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SOMETIMES LIFE DOESN’T BREAK YOU ALL AT ONCE. IT DOES IT SLOWLY. DAY BY DAY. AND AT SOME POINT YOU REALIZE — THERE IS NOWHERE LEFT TO GO BACK TO. My name is Georgeana Rotaru. I am 38 years old. I’m originally from Romania, but I’ve been living in Italy, in Rome, for 7 years now. There was a time when I thought moving would change my life. I believed in stability, a job, peace of mind. It felt like Italy was a chance to start everything over. But things turned out very differently. My husband left for another woman when I was pregnant with our third child. He just left. No explanations. No regret. In one moment, I was alone — in a foreign country, with children and fear of tomorrow. For more than half a year now, I’ve been looking for a stable job. I send out resumes, go to interviews, wait for answers. But most of the time — silence. Sometimes it feels like, to Italian employers, I’m just a migrant from Romania who can be easily ignored. Right now, I work part-time for a friend in a small café in Rome. I work as a waitress, wash dishes, clean the dining area, take out the trash. The smell of coffee, greasy plates, aching hands — this is my reality. The money barely covers food and public transport. I have a mortgage on the apartment. Debts. Bills. Overdue payments. Every month feels like a battle. Every day feels like fear. In the evenings, I watch my children while they sleep. They go to a regular Italian school and speak Italian better than I do. They dream of simple things — new sneakers, a trip somewhere, toys like the kids in the neighborhood have. And I realize that I can’t even give them half of what is considered normal here. I’m not afraid for myself. I’m afraid for them. Sometimes at night, lying in our small apartment on the outskirts of Rome, listening to the noise outside, I think: “Is this really my life?” One evening after a hard shift at the café, I sat in the kitchen staring at my phone. There were 53 euros on my card. Money — enough for
