I remember the fire in his eyes, burning red and hot like the devil's. Sometimes it was just a flicker, a blink, and a temporary fade when we were out in public. Other times it lit and caught and consumed his entire person and mine as well. I melted under the heat of those flames. It melted my strength, my dignity, everything I stood for. It made me feel weak. It burnt me, enough to carry those same scars to this day.

There were times I'd scream in horror at the things he'd do and say while the devil's flames danced in his eyes. Every scream would only make him angrier, but my panicking heart grew more and more fearful with each lick of heat, each instance of extreme bouts of selfishness and impatience and eventually, violence. I remember a few times screaming that he was evil, begging him to stop. Hearing those words only kindled that fire. Bruises were constantly present on my knees and wrists, once the trace of his entire hand was left purple and black on both wrists so much so that I had to cover my hands for a week. My cheeks often stung from the force of his hand across them, trying to slap me into submission time and time again.

He was the devil. Eyes burning bright and hard and consuming everything in its sight.

And one day, he'll slip again. One day, the entire world will see what me and my children saw daily. One day, the world would understand why I had to get out, why I couldn't for so long, why I kept getting pulled back in time and time again. And it won't be me who exposes him. The devil will expose himself, impatient at the wrong moment, selfish when others are watching this time. There is nothing to do but live my own life and hope that day comes so much sooner than later.