Twenty-five years ago, my husband went abroad The 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 recognise themselves in it, while another might avoid the mistakes I made. Id like to stay anonymous, but I need advicejust a different perspective.
I married for love
I was young when I fell for him. Just 18, while he was 22. It was a grand, pure love, full of trust. We thought we could weather any storm, that nothing was frightening as long as we were together.
A year after the wedding, our son was born. I was happy then but not for long. Hard times began. Money was tightmy wages were meagre, and his salary barely covered the bills. We lived modestly, like most families, but my husband believed it wasnt enough.
Ill go abroad. They pay better therewell have a better life, he announced one day.
I begged him not to go. Told him wed manage. Plenty of couples tough it out together. He wouldnt listen.
I was left alone with our child.
Years passed.
I kept hoping hed return, but he didnt want to. Said hed earn more overseas. That just a little longer, and everything would be fine.
I pleaded with him to stay. By then, I had work too. My parents helped with our son. We couldve lived like everyone else But he refused to come back.
With just one child, I dreamed of a bigger family, but he said:
No money. Feeding one is hard enough.
Yet even with one, he wouldnt stay. Hed visit for a week or two, then leave again.
I raised our son aloneattended parent-teacher meetings, stayed up with him when he was ill. I never told my husband when the boy was sick, not wanting to worry him and he never asked.
Still, he didnt return
If hed made a fortune, if wed lived in luxury, I mightve said, It was worth it. But no. We barely scraped by.
There were loans, of coursefor the roof, the car, the new washing machine. Same as everyone else.
Time and again, I tried explaining that money wasnt everything, that our son needed his father, that I was exhausted but he wouldnt listen.
He lived there. We lived here.
Years rolled on.
Twenty-five years later, he came back.
Not with savings, but with debts.
I covered some by selling my grandmothers house. He thanked me, said he loved me, that wed finally be together.
But at what cost?
Too late
Youd think this was the peaceful harbour Id waited formy husband home at last, not travelling, not drinking, not wandering. Youd think Id be overjoyed.
But suddenly, I realised I couldnt breathe in my own home.
To keep the peace, Id given up myself.
I stopped seeing friendshe didnt like them. Said since he had none, I didnt need any either. He never forbade it, but the way he looked at me killed any desire to go out.
I stopped dressing up. He disliked bold outfits, makeup, high heels. Said they werent fitting for women our age.
I stopped laughing, telling jokes, dreaming.
I existed. Worked. Cleaned. Cooked. Slept.
Once or twice a year, wed go on holiday. Just the two of us. No friends, no company. Because he didnt like people.
And I endured it all. Every bit.
But my body couldnt take it
The monotony, the constant tension, the loneliness crushed me.
I fell ill.
The diagnosis was grim. 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 time, I wouldnt live this way again.
Id never have let myself become a shadow.
Id never have let my husband dictate my life.
Id never have sacrificed myself for the illusion of family.
Now its too late.
Our son is grown, with his own life. My parents are elderly, and I care for them as best I can.
And my husband? He says he loves me. That hell be here for me.
But my heart doesnt warm to it anymore.
I didnt live the life I wanted.
I was a loyal wife. Patient. Gentle. I waited for him. Loved him.
And him? He just lived as he pleased.
If I could go back
Id choose myself.
Now, all I can say is this: dont live as I did.
Dont put yourself last.
Dont lose yourself for a relationship that doesnt make you happy.
Lifes too short for waiting.
