came back, but it was that moment when, as a stranger, you have already heard so much outpouring that perhaps that’s enough for them, for now. My walk-on part was done, so off-stage I went.

I really hope she is OK. Send her some good fortune please, everyone. She is a peach – smart and hard-working, attractive and shapely, devoted and more than deserving.

Seriously folks, I am asking you to please put in some wishes / prayers / whataevers for her future happiness.
Thank you.