25 Years Ago, a Man Left for Abroad… The Stress and Anxiety That Gave Me Cancer

Twenty-five years ago, my husband left for another country Stress and worry gave me cancer.

Good day. Ive hesitated for a long time, wondering if my story was worth tellingbut perhaps someone will read it and reflect. Maybe someone will recognise themselves in it, or another will avoid the mistakes I made.

I wish to remain anonymous, but I need advice. Just another persons perspective.

I married for love
I was young when I fell for him. Barely eighteen, while he was twenty-two. It was a pure, overwhelming love, full of trust. We believed we could conquer anything, that nothing was frightening as long as we faced it together.

A year after our wedding, our son was born. I was happy thenbut, as it turned out, not for long. Hard times followed. Money was tight; my wages were meager, his salary barely covered the bills. We lived modestly, like many families, but my husband felt it wasnt enough.

*”Im going abroad. The pay is better therewell have a better life,”* he announced one day.

I begged him not to go. *Well manage,* I insisted. Many couples survive hardships by staying together. He wouldnt listen.

I was left alone with our child.

Years passed.

I hoped hed return, but he refused. *Theres more money abroad,* he said. *Just a little longer, and everything will be fine.*

I pleaded for him to stay. I had work, my parents helped with our son. We could have lived like everyone else But he didnt want to come home.

With one child, I longed for anotherdreamed of a big family. But he shut me down.

*”We cant afford it. Feeding one is hard enough.”*

Yet even with one, he wouldnt stay. He visited for a week or two, then left again.

I raised our son aloneattended school meetings, stayed up nights when he was ill. I never told my husband when the boy was sickI didnt want to worry him and he never asked.

He still didnt return
If hed made a fortune, if wed lived in luxury, I might say, *”It was worth it.”* But no. The money barely covered a modest life.

Still, there were loansfor the roof, the car, a new washing machine. Like everyone else.

Time and again, I tried to explain: money wasnt everything. Our son needed his father. *I was exhausted.* He wouldnt listen.

He lived *there.* We lived *here.*

Years slipped by.

Twenty-five years passed.

He came back.

But not with savingswith debt.

I sold my grandmothers house to cover part of it. He thanked me, said he loved me, promised 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 rejoice.

But suddenly, I realised I couldnt breathe in my own home.

To keep the peace, I had to erase myself.

I stopped seeing friendshe disliked them. *”I dont have friends, so why should you?”* He never forbade it, but his glare killed any desire to go.

I stopped dressing well. He hated bright clothes, makeup, high heels. *”Women our age shouldnt wear such things.”*

I stopped laughing, stopped telling jokes, stopped dreaming.

I existed. Worked. Cleaned. Cooked. Slept.

Once or twice a year, we went on holiday. Just usno friends, no company. Because he disliked *everything.*

And I endured it. All of it.

But my body couldnt
The grind, the constant tension, the loneliness crushed me.

I fell ill.

The diagnosis was brutal. Cancer.

My world collapsed in an instant.