My Sister Slapped Me In Front Of 200 People At Her Wedding Because I Would…

My sister slapped me in front of 200 people at her wedding because I wouldn’t give her my penthouse. Turns out a judge was watching.

At my sister’s lavish wedding, my parents insisted that I give up my penthouse for their new family.

“Selfish children don’t deserve success,” Mom exclaimed.

“Your sister’s children need real homes,” Dad added.

“Finally getting what I’ve always deserved,” Sister scoffed.

When I declined, she struck me harshly in front of 200 people. Everyone began laughing.

I did not cry. I picked the revenge that would permanently silence them.

The champagne flute trembled in my palm as I saw my sister Sabrina glide across the marble floor of the Ritz Carlton’s large ballroom. Her custom Vera Wang gown trailed behind her like liquid silk.

Two hundred people had arrived to see her fairytale wedding to Derek, a brilliant investment banker she met only eight months before. I couldn’t help but notice the irony that she was marrying for money while wanting me.

I’m Vivien, 32 years old, and I’ve worked my ass hard to be where I am now. While Sabrina was busy playing house with several lovers in her 20s, I was pulling all-nighters in law school and working 70-hour weeks at a top Manhattan firm.

Five years ago, I took the biggest risk of my life by establishing my own firm focusing on business litigation. It paid off spectacularly.

Last year, I concluded a settlement that allowed me to acquire a penthouse overlooking Central Park, which everyone now claimed belonged to them.

“Vivien darling, you look absolutely radiant,” My mother Diane approached with her typical phony smile, which she saved for when she wanted something.

Her silver hair was precisely quaffed, and she wore a navy dress that likely cost more than most people’s rent.

“We need to have a little family chat,” She said.

My stomach sank. Family conversations in the Morrison household were never good news.

“Mom, it’s Sabrina’s wedding day. Can’t whatever this is wait?” I asked.

“Actually, no,” My father Robert appeared beside her, his expression harsh.

At 58, Dad still commanded attention in his fitted tuxedo, but his eyes bore the unmistakable disappointment that had haunted me since boyhood.

“We’ve been discussing your living situation,” He said.

“My living situation?” I sat down with my champagne and realized I needed both hands free.

“What about my living situation?” I asked.

“Well honey,” Mom’s voice took on that sickeningly lovely tone.

“You know how Sabrina and Derek are starting their family? They’re going to need more space than that tiny apartment Derek has been renting.” She said.

I blinked.

“They’re not even pregnant yet, Mom,” I said.

“But they will be soon,” Sabrina’s voice echoed over the little circle as she joined us, her new husband’s arm around her waist.

At 28, she was certainly attractive with auburn hair and green eyes, but her expression was calculated and it made my skin crawl.

“We’re planning to start trying right away,” She said.

“Congratulations,” I murmured cautiously.

“I’m sure you’ll find a lovely place to raise your family,” I said.

“We already have,” Sabrina replied, her smile bright.

“We want your penthouse,” She said.

The words struck me like a physical blow.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Now Vivien, before you get all defensive,” Dad jumped in, his voice taking on that patronizing tone he used when he thought he was being reasonable.

“Think about this logically. You’re a single woman. You don’t need all that space. Sabrina and Derek, on the other hand, are starting a family. They need room for children, for their future.” He said.

“You want me to give up my home?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

The home I worked for years to afford.

“Not give up,” Mom hastily corrected.

“Trade. You could take Derek’s apartment. It’s perfectly adequate for one person.” She said.

“A 600-square-foot studio in Queens?” I asked frankly.

“You want me to trade my three-bedroom penthouse on the Upper West Side for a studio apartment in Queens?” I asked.

“Vivien, don’t be so dramatic,” Sabrina urged.

“It’s not like you even use all that space. What do you need three bedrooms for? You don’t even have a boyfriend.” She said.

The comment stung just as she had intended. Sabrina had always been the ideal child, the one who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes.

They hailed her bold for dropping out of college to find herself. They referred to her career and relationship changes as exploring her options.

When I graduated Summa Cum Laude from law school, they were concerned that I had worked too hard.

“I need those bedrooms because it’s my home,” I responded, my voice rising slightly.

“I earned it, I paid for it, and I’m not giving it up.” I said.

“Vivian Elizabeth Morrison!” Mom’s voice became harsh.

“That is incredibly selfish. Family comes first, always.” She said.

“Family?” I laughed cruelly.

“Have any of you ever treated me like family? When I needed help preparing for the bar test, you said I was being antisocial. When I established my own business and struggled, you accused me of being careless. When I finally succeeded, you pretended it was an accident.” I said.

“That’s not true,” Dad said.

However, his voice lacked conviction.

“Isn’t it? When was the last time any of you inquired about my life, career, and happiness? But as soon as I have anything you desire, I’m back with my family.” I said.

Sabrina came forward, her face red with rage.

“You know what your problem is, Vivien? You’ve always been jealous of me. You can’t stand that I’m getting married, that I’m going to have the family you’ll never have.” She said.

“I’m not jealous of you, Sabrina. I’m disappointed in you.” I said.

“Disappointed?” She laughed harshly.

“Are you disappointed in me? I’m the one getting married, and I’ll be the one to give Mom and Dad grandkids. What have you done besides make money?” She asked.

“I’ve built a life,” I said gently.

“I’ve worked hard for everything I have. I’ve never asked any of you for anything.” I said.

“Well, now we’re asking something of you,” Dad stated firmly.

“Your sister needs that penthouse more than you do. It’s time you did something for your family instead of just yourself.” He said.

“Robert’s right,” Mom said, raising her voice.

“Selfish children don’t deserve success. You’ve had everything handed to you and now you won’t even help your own sister.” She said.

The accusation was so ludicrous that I nearly laughed. Handed to me?

I worked three jobs to pay for law school. I lived on ramen noodles for two years while building my practice.

I’ve never asked you for a dime.

“Your sister’s kids need real homes,” Dad said loudly across the ballroom, causing several nearby visitors to turn and stare.

“Not some cramped apartment. They deserve better.” He said.

“They’re not even conceived yet!” I protested.

But I knew I was losing this battle. My family was always brilliant at making me feel bad about my accomplishments.

Sabrina moved closer, her voice low and nasty.

“You know what, Vivien? I’m done pretending to care about your feelings. I’ve always known I was the better daughter. I’m prettier, I’m more likable, I’m the one who makes Mom and Dad proud. And now I’m finally getting what I’ve always deserved.” She said.

The words hung in the air between us, posing a challenge. Around us, wedding guests began to gather, sensing drama.

Some were openly staring now, their discussions dying as they concentrated on our family argument.

“What do you always deserve?” I said softly.

“And what exactly is that, Sabrina?” I asked.

“Everything,” She replied simply.

“The penthouse, the respect, the life you’ve been hoarding for yourself. I deserve it all, and I’m finally going to get it.” She said.

“Over my dead body.” I said.

The slap came so fast that I didn’t see it coming. Sabrina’s fingers hit my cheek with a piercing snap that rang across the ballroom.