We live in secrecy.
Behind our wooden front door.
If you peek through the small glass windows,
You’ll see a man walking in, just home from the store.

You’ll see all the children hiding in corners.
Listening from the other room to make sure this time
that he doesn’t hurt her.

You’ll see those kids fighting one another.
Trying to distract the adults from each other.

You’ll see a woman, tired, broken, scared.
She’s like porcelain—fragile and unfairly rare.

You’ll see her stand tall and loud when she feels her children are at risk,
But cower to the man when it’s just her in the mix.

You’ll see forced family dinners where everyone keeps glancing at him after they speak.
Worried about what kind of reaction they’ll receive.
You’ll see that woman trying so hard to make good moments, amongst the chaos that takes over the house.
You’ll see those children planning escapes and safety plans among themselves for when this finally erupts.

You’ll see a man who takes off the mask of a sweet, funny, simple man that he puts on outside.
You’ll see the true face hidden under all the pretending and lies.
You’ll see him tower over the woman, screaming at the top of his lungs down at her.
You’ll see him yell at the children, trying to scare them away.
You’ll see him make fun of everyone who sits at the table. Never congratulating for an accomplishment or triumph.
You’ll see him punch a hole in a door or a wall, or throw a piece of furniture down the hall.
You’ll see him tell her he didn’t punch that hole in the wall,
As he wipes off the drywall from his bloody knuckles.
He’ll call her crazy, as she argues about what she saw.
He’ll tell her she’s stupid for thinking he could do such a thing.
Then he’ll storm to the basement, leaving her alone, questioning whether she’s crazy or not.
She can’t answer any question anymore.
She’s a shell lost in survival mode and unable to even think without doubt and confusion.
She doesn’t talk to anyone outside, on the phone, or in public.
Her shoulders were constantly pulled up from tension that almost touched the bottom of her ear.

He loves it like this.
When she’s lost, she’s quiet.
When she cries, he smiles, knowing he can make her his toy.
Playing with emotions and reality, and trust.
Creating confusion and fear everywhere.

This place is scary. And doesn’t feel like a home.

You’ve seen enough.
You wish you could save them.
Break down the door and yell Stop!

But—he’s a pro.
And he’ll put on that infamous show.

She’ll say it’s fine.
It’s not as bad as it seems.
He’s just having a bad day,
He’s not this mean.

You have no choice but to walk away.
Praying the mom finally has enough and decides not to stay.

This is what life is like behind the wooden door.