I've met three women in my life who were abused. None of them left.
Woman one. We were young and in our twenties, one day she came to work and told me he beat her. He would make her say bad things about herself, then he'd pull her hair, kick her, punch her. I don't know what happened to her, as I moved job, but she was still with him when I left. I couldn't understand it. She was gorgeous, confident, had a good job, no kids. And she went home and took it from him.
Woman two worked for my grandmother, a woman in her fifties. A big six foot twenty odd stone woman, who my grandmother found lying naked in her flat (she hadn't turned up to work) with the door wide open. He'd beaten her and raped her. Left her laying like garbage, with the door open for anyone to see. And walked out. She also didn't leave him.
A mum at school, I'd been at her house. She was lovely but a bit boastful she had a beautiful home. I had an event for my daughter and her daughter was at it, after she phoned me, and asked if I could keep her child for a while. I agreed even though it was awkward, as I had visitors.
She walked into my house several hours later. To collect her daughter. Beaten to within an inch of her life. Her face all bruised. Shaken and traumatised, she said she'd hit her face repeatedly on her car door. It was an accident. We gave her a glass of wine and talked gently to her. It was just awful. It was clear her husband had beaten her badly and that's why I had her daughter, She told her daughter "daddy is in a bad mood so you just have to go to bed when you get in". The little girl knew.
And off she went. Home again. And she didn't leave either. For the following few years she avoided me at school, and I'd often look at her and wonder how she lived like that. That beneath that exterior, she was getting brutally beaten by her husband. And her kids knew it.
And they all started with just one push. One shove. One punch.