I’m a divorced mum of three and I’ve been handed ‘no fault’ eviction notice… in a few days my kids will be homeless

SCROLLING estate agent websites at 2am, my heart pounding, I wonder how I got to this place.

As a divorced mum of three, who had always worked hard to put a roof over our heads, I had no idea where my family would be living in the coming weeks.

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Despite reliably paying the rent on our four-bedroom property in Leatherhead, ­Surrey, for the past two years, I was still served with a “no fault” Section 21 eviction notice just before Christmas.

With no explanation, our landlady wants us out — and we still haven’t got a place to go. I am facing the very real prospect that my kids and I could soon be homeless.

While my four-year-old son Jude doesn’t understand what’s happening, my heart breaks when he asks if he’ll still have his bedroom.

And my two daughters, aged 18 and 14, can’t sleep as they’re so worried about where their next home will be.

It hasn’t always been like this.

I was lucky to buy my first property aged 28 — a one-bedroom flat in Clapham, South West London.

Dangling by thread

But I sold it when I married in 2003, ­putting the proceeds towards a two-bedroom cottage in Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey.

We later upsized to a four-bedroom “forever home” in East Molesey, Surrey, where I’d expected to raise my children.

But life happens. In 2016 we divorced, selling the family home and dividing the assets. Suddenly, as a forty-something single mum, I found myself back in rental accommodation, at the mercy of landlords.

Like many divorced mums, my family’s future is now dangling by a thread.

There have been nights where I’ve sat on the sofa in tears over the unfairness of the situation.

The shame is the hardest part. Other mums talk about home renovations and school catchment areas, and I sit there silently, too embarrassed to admit I don’t even know if I will have a roof over my head in the near future.

According to Gingerbread, a charity for single-parent families, nine in ten single parents are women.

And 36 per cent of single-parent families with dependent children have no savings, compared to 17 per cent of couples with kids.

Like me, more than half of midlife renters previously owned a home. A fifth of over-45s are renting due to a change in relationship status, such as divorce, according to research by finance company Credit Karma.

Once you’ve been forced out of home ownership, it’s incredibly hard to get a mortgage again.

How does a divorced single mum like me put cash away for a deposit?

Women already take a financial hit when they have kids. We’re unable to work the same hours as before and we pay through the nose for childcare.

Divorced or separated mums are even worse off.

Their average annual salary is £28,704, but single dads take home £42,852, according to findings by specialist recruitment firm Robert Walters.

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My work as a freelance journalist lets me fit my schedule around school hours, but the income is insecure.

Unexpectedly getting pregnant at 47 with my new partner, Perry, 63, who works in security, also means I cannot work the hours I once did.

The rents where we live are the most expensive in the UK, excluding London, costing at least £3,000 per month for a three-bedroom semi.

I’m currently paying £48,000 a year — and I don’t even have rental stability.

I could relocate, but this is where I grew up and raised my children.

When I apply for a mortgage — where repayments would be less than my rent — I’m told we don’t meet the affordability ­criteria because we’re both self-employed. I dread to think what happens to divorced or single mums who are even worse off than me.

Having never been in this situation before, I assumed the state would have a safety net in place.

But after speaking to our overstretched local council, I feel powerless and vulnerable.

So hunting for a new home has become a full-time job – on top of my actual work and parenting.

They tell me if I leave where I’m living now, before finding a new place, I’ll be labelled “intentionally homeless”, which means I deliberately did something to be without a home.

This affects whether they decide to help us long-term or not.

If I stay and get officially evicted, I’ll end up with a County Court Judgment against me.

That’s the kiss of death for renters. No landlord will touch you — and good luck getting a mortgage afterwards. It’s a lose-lose situation.

I was stunned when a housing officer advised me that if I could not find anywhere to rent in the private sector, I should stay put until the bailiffs came.

Going into social housing isn’t an option as the waiting list for a three-bedroom council property is three years in my area. In some places, it can be as long as ten.

So hunting for a new home has become a full-time job — on top of my actual work and parenting. I spend every spare moment scrolling through rental listings like my future depends on it — because it does.

The stress is unbearable. I wake up exhausted, my mind racing with numbers — rents, deposits, bills.

I barely eat, I barely sleep. The anxiety sits in my chest like a stone.

The financial sacrifices are relentless, too. I’ve cancelled everything I can — streaming subscriptions and even Jude’s swimming lessons. But still, it’s not enough.

How do you save for a new home when you’re barely surviving in the one you have?

I used to dream about the future. Now all I dream about is finding somewhere — anywhere — that will take us before time runs out.

But I’m battling dozens of applicants for the limited pool of family homes. I’ve already viewed 20, but have been outbid on the five that I applied for.

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I’m told that the Government’s Renters’ Rights Bill, which is due to become law this spring, has spooked landlords as it will increase the rights of tenants.

It would outlaw practices such as advance rent payments and increasing rent more than once a year, as well as “no-fault” evictions like mine.

No matter how stressed I’m feeling, the worst part is the impact on my kids.

They deserve a safe, stable home where they can thrive, not the endless limbo renting brings.

I fought so hard to rebuild my life after divorce — why does it feel like the system is determined to break me?

You pick yourself up, you try to start fresh, but then you realise the world isn’t built for single parents like me.

The housing crisis is just another battle I have to fight — alone.

When my marriage ended, I thought that was the hardest thing I’d ever go through.

But this? This is worse. Because back then, at least I had a home. Now I am on the brink of homelessness and feel like I’m being punished all over again.

I have no security, no stability — just the constant, gnawing fear of what comes next.