Well, I kind of stayed.
I was ready to leave my husband.
The very day I had an extra part-time job lined up, I came home to him only to have him tell me he had lung cancer. He was a smoker, too. He only lasted another five weeks.
Look, even if you moved out, you may decide to help him in some limited way. I remember reading years ago of a woman who discovered her husband was gay, and had AIDS, and she let him stay in the house throughout his illness to his death.
Although my husband claimed to have quit drinking once he had his diagnosis, I later found the remains of a 30-pack in the shop, and receipts for two more dated after he gave me the news. So he cut back to three a day, as opposed to the 8 to 10 a day he had been drinking.
Was it healing? No, not for me. I'm nine months out, now. I'm a 54 year old woman. The chances of me finding another partner are pretty slim, given the ratio of single men to single women. The men my age can pretty much chose whomever they want for a partner - a middle aged woman without youthful looks or substantial money isn't likely to make anyone's short list. I spent my youth with someone who *acted* like he, frankly, didn't give a rat's ass about me, and I'll spend the rest of my life alone.
I'm sorry that i sound bitter, tonight. I'm not having a good night. My husband shared my sense of humor- sometimes, a situation would strike us as humorous, and we'd be thinking the exact same thing. There just weren't very many moments like that in the last 8 years. And I know he loved me as best as he could; I just didn't feel loved. I imagine he didn't feel loved either. He must have been unhappy to drink himself into a stupor every night. I don't think of his unhappiness as my fault: but it's still incredibly, heartrendingly sad.