Diaphanous

Thunder boomed. The windows shuddered as if echoing the sentiments of the woman who sat on the floor and watched on in horror as her son, her only child, was beaten up mercilessly by the monster of a father. 

It all felt like a daze—a dream. 

The last thing she remembers is his eyes. Devoid of any emotion. He has no empathy, even for his son. 

It chilled her to the core. 

The haunting screams still echoed around the house, like a never-departing presence. 

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 A caged bird, no matter if put in a golden cage, will still yearn for freedom, because the one who has tasted liberty, can't bear oppressive restrictions. 

She knew she had to be strong. Pick up the pieces of her broken self, and put them together again. If not for herself, for her son. 

Her son. 

A brilliant, brilliant mind. 

"But when has being good ever wrought happiness?" She thought bitterly.

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And yet, yet as she watched her son debate in the national semi-finals, she couldn't help but wonder-

Would things have turned out differently, if not for that nightmare? Would she have been happily ignorant in her gilded cage?

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[Women, since time immemorial, have been puppeted by the 'polite' society; free will is just a fervent dream, till one recognizes the constraints, rips the strings out of their body. Yes, it hurts, and one needs time to recover. The wound might reopen several times, but if the vision, the end goal, is visible, the pain is a throwaway thought, because what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.]