After covering a series of bleak assignments – terrorist attacks in Paris, the rise of the European extreme right, sex slavery in Spain – the French-American photojournalist and videographer Stefania Rousselle was mired in pessimism and despair. “My heart was broken,” she said. “I didn’t believe in love anymore.”

In 2017, to find joy once more, she decided to go on a road trip across France, asking random strangers to share their most defining and life-changing love stories with her. She posts them to her Instagram. Here are a few of the best ones.

Yann Désaubry, 21, and Alexandre Désaubry, 21, Elbeuf, Seine-Maritime, Normandy

Yann: “Alexandre and I met on Facebook through friends. We then talked on Skype for two months and we fell in love. Alexandre was kicked out of his house and he came to live with me and my family. My parents were not aware that we were in love or that I was gay. But my mother guessed it, because we were looking at each other lovingly. One day she searched my room and found all the letters we wrote each other. In my family, we don’t speak about our feelings. She had a hard time accepting it. The day she gave me her blessing, I immediately asked Alexandre to marry me. We got married two weeks ago. We are the second gay couple to get married in Elbeuf!”

Alexandre: “I decided to take Yann’s last name. I am completely estranged from my family except for my father, but he died in April. I was brought up in a foster family who I’ve since taken to court for mistreatment. And when I finally went back to my mother’s house, she ended up throwing me out because I was gay. Today, I am at peace. With Yann, I feel confident. I love Yann’s body and his childish side. I am always doing little things for him, like every night, I pour him a bath with candles, and I bring him breakfast in bed. We want at least four children.”

Andrée Vaity, 71, ex-owner of a fish shop, and Justin Vaity, 83, former industrial technician, Dunkirk, Nord, Hauts-de-France

“At the time, there was no mixed couple in Dunkirk. One day, we even got arrested by the police because he is black. My mother rejected me and wanted to send me to a correctional facility. So I left home with nothing, just my purse. And when we wanted to get married, the first priest we asked refused, saying black people were like cockroaches. We’ve loved each other for 53 years. And people now fight to get into the Caribbean nights we organize!”

Gérard Bruchet, 70, former fisherman, Équihen-plage, Pas-de-Calais, Hauts-de-France

“I was Jeanne’s neighbor. I lived right there, the fifth house on the right. When her husband died, I offered to help her mow her lawn. I was married with children and she had a little girl. I would address her in the formal form, ‘vous’. Nothing happened for 10 years. One day, I declared my love. And it happened. I left my house. Even after we had slept in the same bed for a month, I was still calling her ‘Madame Dufeutrel’. She died two months ago. She was the love of my life. In the morning, we would listen to the radio and dance together in the kitchen. I go to the cemetery every day to talk to her.”

Eva Schakmundès, 53, equestrian performer, Montbron, Charente, Nouvelle-Aquitaine

“He had the reputation of being a great charmer. All the girls wanted him. He would always go out with end-of-the-line duchesses, or dancers with long legs. I, on the other hand, was a tiny girl with no money. He made accessories for a circus company, and I was an equestrian performer. I would go naked on the horse’s back, stand on it, or ride sidesaddled. I fell in love with him because I wanted security. But it turned out to be the opposite: he harassed me mentally and physically, and denigrated me as an artist. I directed comedians and acrobats, but he would go behind my back to tell them my artistic direction was all wrong. He would break everything I did.



“I started telling people what was going on, and no one helped me. They would say: ‘But you have such a strong character.’ We stayed together for 17 years until one day, he tried to strangle me with the canvas I was working on and throw me out the window. I left him.



“What he did was about having power over my role as a woman and as an artist – but never as a mother, which is strange. Our son understood everything that was going on; he was the one that would bring me a glass of water after my husband would choke me.

“I think I’m an inveterate romantic. I could fall in love so easily. I would love to raise a second child. I have been given the green light to adopt one.”

Julie Lafourcade, 32, and Jean-Pierre Nouailles, 71, owners of Le Fromage Rit

“I always have been very well-behaved and really good at school. I am an only child. I was always a loner and concentrated on my studies. No boys, no friends. Just my studies.



“I went to the village fair. There, I saw a man leaning at the bar, drinking a beer. He was classy; he was beautiful; he had style. We talked for hours. I wanted to see him again. I found out where he lived and went to see him. We fell madly in love. I was 17. He was 55.



“The problem when you are 17 and that you fall in love with an older man is that you ask yourself: do I have a psychological problem? Do I have an oedipal complex?



“I had no experience. He was my first love. Months became years.



“We kept our relationship secret. When I was off at university and he came to pick me up at the train station, I would hide in the trunk of his car so that nobody would see us. Until one day, I was walking hand in hand with Jean-Pierre in a nearby town, and I bumped into my father. My father said: ‘It’s easy. It’s either him or me. If it’s him, you take your stuff and I don’t want to see you anymore.’ I moved in with Jean-Pierre and didn’t see my father for seven years. I am younger than Jean-Pierre’s kids, but they’ve always accepted me.



“At 25, I started feeling unwell. Breast cancer. Breast removal. Chemo. It’s metastatic cancer, meaning the cancer will always be there. It will never heal. I start receiving treatment. We open a restaurant. Two years later, my bones are hurting. And there it is: bone cancer. I start another round of treatment. Ever since I turned 27, there have been ups and downs. I’ve undergone intense chemo and I am in a trial program. Last year I almost died, and I told him, if I survive, let’s get married. I did. We got married in an old washhouse. I could die at any time. But there is this phrase that I’ve told myself ever since I got sick: ‘I have lived it’ – I have lived that love. That emotion with the person you love, that butterfly feeling in your stomach, that beating heart, that feeling of going to pieces or of being so strong. If you don’t feel that, what is life worth living for?”

Lucien Lalanne, 82, former mason, Saint-Orens-Pouy-Petit. Gers, Occitanie

“I lost my wife last November. Her name was Marie-Jeanne. I met her at a village ball. We didn’t live in the same town, so I would write her letters all the time so we could meet up every weekend. I would talk to her about mundane things, if I had a cold, for instance. I would write that I kissed her tenderly. She was a simple girl just like me. A girl from the countryside. We were together for 47 years. I loved her.

“Marriage is like a business. I built the house. She cooked and raised the children. One of them is mentally disabled. He lives in a special center. When they told him his mother had died, he cried.



“I thought that when he would come back to the house, he would look for her everywhere, open the doors, like he used to do. But he didn’t. He didn’t ask for her. He knew.



“She’s buried in the cemetery down the village. I still have to put her stone marker with her name, the year she was born and died. I am also going to add a little cross.



“There are moments where I really get depressed, when I am really low. Oh la la, you can’t even imagine. I miss her. She was a good cook because she was from the Landes, where there are a lot of good cooks.



“In the winter, we would watch television, then sit near the fire and fall asleep in our respective chairs. We were happy. I always hoped it would last forever. It didn’t.



“Please forgive me if I cry.”

Marcel Etcheverry, 64, shepherd

“I named my cabin ‘The Villa of the Ones Deprived of Love’ because I was the least favorite child in my family. It used to be that in farmers’ families, there were maybe six children. They would send the one they loved the least out into the mountains to herd sheep. And that was my case. They had very obvious preferences – especially Mom. But moms do what they can.

“How do you survive that? First, you have a terrible adolescence. It was endless. I was in pain. I was shy. It was not a place for teenagers. I would come back to the village once a week, get some bread and go back to the mountain with my donkey. I would miss everything: the balls, all the activities.



“But then you adapt. And I was happy. I have dedicated my whole life to the sheep. And I don’t regret it at all.



“I am not mad at my parents.



“I have a daughter. She is 22. Until she turned 14, it was wonderful. Then, for some reason I can’t explain, she rejected me. We haven’t spoken in 10 years. I am really disappointed.



“I don’t like humans. They are twisted. When I see what they are capable of, I am ashamed. I would have rather been a dog. That is why I work with animals. And I love waking up every morning.



“I am with Katia now. She is from Paris. She is a good person. I met her when she was 17 and I was 25. She was my employee. She loved me, but it wasn’t reciprocal. I was with someone else at the time. And we spent 30 years without seeing each other. But we met again and we got married 10 years ago. I never got married with the others. Why? Because they didn’t ask. She just had an operation, so she is in Paris, resting. Do I love her? I don’t know. Love is a weird word. I care about Katia. That must be love. She cares about me too – a bit too much.

“She is the one I should have kept when I was young, because we could have done things together. But I was too stupid at 25. We could have had babies together. I am about to retire but there is no one to replace me. If I had had kids with Katia, one of them could have taken over and I could have retired.

“I am going to have to sell my flock. I haven’t found anyone to replace me.”

Philipp Zielke, 24, farmer and handyman from Hamburg Asson, Pyrénées-Atlantique, Nouvelle-Atlantique

“I have never had any partners in my life. I have never kissed a girl.



“It sucks, because I am 24.



“I am not sure why. My mother was depressed – she didn’t give me any hugs, she did not like to give warmth to other people, and so I got used to it. For me, hugging people was not very normal, and I didn’t feel very comfortable with it.

“I was once kissed by a girl; she made the move. I liked it, but it was uncomfortable for me. I was 15 and I didn’t really know what to do. She did everything – she could have kissed a plastic object and it would have been the same.

“To give a kiss is a more symbolic thing than to have sex. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with romance. It’s a mind thing. One side of me wants to have this symbolic kiss with that one person, the mother of my children. And there is the other side, the animal side, of me that says: ‘Oh I don’t give a fuck, just go into the club and fuck ’em all.’ But then I don’t do it because the first side is just stronger. I am too sensitive.



“I think girls want a dominant, strong type of guy, not the sensitive guy who is too emotional, like me. I am always overthinking things.



“I want to love one person.



“I think I have waited for too long, now. I am afraid to fail. I have a friend of mine who I fell in love with two years ago. I was like: ‘I like you a lot,’ and she said she liked me too, but she had another boy, and she’s not a polygamist. She did not break my heart – it’s more like I broke my heart, I had big expectations and put too much pressure on myself. I wrote her a poem. I was proud of it, but I’ve never gotten the chance to give it to her.

“Most of the time, I am happy. I am sad in the evenings. It’s sad to be alone; it would be nice to sleep and wake up next to somebody and be like: ‘Good morning, it’s grey outside.’”

Lynn Adib, biological pharmacist and singer-musician, 32, and Nicolas Zwierz (24 June 1981 - 11 April 2017), Le Chesnay, Yvelines, Ile-de-France

“I moved from Syria to France to become a biological pharmacist and a jazz singer. I was working in a lab and this guy calls me to open the door. I will always remember how he was dressed: grey jeans, a camel leather jacket, a beautiful bag that he had bought in Poland – very stylish, very minimalist – and sneakers. For a year, I wasn’t interested, and then it just hit me. I would walk through the halls to bump into him, and I finally asked him out.

“I remember our first kiss. I was sleeping at the International House and he dropped me off with his scooter. I kissed him quickly on the lips and ran away. I was thinking: ‘I did it!’ He told me he drove so fast after that. Six months later, we moved in together.



“Nicolas was a brilliant man, very intelligent, too intelligent. He pushed me to sing. He would always tell me things I had forgotten about myself. He knew me so well. He loved to organize special moments for his friends. He had a truck because he was a surfer. One day, he decided to organize a cheese fondue dinner party in the truck!



“He got diagnosed with cancer on 21 June 2014.



“He wanted a child. I didn’t want one. It was a difficult decision, but I came to realize that if anything were to happen to him, at least I would have a memory of him in our child.



“It’s the best thing we could have done. Sara was his ray of light. I am so happy he experienced being a father.



“He wrote me letters.



“He also wrote letters for Sara. He tells her about his life, his dreams. Profound thoughts about life. They encourage her to think about the meaning of life and encourage her not to be afraid of living – that to love is the most important thing.



“Nicolas died on 11 April 2017.



“Thanks to Nicolas, I am not afraid of anything.



“He is a saint who came to spend some time with me.



“He was my candle.



“He was my guide.”

Chantal Lambert, 60, dog sitter, and Thierry Laplanche, 58, in Quincey (Haute-Saône)

“After 10 years with my ex-boyfriend, I posted on Facebook: ‘For our anniversary, we are giving each other a gift: we are separating.’ I signed up for a dating website. I met 40 men in one year. It was a great way to go out, dress up and feel pretty.



“One day, Thierry contacts me. We talk on the phone at 4.30pm. At 5.35pm, we met for coffee. I was five minutes late. He came to my place the next day and he never left.



“It wasn’t love at first sight with Thierry. His web profile was too perfect, and a lot of men had lied to me. He said he cooked; he doesn’t. But he does do the cleaning.

He tells me he loves me, that he thinks I am pretty. We can’t live without each other. It has been two years.



“I want to do everything for him. All his problems are mine. I need to solve them. If I walk by him three times, I’ll kiss him at least once. I have never met a man who loves me like he does.

“I will not blame him if it has to end. Because even if we only spend 10 years together, I know it will be intense and beautiful. I think life is worth it because I can give love. I don’t need to receive it. I had been married for 24 years. My ex-husband was depressed. I wanted to save him. I was so afraid to leave him because he was so sick. But I needed to go. Five years later, he committed suicide on the anniversary of our divorce.”