Twenty-five years ago, my husband went abroad Stress and worry gave me cancer.
Hello. Ive debated whether to share my story, but perhaps someone will read it and think twice. Maybe someone will see themselves in it, or avoid the mistakes I made.
Id rather stay anonymous, but I need another perspectivejust a different pair of eyes on my life.
I married for love.
I was young when I fell for himbarely 18, and he was 22. It was the kind of sweeping, pure love where you believe you can conquer anything as long as youre together.
A year after the wedding, our son was born. Back then, I was happy but not for long. Hard times followed. Money was tightmy maternity pay was pitiful, and his wages barely covered the bills. We lived modestly, like most families, but my husband decided it wasnt enough.
“Im going abroad,” he announced one day. “The pays better there. Well have a proper life.”
I begged him not to go. Told him wed manage. Plenty of couples pull through hard times together. He didnt listen.
I was left alone with our child.
Years passed.
I kept hoping hed come back, but he never wanted to. “Just a bit longer,” hed say. “A bit more saved, and everything will be fine.”
I pleaded with him to stay. I had work by then, my parents helped with childcarewe couldve made do like everyone else. But he refused.
With just one child, I dreamed of a bigger family. He shut that down fast.
“Moneys too tight. Feeding ones hard enough.”
But even with one, he wouldnt stay. Hed visit for a week or two, then vanish again.
I raised our son aloneparent-teacher meetings, sleepless nights when he was ill. I never told my husband when the boy was sickdidnt want to worry him. Not that he ever asked.
He still didnt come home.
If hed made a fortune, if wed lived in luxury, maybe Id say it was worth it. But no. We scraped by like always.
And yet there were loansfor the roof, the car, the new washing machine. Just like everyone else.
I tried explaining, over and over, that money wasnt everything. That our son needed his father. That I was exhausted. He didnt listen.
He lived there. We lived here.
Years rolled on.
Twenty-five years later, he came back.
But not with savingswith debts.
I sold my grandmothers cottage to cover some of them. He thanked me, said he loved me, that wed finally be together.
But at what cost?
Too late
Youd think this was itthe peaceful harbour Id waited for. Husband home, no more travel, no drinking, no wandering. Youd think Id be relieved.
But suddenly, I realised I couldnt breathe in my own house.
To keep the peace, I had to erase myself.
I stopped seeing friendshe didnt like them. Said if he didnt need friends, neither did I. He never forbade it, but the look he gave killed any urge to go out.
I stopped dressing nicely. He hated bright clothes, makeup, heels. Said they were “unseemly” for a woman our age.
I stopped laughing. Stopped telling funny stories. Stopped dreaming.
I existed. Worked. Cleaned. Cooked. Slept.
We went on holiday once or twice a year. Just us two. No friends, no company. Because he didnt like people.
And I endured it. All of it.
But my body couldnt take it
The grind, the constant tension, the lonelinessit crushed me.
I got sick.
The diagnosis was brutal. Cancer.
My world collapsed in an instant.
I dont know how much time I have left.
But I know this: if I could turn back the clock, I wouldnt live like this again.
Id never have let myself become a shadow.
Id never have let a man dictate my life.
Id never have traded myself for the illusion of family.
Now its too late.
My sons grown, living his own life. My parents are elderlyI care for them as best I can.
And my husband? He says he loves me. That hell stay by my side.
But my heart doesnt leap anymore.
I didnt live the way I wanted.
I was a loyal wife. Patient. Gentle. I waited. I loved.
And him? He just lived exactly as he pleased.
If I could go back
Id choose myself.
All I can say now is this: dont live like I did.
Dont put yourself last.
Dont lose yourself for a love that doesnt make you happy.
Lifes too short for waiting.
