Chapter 10 - My slap becomes a police report
Colin went to urgent care after leaving the hospital.
Bruised cheek.
Small cut inside his lip.
No fracture.
No concussion.
He filed a police report.
Good.
That sentence annoyed several Bellafonte relatives when I said it.
“He filed against you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re glad?”
“No. I’m saying he had the right.”
The dining room had a home security camera covering the exterior doors, not the table.
But Marcia recorded part of the aftermath on her phone.
She had the sound of me admitting:
“I hit him.”
I admitted it again to police.
Why?
Because I did.
My attorney, Rebecca Sloane, asked:
“Was Alessandra in immediate physical danger from Colin when you struck him?”
“No.”
“Was he attacking you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then your defense is emotional context, not self-defense.”
“I know.”
She stared.
I corrected:
“I understand.”
Better.
The district attorney later offered misdemeanor assault diversion.
No prior assault conviction.
Single open-handed strike.
Limited injury.
Immediate cooperation.
Anger-management assessment.
Forty hours community service.
Medical reimbursement.
No new offense for twelve months.
Dismissal after successful completion.
I accepted.
My brother Enzo told me:
“You let that boy criminalize you for defending your daughter.”
I said:
“My daughter was on the floor behind me. The ambulance was coming. I crossed the room because I wanted to hit him.”
Enzo went quiet.
May you like
Truth is often less flattering than family loyalty.
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