I felt my body tense up, each fiber of it stretching out past its maximum threshold. Every ounce of me was ready to fight the monster that stood behind the door. Hesitantly, I allowed my body to sag a little against the cold oak wood of the paneled front door, a brief moment to relax. Only a moment though; I couldn't afford any more time than that.

Unsure if my legs could hold me up for another minute, I released the weight on them, sliding down toward the cold floor, while being careful not to make a sound. Each inch I moved, my heart felt like it stopped as I wondered when he would attack again.

How long would it be until the neighbors called the police? I sent up a silent prayer to whichever god was listening – I didn't care which religion, just as long as one god heard me and took pity – and asked them to save me from this present threat. A quick, stiff smirk was crusted on my face. Had I really just sent a silent prayer up to a god? A god that guided me into this hell I was living? They were probably too busy ruining someone else's life to hear my pitiful prayer.

Hearing shuffling outside the door, my ears perked up, and my breath caught in my throat as I strained to listen to every movement he made on the other side of the door. I just wanted him to leave – return to whatever place he came from, or to whatever whore he left.

Closing my tired eyes, I gulped down a silent scream of frustration, bargaining with the universe, promising to do anything if he would just leave and never return.

With my cell phone gripped tight in one hand, my fingers itched to call the cops, just to get some sleep, to know that while I slept, I would be safe, physically or mentally. Yet I knew without a doubt that I wouldn't call them; I never did.

Damn it! I jerked away from the coldness of the door, only to sag against it again, the wood creaking under my weight. Even though our children were awake upstairs, laying scared in their beds, listening to their father hollering outside the house, I couldn't throw their father in jail. I couldn't humiliate Justin that way. He was capable of doing that himself. As per usual, I thought, disgusted with myself. You'll let him behave badly and hope that you won't be the one paying for it, and your cowardly behavior, later.

The blissful thoughts of watching Justin being hauled off by the police were interrupted by the thick, sturdy door suddenly pounding against me. Guessing from the sound, he was kicking the door, his hands obviously tired from the insistent pounding he had done earlier. I was impressed with the strength of each kick; to see him put so much into something was a rarity nowadays.

Closing my eyes, with my head roughly bouncing off the door, I sent up another prayer to God – a God that I now doubted existed – imploring for a neighbor to call the police. Just a little grace, God, I begged as a small favor. Each time the door jumped from its resting place, I questioned the sturdiness of it.

Memories assaulted me, and I closed my eyes once more, praying for the night to just end...

"The best made" the salesman boasted to us, slyly smiling at my husband and giving him the "women know nothing" look.

A soft smile returned to my chapped swollen lips at the fond memory, then retreated back to its hidden cave.

"It's just a smile," I whispered to the empty cold air in front of me, returning to the memory, feeling its warmth attempt to spread into my stone heart.

Justin said nothing, just smiled back, not agreeing or disagreeing with the salesman's sexist remark. On our return home, I spent most of that night reading the reviews about the company that made the door and finally, grudgingly, agreed with the salesman. It was the best – worth every dollar of the small fortune we were going to pay.

Reality sunk back in as the door continued to pound against me, snapping me back to the present, a moment I never thought would happen to me. Pain seared through my spine as Justin kicked more forcefully. No matter the pain, I wouldn't leave my place. For some reason, I knew that if I sat there, against the only thing keeping him out, I could keep him from kicking down the door. I could keep him from entering our home. I could keep him away from our children. I was all that stood between him and them.

I would keep him out.

The fact that there was no window in the door gave me some respite. The irritation I had felt when the door arrived at our newly built house, without the window, seemed so trivial compared to the current situation. The whole day had been over when the beautiful oak door was delivered; everything was perfect, except the missing stained glass window. The door we had previously picked out was ruined; my dreams shattered as I stared at it. Justin being the peacekeeper, the referee, always seeing the positive, tried to reassure me that it was great anyway, despite the omission.

"Hey, it's not a big deal," he said from behind me, his voice interrupting my disappointed thoughts. He gently rubbed my shoulders, his touch calming me somewhat, bringing some stillness to my thumping heart.

"But we ordered it with the window," I protested, attempting to pull away from his loving hands, but they were firm enough, and so I didn't budge from his soft grip.

All I wanted at that moment, so very long ago, was to be angry, to let the frustration flow.

"I want the window," I complained to Justin like a child. "If I didn't want the window, I wouldn't have ordered it."

"Mistakes happen, love. I talked to Lowes... It'll take six to eight weeks to get a new one. It's up to you." He continued his gentle massage, his touch relaxing me more.

I knew then, thirteen years ago, that he would have gotten me my door with the window.

"Ugh, it only took two weeks to get this one," I whined, the urge to stomp my feet heavy.

I had almost done it, too – stomped my feet and maybe even thrown myself down on the ground and had a childish tantrum, but instead, I'd leaned into Justin's massage, enjoying his touch more than I should have at that moment.

Dirty thoughts flooded my brain, and all I wanted was for his hands to move lower –relieve the pressure building between my legs.

"They don't make it anymore, but because we ordered one before they stopped, they'll make one, but it'll take time. I don't mind this one, plus it's safer. No window for intruders to break through. And if we ever get a little 'adventurous' here by the front door... no one can see..." he whispered into my ear, his voice low and husky, promising delightful, sensual things. All anger faded away into a river of desire as he turned me to face him, his green eyes darkened by the pleasure he knew he would give me.

"Mmmmm, so you agree to some front door lovin' if I keep the no window door?" I asked in my own sultry tone, grabbing his thick neck and bringing it down to my waiting lips.

"I promise to fulfill that agreement..." he murmured into my eager lips, his steady hands moving stealthily, finding what they had been searching for. My smile gave way to a seductive gasp of joy.

His threats of death floated into the house, pulling me out of the reverie. My eyes once again shut, desperately searching the darkness for an answer. They probed for even a speck of an exit; a simple anecdote to the sickness that had taken over Justin, my once loving husband. But no answer would come; the darkness was futile.

It was moments like these when I thought back and realized all the ways that the universe had prepared me for them. Somewhere, somehow, I should have seen the signs; signs that pointed to this. At some point, life must have screamed at me that the end was near and that I needed to take cover. Did I really miss all the signs?

If the window had been in the door, would he already be in the house? Would he carry out one of his threats if he got into the house? I had to believe that the mistake with the door was supposed to happen so that he couldn't get in through the window. I had to believe that even though life decided to bring hell down around me, it still watched out for me, protecting me from the beast it allowed Justin to become.

It was hard to fathom how this door, which represented so many happy memories, was now keeping hell from bursting in.

"Jessica, I'll fucking blow your fucking slut head off. Open this motherfucking door." His voice was raspy and slightly slurred. On instinct, my head snapped back, my arm flying up to my face, protecting it from an invisible threat. My eyes stared, quivering on a spot on the gray marble flooring we had picked out together. Shame fired up inside at my reaction of looking away and down. He's never hit me; the response was unnecessary.

Go away! I screamed inside my weary brain. Go away and never come back! Not that he would. He'll never leave. He'll never see the damage that he does to the people who love him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Open this fucking door!" he shouted, the reeking stench of the alcohol on his breath seeping through the crack between the door and its frame. Lips pressed together, I refused to answer, refused to lower myself to another screaming match for the neighbors to gossip about. The judgmental stares are so clear now, the morning coffee invites gone, and neighborly visits rare. No more friendly glasses of wine on the large front porch while the neighborhood children play under the street lights. No more kids stopping by to play or ask for a popsicle. The phone had stopped ringing with loneliness taking its place. I lived in a prison, no, worse... my own personal hell.

The neighbors would have a field day tomorrow, or even tonight. Were they already on their phones or on Facebook gossiping about the Poole house again? Embarrassment crept through me, my cheeks flaring with heat – it's funny that I could recognize the feeling so quickly now. Once it had been so foreign; taking hours or even days for the feeling to come out. I knew its taste, its touch and even the ugly sounds it gurgled in my ears. Every inch of the feeling was familiar. Complete embarrassment.

How would I manage to leave the house tomorrow? The same as every other time, I scolded myself, with your head up high and eyes diverted, avoiding the stares. Acting like it didn't matter was the default. It was a shame that my family had come to this. It is a disgrace that my children would suffer yet again because of him. Their friends wouldn't be allowed over. After all, who would let their children go to a house where the father stood outside his home roaring threats and insults to his wife? Yet I allowed my kids to live in such a home; a home where I wasn't sure I wouldn't be smothered in my sleep or worse.

There were so many ways to kill someone; Justin had told me that time and time again. He enjoyed sharing all the different ways he could kill someone and make sure no one found the body. Secretly, I wondered if he would kill me. Could he actually kill the mother of his children? Could he take my last breath as I fought him off? Somewhere in the deep parts of his soul there had to be some kind of humanity left... A little compassion within the darkness... A speck of love floating somewhere inside his black soul.

"You fucking bitch. I'll fucking kill you for this. I'll deliver you to ISIS; don't worry they don't rape the fat ugly cunts, they'll just chop your fucking head off," he ranted in the background.

I saw his face as he screamed the words at me, his handsome features turned beastly as the hatred consumed him. His sparkling green eyes would almost be black, like his soul. His smooth olive skin covered in large red patches. His thick rosy lips thinned into a gripping frown. The veins in his neck popping out through the thick layer of muscle. I knew the face of evil; I saw him a lot. He often haunted my dreams and reality.

"Jessica, I'm leaving. I'll deal with you tomorrow. I'm going to go fuck me a model. You know her, Liz, the one you invited over for Jenna's birthday. You're so fucking stupid and gullible. We fucked all over the house that day." He laughed.

Vomit crept up my throat. The world started to spin around me as I collapsed against the door – it was now holding me up instead of the other way around.

"Want to know more? I know you're always going through my stuff, looking for something to hold over me. I'd fuck you and then go fuck her – your loose pussy doesn't do anything for me. Pathetic." His drunken voice was getting higher and higher.

"You lazy whore. You better be out of my house by the time I get home tomorrow." He punched the door a few times.

In between frantic thoughts of him leaving to go be with another woman, I heard his car door shut. The engine rumbled to life. Tires squealed.

Finally, he was gone.

Justin admitted to cheating. He threatened me, again. Looking down at my hand that clenched my silver iPhone, the very iPhone he had bought me after he smashed the last one, the voice recorder was still going. The first true smile in two years, one month, and eight days settled on my pale, trembling, dry lips. Now was the time. It had to be. I couldn't wait any longer; I had to get off the fence and make the decision. Either way, I knew it would be hard, but what was worse: waiting for him to drag us all into the depths of darkness or to leave our entire lives behind and run? Run so far that he wouldn't catch us. If we left, it had to be fast. Now. While he was sleeping his anger off.

But is he really gone? I asked myself. Or is he waiting for you at the end of the block? Is he waiting to kill you, carry out his threats, or even steal your children?

Sweat broke out across my body, the flames of heat irrepressible. Slowly, I pulled myself off the floor, wondering if my legs would even hold me. Could I actually load my children into the car, grab what I could quickly, and then leave? Did I have enough money stowed away? Why couldn't I make a decision? Why was this so hard?

"Mommy? Are you okay?" Jenna quietly asked from down the hallway, her face red from tears. Her rosy lips quivered. My heart broke more, disappointment in myself reigniting due to failing to protect them from him. Her tear stained face is a sign, I suddenly thought. She is my sign.

The decision was made. I was leaving. Now.

I walked to Jenna and ruffled her auburn hair before enclosing her in my arms. As I did, I prayed in earnest that one day she would forgive me for allowing her to live with him, and for not protecting her soon enough. Then I prayed that one day she would forgive her father.

I whispered into her sweet ear, just in case Justin could somehow hear me, "Baby, I'm actually really good. But you know what? Let's get Jace. It's time to go."