Over the last few days, a number of women have come forward to accuse my husband, presidential nominee Donald Trump, of sexually assaulting them. As the candidate’s wife, I know him better than anyone, and I want to assure voters that the Donald Trump in these allegations is not the complete monster I married.

Believe me, the misogynistic, lying, pathologically self-centered Donald I know is nothing like the one these women describe.

I’ve been married to Donald Trump for more than 10 years now, and in all the times I’ve seen him treat other human beings as nothing more than objects for his own gratification, I’ve never seen him do the things he is currently being accused of.

I realize my husband has his faults. He can be impulsive, short-tempered, cruel, arrogant, bigoted, thin-skinned, manipulative, hateful, defensive, intolerant, deluded, vindictive, greedy, perverted, narcissistic, dishonest, threatening, megalomaniacal, and psychopathic. But show me an irredeemably horrible, self-obsessed person who isn’t. What I have never personally seen him do, though, in all the years I’ve listened to him say demeaning and graphically sexual things about women, is touch someone without their consent.

That is simply not the vicious, racist, dangerously unstable sociopath I wake up next to every morning.

Now, am I by Donald’s side 24 hours a day? Of course not. But based on what I’ve experienced of him as a disgusting, reprehensible egomaniac who sees only himself and denies the humanity of others, it’s hard for me to imagine him doing the things these women accuse him of. Scapegoat racial minorities? Yes. Make veiled suggestions that someone should assassinate his opponent? Sure. Degrade and humiliate women at every opportunity in his personal and professional life? Of course. But assault? I just can’t see the loathsome demon I married doing something like that.

In the coming days and weeks, the media is going to try to portray my husband as a lecherous, chauvinistic serial abuser. But what they don’t understand is that deep down inside, he’s just a prurient, sexist predator—one who doesn’t let anything get between him and the satisfaction of his immediate desires—and that’s it! Nothing more, nothing less.

I know people will say that I’m deluding myself. That I can’t read the writing on the wall. That the only way I can be psychologically comfortable continuing to live alongside such a heartless, dangerous, malignant individual is by blindly convincing myself that he could never have committed the crimes that he’s been accused of and, indeed, bragged about on tape. All I can say is that when I see him in the morning before he goes to work and at night when he returns home, Donald is simply a human horror show who has never once given a moment of thought to the hopes, dreams, struggles, or circumstances of anyone else in existence. That’s my Donald.

So before you rush to judgment, please, forget what the media is telling you for a moment, and try to see my husband the way I do: as a repugnant, repulsive cancer of a person who makes our world a crueler, more hateful place by his very existence.

That’s the real Donald Trump.