The Day I Got Cancer, I Took Out Every Loan

On the day I was diagnosed with cancer, I ran into my husband at the hospital, his arm around another woman as they walked into the fertility clinic.

I gripped the report in my hand and followed them without thinking, and his gentle words drifted back to me one after another.

Don't be scared, Blanche Gilbert. Medicine is so advanced now. Even if you can't carry a child, we'll still have our own.

"Boy or girl, it doesn't matter. Everything under my name belongs to the two of you."

The woman nestled into his arms, melting against him.

I looked at the luxury she wore head to toe, the newest fruit-brand phone in her hand, then looked down at myself.

Jeans washed pale, a loose baggy T-shirt, and a phone I'd used for five years with three cracks across the screen.

Then I thought of that morning, when I'd asked him for two thousand for a follow-up test, and how put out he'd been.

"The economy's this bad, and you sit at home all day doing nothing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to earn money?"

He hadn't asked what was wrong with me, or why I needed a follow-up. He just slammed the door and left.

Now I understood. He simply didn't want to spend the money on me.

I didn't storm in and make a scene. I just quietly downloaded more than a hundred loan apps.

Inside the clinic, the two of them pulled out an assortment of documents from a designer bag at the doctor's prompting.

I spotted them at once, those two bright red marriage certificates.

But I hadn't even divorced him.

I took out that five-year-old phone, snapped a photo in secret, then switched to video.

On the screen, my husband called the woman his wife, carefully asking about the IVF procedure and writing down every instruction.

The picture of a devoted husband. Watching it made me want to throw up.

No wonder he'd rejected the idea of a second child, no wonder even at night he was always somehow not up to it.

Whenever I reached for him, he either went through the motions or shoved me off outright.

"Dorothy Fletcher, do you have nothing else to do all day? Do you know how exhausting work is? Do you have any idea how hard it is to make money in this economy?"

"Can you stop bothering me? I'm not like you, sitting at home with nothing to do, obsessing over this pointless stuff day and night."

"If you can't sleep, go mop the floor, do the laundry, go for a run. Look at that spare tire on your belly. It's a real turn-off."

He'd say all that, roll over, and be asleep in seconds, leaving me to toss and turn alone.

I even tried everything I could think of to build his body back up, and it was just as disappointing. He only got worse.

So it turned out that, like his money, he'd been spending his energy on someone else too.

I didn't hurry to put the phone away until the two of them stood to leave, then slipped out quickly ahead of them.

Now wasn't the time to blow things up. Early-stage lung cancer. There was still hope of a cure.

To stay alive, I had to pretend I knew nothing.

Swallowing the ache in my chest, I took the crumpled medication bill up to pay.

I ran three different bank cards and still couldn't cover the cost of the medicine.

Just then my husband walked past behind me with that woman, the two of them hand in hand, all affection.

I happened to hear them planning it all, sushi for lunch, the bag she'd reserved to pick up at the Herms boutique, new clothes, a spa treatment.

His eyes were soft the whole way through, not a trace of impatience.

"As long as my baby's happy, spend whatever you want today. Your husband's got plenty of money. I can afford you."

I let out a bitter laugh and called him.

I heard his ringtone go off, watched him hang up on the spot. I called again, and he cut it off again.

Then he sent me a careless text just to be rid of me.

In a meeting. Can you stop bothering me? Whatever it is, we'll talk at home!

Right away I sent back a photo of the medication bill and a screenshot of the insufficient balance.

I'm sick. Early-stage lung cancer. The doctor says it can be cured if I start treatment now. I don't have enough for the medicine. Transfer me some first.

I'd still overestimated his conscience. It was a good while before his reply came.

What are you doing at a hospital when there's nothing wrong with you? A healthy person walks in and comes out sick. I asked the AI, yours is nothing, just buy a couple boxes of anti-inflammatory pills and take them for a few days.

I think you just have too much time on your hands, so full you go waste money at the hospital. Get yourself back home, now!

Money, money, money, that's all you know. I transferred you three thousand at the start of the month. You spent every cent, didn't save a thing?

I couldn't be bothered to read another of his messages. I downloaded a loan app right then, and with a shake of the head and a few taps I had enough for a month's worth of medicine.

It really was so convenient. Even easier than opening my mouth to ask him for money.

I spent every cent I had on medicine.

Carrying a big bag of it out of there, I felt a little steadier. Nobody was going to stop me from choosing to live.

The age of big data really is terrifying. I hadn't even reached the hospital doors before I'd already gotten calls from several banks, asking whether I wanted to apply for a high-limit credit card.

Turn down a gift like that? Not a chance. I said yes to every single one.

With money in hand, I didn't have to cram myself onto a bus anymore. I just took a cab home to grab the marriage certificate, the household records, and the property deed.

I'd always been the one keeping those documents. My name wasn't on the deed, but the bank said it didn't matter, that it wouldn't affect the limit I qualified for.

All afternoon I opened credit cards at two banks, each with a high limit, five hundred thousand between them.

That five hundred thousand was, quite literally, the money that would save my life.

Terrified that scumbag Isaac would catch wind of it, I moved the whole five hundred thousand straight into the hospital account.

For a while, the will to stay alive drowned out everything else.

Good thing I hadn't blown up and demanded a divorce earlier. No house, no car, no social security to my name now, I wouldn't have qualified for a card with even a ten-thousand limit.

Points to me again for thinking ahead.

That evening I cooked a whole table of good food, ready to celebrate properly with my daughter.

My thin little girl ate with real relish, praising every bite.

"Mommy, I'm so happy tonight. I wish it could be like this every day!"

"Did Daddy make money again? Is that why we get to eat this good? Should we wait for Daddy to come home and eat together?"

Listening to that sweet childish talk, I nearly broke down and cried.

What kind of life had I given this child all these years, that one decent meal could make her this happy?

Isaac really deserved to rot. Day in and day out he cried poverty in front of me, blaming the economy, handing over only three thousand a month for household expenses.

I made allowances for how hard things were for him, stretching every single dollar until it screamed.

But once the utilities were paid each month, there was still food and everything else to buy, and most weeks we only had meat once.

I'd raised my daughter thin and small. Just thinking about it made the tears fall.

Gently I wiped the corner of her mouth, and I told her, earnest and certain.

"Coco Abbott, from now on we're going to eat like this every single day, okay? Milk, fruit, cake. Anything Coco wants, Mommy will buy it for you."

"And new dresses, new shoes, a new backpack. We'll dress Coco up like the prettiest little princess."

My daughter forgot all about her food and spun in happy circles right where she stood.

"Coco gets new clothes! Yay!"

I quietly wiped the tears from the corner of my eye. I was about to pull her into my arms when I heard the door open.

Her scumbag of a father was home from work, and Coco rushed at him, delighted.

"Daddy! You're home! Did you make lots of money again"

Before she could finish, Isaac shoved her away, face cold, and cut her off sharply.

"Coco, who taught you to say that? Did your mother tell you to ask me for money?"

"How many times have I told you? The economy's bad right now, money's hard to earn. Can't you two just settle down!"

"To save money I've been eating in the company cafeteria, and the two of you need four dishes on the table?"

"Honey, I'm not just saying this to be mean. You've got money to burn, that's your problem. What did you go running to a hospital for? You almost let some doctor con you. Starting next month the allowance drops to two thousand, so you'll stop throwing money away!"

His sudden shouting sent our daughter stumbling back several steps, tears swimming in her eyes, too afraid to cry out loud.

Heart breaking, I pulled her into my arms, raised my hand, and slapped Isaac hard across the face.

"Get out! Take your filthy money and get out! Say one more word and I'll wait till you're asleep and cut you up with a knife!"

It was the money that gave me the nerve, for the first time in all these years, to scream at Isaac Simmons and put my hands on him.

My daughter clung to me, sobbing.

"Mommy, Coco doesn't want new clothes! Coco won't eat meat anymore!"

Isaac wiped the blood at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, gave a scornful little laugh, and loosened his tie.

He looked like he was about to hit me, so I backed away with the baby in my arms and shouted at him.

"Isaac Simmons! Just try laying a hand on me! You hit me once today and I'm calling the cops this second!"

My threat seemed to have no effect on him at all. Expressionless, he pulled the tie off and wound it around his hand.

I'd seen this scene on TV plenty of times. The next moment he'd be beating me. I stood up, still holding the baby, and looked at him with a steady stare.

"Go ahead and hit me if you've got the guts! You lay one hand on me today, and tomorrow I'll put you in the news!"

"I've got nothing to lose here, so why not let the whole internet weigh in and decide who's right and who's wrong!"

"And while they're at it, let them dig into whether your company actually makes any money, and whether you've been keeping another family behind my back!"

Isaac froze for a second. Whether he thought I'd found something out, or whether his own guilty conscience got the better of him, I couldn't tell. He only lowered the right hand he'd raised.

"You're completely out of your mind. There's nothing to discuss with a freeloading housewife like you!"

"Go ahead and make your scene if you dare. If you really do sink my company, you'll never live the good life you've got now."

"Dorothy Fletcher, I work hard enough every day. Don't push your luck when I'm being decent to you!"

With that, he slammed the door on his way out.

My daughter was so frightened that she was still hiccuping through her sobs when she went to sleep. Aching for her, I held her against me and stroked her back, over and over, until she slowly relaxed.

For a while after that, Isaac didn't come home, and I didn't send him a single message.

With money in hand, my daughter and I spent that stretch of time in real comfort.

I bought a lot of new clothes, swapped my own phone for one of those new tri-fold models, and got my daughter the latest learning tablet.

I took her to check off every amusement park in the city, and we ate our way through all kinds of good food.

My once shy and quiet daughter opened up a great deal, chattering away every day with more to say than she could get out.

By unspoken agreement, neither of us brought up Isaac, as if it made no difference whether he came home or not. And in truth, it didn't.

No apology from me ever came. The three thousand that used to land in my account like clockwork at the start of every month stopped, and he cut off my daughter's meal fees at school too.

Then the preschool teacher called about the unpaid bill.

"Coco's mom, Coco is the only child in the class who hasn't paid the meal fee. Coco's dad always took care of it before. I just reached out to him, and he told me to contact you. How would you like to handle the payment on your end?"

I apologized again and again and promised to pay right away.

Then, inside, I cursed Isaac up and down. He really was a piece of work. To get back at me for that one slap, he'd stopped supporting his own daughter.

He thought that by cutting me off, choking my income, he could get me completely under his thumb.

But what he'd never guessed was that I had my own way of getting money now. Not a clean one, sure, but fast.

After I hung up, I downloaded a few more loan apps, maxed them all out, and paid off all three years of my daughter's preschool fees in one shot.

Having money really does feel good.

A month slipped by before I knew it.

For a whole month I didn't call Isaac once.

Without his three thousand a month in household money, I was living better than ever, running up online loans and swiping credit cards.

Even at my next hospital checkup, the doctor said the cancer cells were slowly shrinking, and that as long as I took my medicine on schedule, my body would keep recovering.

I was so happy I nearly cried.

And then I couldn't help myself, so I swiped my card again and rewarded myself with a big gold bracelet.

I was still riding that high when Isaac, who'd been gone for over a month, came home.

Our daughter was in the middle of eating. She dropped the chicken leg in her hand and darted behind me.

I soothed her softly, pulled out a wet wipe, and cleaned her little hands and mouth.

Coco, take your learning tablet and go to your room, okay? Mommy will tell you a story tonight.

She didn't hesitate at all and went straight to her bedroom.

She was only three, but she knew perfectly well whether her father was good to her or not.

Looks like you've been squirreling away plenty of money behind my back all these years. Eating pretty well tonight, aren't you?

In that case, sign this.

He pulled a contract in duplicate out of his bag, and when I saw what was on it, I nearly dumped the food on the table into his face.

What is this? You want me to pay rent?

I damn well married you, I've lived in our own marital home for four years, and now you want me to pay rent?

Fifteen hundred a month in rent, plus another fifteen hundred for household expenses. Isaac, did you get kicked in the head?

You want money, there's none. You want my life, there's even less of that. If you're not afraid of the embarrassment, I'll post this agreement online and let people judge for themselves.

The two copies I'd been holding were snatched right back out of my hands.

He narrowed his eyes and looked me over, giving nothing away.

Dorothy, who taught you to act like this? We're husband and wife, one and the same. What good does it do you to ruin me?

The company's been so hard to keep running lately. I've been under so much pressure I've slept at the office for over a month, and you couldn't spare me a single kind word!

Since you've still got money on hand, from now on I won't be transferring you any household money. Coco's school fees are on you too.

He said it staring straight at me. I knew he was waiting for me to blow up, to demand answers.

Instead, I just calmly kept eating.

These days I couldn't be bothered to deal with him, and I certainly wasn't going to agree to anything he said.

Isaac waited a long while, then slammed the door and left again.

I rolled my eyes at his back.

I'd already dug up the truth over the past month. His company wasn't failing to make money like he claimed. It was making a fortune.

Last year alone it cleared hundreds of millions in profit, and he was clutching every cent of it, saving it for his woman on the side and her child, while still handing me only three thousand a month.

Just thinking about it made my blood boil.

But as long as we weren't divorced, he was legally obligated to pay off the loans I ran up.

The moment that crossed my mind, I couldn't eat another bite.

That same night I maxed out every loan on every app.

With that money, I built my parents a little house back in their hometown.

I bought a big three-bedroom in the city too and put it in their names.

The rest I turned into gold and quietly stashed away.

And so I kept robbing Peter to pay Paul, covering the minimum payment every month, and so far Isaac hadn't noticed a thing.

Not that he ever came home!

I took my medicine on time and cooperated fully with my treatment, and at last, at my next follow-up, the doctor told me the cancer cells in my body were under control.

In that instant, I wept with joy.

Right then my phone rang, and the second I answered, Isaac's furious roar came through.

Dorothy, what the hell have you done behind my back!!!