25 Years Ago, My Husband Left for a Life Abroad… The Stress and Anxiety Made Me Ill with Cancer Hello. I hesitated for a long time before deciding to share my story, but perhaps someone will read it and reflect… Maybe someone will see themselves in my words, or perhaps someone will avoid the mistakes I made. I wish to remain anonymous, but I need advice. Just an outside perspective. I married for love… I was young when I fell for him. I was only 18, he was 22. We were swept up in a pure, unwavering love, believing we could overcome any hardship as long as we faced it together. A year after the wedding, our son was born. I was happy, or so I thought… happiness which turned out to be short-lived. Hard times arrived. Money was tight—my maternity pay was meagre, and his wage barely covered the bills. We lived frugally, like so many do, but my husband decided it wasn’t enough. “I’m going to move abroad. Wages are better there; we’ll have a better life,” he told me one day. I begged him not to go. I said we’d manage. That many families struggle but stick together, support each other. He wouldn’t listen. And so I was left alone with our child. The years rolled by. I kept hoping he’d return, but he never wanted to. He said he’d earn enough for us overseas. That, just a little longer, and things would be fine. I pleaded with him to stay. I found work here too, I earned money. My parents helped with our son. We could have managed, like everyone else… But he never wanted to come back. We were left with only one child. I wanted another, dreamt of a big family, but he said, “There’s no money. Even one is hard to provide for.” Yet even with one, he didn’t want to be around. He visited for a week or two, and then left again. I raised our son on my own, went to parents’ evenings, sat by his bedside when he was ill. I never told my husband our son was sick—didn’t want to worry him… but he never asked, anyway. He never came back… If he’d earned a fortune, if we’d lived in luxury, I could say: “It was worth it.” But we didn’t. We only scraped by. We still had loans—for the roof, the car, a new washing machine. Just like everyone else. Time and time again, I tried explaining to him that money wasn’t the main thing, that our son needed his father, that I was exhausted… but he never heard me. He lived there. We lived here. The years passed. Twenty-five years went by. He returned. But not with savings—he came back with debt. I helped pay off some of what he owed by selling my grandmother’s house. He thanked me, told me he loved me, and said we could finally be together. But at what cost? Too late… You’d think, after all this time, peace had finally come—my husband at home, no drinking, no wandering… You’d think I’d be happy. But suddenly I realised I couldn’t breathe in my own house. To keep the peace, I had to give up myself. I stopped seeing friends—he disliked them. He said he had no friends, so why should I? He never forbade me, but the way he looked at me stole my wish to go out. I stopped wearing nice clothes. He didn’t like bright outfits, makeup, heels. Said it doesn’t suit a woman our age. I stopped laughing, stopped telling funny stories, stopped dreaming. I carried on. Worked. Cleaned. Cooked. Slept. Once or twice a year, we’d go on holiday. Just the two of us. No friends, no company—because he didn’t like anyone. And still I put up with it. All of it. But my body couldn’t take it anymore… This life—endless routine, tension, loneliness—broke me. I fell ill. The diagnosis was terrifying. Cancer. My world collapsed in a single day. I don’t know how long I have left. But I know one thing: If I could turn back time, I would never have lived this way. I would never have allowed myself to become a shadow. I would never let a man control my life. I would never give up myself for the illusion of family. Now it’s too late. My son is grown, living his own life now. My parents are elderly, I care for them as best I can. And my husband… He says he loves me. That he will be by my side. But that brings me no comfort. I didn’t live my life the way I wanted. I was a loyal wife. Patient. Gentle. I waited for him. I loved him. And he… He simply lived life as he pleased. If I could return to my past… I’d choose myself. But now, I can only say this: Don’t live as I did. Don’t put yourself last. Don’t lose yourself for a relationship that doesn’t make you happy. Life is far too short to spend it waiting.

Twenty-five years ago, my husband left for abroad The stress and anxiety made me so sick that I was diagnosed with cancer.

Hello. I spent a long time doubting whether I should share my story, but maybe someone will read this and reconsider their choices. Perhaps someone will see themselves here, or avoid the mistakes I made.

Id like to remain anonymous, but I desperately need advice. Just an outsiders perspective.

I married for love

I was young when I fell for him. I was just eighteen, he was twenty-two. It was a deep, pure love; we had no doubts, certain together we could weather anything, that nothing could frighten us if we stood together.

A year after our wedding, we had a son. I was happy back then but as life would have it, that didnt last. Times got tough. We never had enough money. My maternity pay was pitiful, and his salary barely covered the bills. We lived modestly, just like many families, but my husband decided it wasnt enough.

Ill go to another country. They pay better there. Well be able to live well, he declared one evening.

I begged him not to go. I said wed manage, that plenty of families struggle but stick together and hold onto each other. He wouldnt listen.

So, I was left alone with our child.

The years rolled by.

I kept hoping hed come home, but he never wanted to. He kept promising that if he stayed abroad a little longer, wed be comfortable soon.

I pleaded, I begged for him to stay. Id found work here, earning money too. My parents helped with our son. We could have lived a normal life like everyone else. But he wouldnt return.

We had just one child. Id always dreamed of having more, of a big family, but he said,

We dont have enough money. Were struggling to feed just one.

Yet even with one child, he didnt want to be with us. Hed visit for a week or two, then go back.

I raised our son by myself, went to parents evenings, sat up all night when he was ill. I never told my husband our child was sickI didnt want to worry him and he never even asked.

Still, he never came back

If hed made a fortune, if wed lived in luxury, Id be able to say, It was worth it. But no. The money was just enough for us to get by.

There were loansone for a new roof, one for a car, one for a washing machine. Nothing unusual, just the same as everyone else.

I tried time and again to explain that money isnt everything, that our son needed his father, that I was exhausted but he never heard me.

He made a life abroad, while we lived here.

The years passed.

Twenty-five years went by.

He finally returned.

But he didnt come home with savings; he had debts.

I paid off some of what he owed by selling my grandmothers house. He thanked me, told me he loved me, said we would at long last be together.

But at what price?

Far too late

You might think Id have found peace: my husband back, no drinking, no affairs, home at last. Youd think I should be happy.

But I realised there was no air left in that house for me.

To keep the peace, I had to turn into someone I barely recognised.

I stopped seeing my friendshe didnt like them. He said he had no mates, so I didnt need any either. He never forbade me, but his glances were enough to make me lose all desire to go out.

I stopped wearing nice dresses. He disliked bright colours, lipstick, heels. Hed say those things dont suit a woman our age.

I stopped laughing, stopped telling stories, stopped dreaming.

I just existed. Work. Clean. Cook. Sleep.

Once or twice a year wed go on holiday. Just the two of us, of course. Never with friends or a group, because he didn’t like anyone.

And I put up with it. All of it.

But my body couldnt cope

This constant drudgery, stress, lonelinessit broke me.

I fell ill.

The diagnosis was dreadful. Cancer.

My world collapsed in a single moment.

I dont know how much time I have left.

But I do know this: If I could turn back the clock, I would never live like this.