But until you've felt the bones of your face crack under the fist of the person to whom you have given your heart and committed your life, you cannot know.
Until you've cowered on the floor and listened to someone you love and adore describe you as worthless and meaningless, and felt your self-esteem burn away under the heat of his anger, you cannot know.
Until you've swallowed the last of your pride and lied to the nurses at the ER for the 20th time in under a year about the reasons for the bruises and cuts covering your body, you cannot know.
Until you've had your family withdraw their love and support because you were stupid enough to ignore their advice and marry this man in the first place, you cannot know.
Maybe you can speculate on how strong you would be, the decisive action you would take.
Maybe you stand aloof and assume you understand the dynamics of the relationship.
Maybe you can shake your head in pity, or walk in away in disgust.
Maybe you can decide that the abuse would end if the woman was stronger, smarter, would simply leave.
But unless you've felt the pain, known the agony, tried to gather up your crushed ego and broken heart and walk out the door, you cannot know.