Chapter 8 - My Slap Was Still Mine
My sister assaulted my daughter.
I assaulted my sister afterward.
Those facts did not cancel.
The security footage showed it clearly.
Violetta lunged for the envelope.
I caught her wrist.
Stopped her.
Had possession of the letter.
She was no longer reaching Primrose.
Then I slapped her.
My attorney negotiated diversion.
One misdemeanor assault allegation.
No prior record.
Minor injury.
Anger-management course.
Community service.
No unlawful contact.
Successful completion would mean dismissal.
I accepted.
My father objected privately.
“She hit Primrose first.”
“Yes.”
“She deserved—”
“No.”
I stopped him.
That shocked both of us.
I said:
“If we make deserving the standard, everyone eventually becomes judge and executioner.”
Anatole stared.
Then nodded.
He had spent decades controlling rooms.
That did not make him immune to the seduction of retaliation.
Neither was I.
The counselor asked me:
“What could you have done after catching Violetta’s wrist?”
“Step away.”
“Anything else?”
“Tell security to remove her.”
“Anything else?”
“Call police.”
“Did slapping her protect the letter?”
“No.”
“Protect Primrose?”
“No.”
“Then it was for you.”
“Yes.”
Useful sentence.
May you like
Painful.
True.
