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

He knew me better than my family did.

“I’ve had better nights, Luis, but I think things are going to get better from here.” I said.

He smiled.

“That’s good to hear. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” He said.

In the elevator, I finally allowed myself to look closely at my reflection in the mirrored walls.

My cheek was still crimson from Sabrina’s hit. My hair was somewhat unkempt, and my makeup was smudged, but my eyes were bright and focused.

I resembled someone who had been through battle and emerged victorious.

As I entered my apartment, it seemed like a haven.

The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of the city with lights glittering like stars. This was my space, my accomplishment, my home, and no one was going to take it away.

I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on my couch, finally allowing myself to sift through the incident-related social media posts.

Someone had filmed Sabrina smacking me, perhaps thinking it was humorous at the time, and put it on Instagram.

The video had already been posted hundreds of times, and comments ranged from indignation to support.

“This is disgusting! Who hits someone at a wedding?” One user wrote.

“That lawyer is my hero for refusing to back down.” Another said.

“The sister is certainly entitled as f**. Whether in a family or not, assault is assault.”* A comment read.

“I can’t believe that everyone was laughing. What is wrong with people?” Another added.

However, it wasn’t just random internet users commenting.

I recognized names from New York’s legal community, business heavyweights, and even a few celebrities who had reportedly watched the tape.

The narrative was taking on a life of its own, reaching well beyond Sabrina’s wedding. The phone rang again.

This time it was my assistant Jenna, who called from her personal phone.

“Vivien, I’m so sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but I’ve been getting calls all evening. The office voicemail is full and reporters keep calling my personal line asking for statements.” She said.

“What kind of reporters?” I asked.

“Everyone. Local news, Page Six, TMZ, even CNN. This story is everywhere.” She said.

I closed my eyes, suddenly fatigued.

“What are they asking?” I asked.

“They want to know if you’re pressing charges, if you’re planning to sue, what your family relationship was like before this. Some are asking about your law practice and your success story. A few want to know about your dating life.” She said.

Of course they did. A successful single lady being attacked by her married sister was a common theme in stories about women, success, and family dynamics.

“Jenna, I need you to draft a statement. Keep it simple and professional.” I said.

“Something like, ‘Morrison is grateful for the outpouring of support she’s received. She’s focusing on her work and her clients at this time and won’t be making any further public comments about this private family matter.'” I added.

“Should I mention anything about pressing charges?” Jenna asked.

I paused. The fact was I hadn’t even considered filing charges.

Sabrina’s smack had been intended to humiliate rather than cause bodily hurt. However, the inquiry made me realize that I had possibilities I had not considered.

“Don’t mention charges either way. Let’s keep our options open.” I said.

After hanging up with Jenna, I realized I was hungry.

I hadn’t eaten anything at the wedding because I was apprehensive about the impending family clash.

I ordered Thai food and settled in to properly explore the consequences of tonight’s occurrences.

By late that evening, the tale had gained significant popularity on social media. The Instagram video of the slap had been published by many gossip accounts, resulting in thousands of views within hours.

More intriguing were the lengthy articles already being published about the tragedy.

A feminist blogger wrote on how women are expected to compromise their success for families. A family therapist wrote about poisonous family dynamics.

A legal expert was discussing New York’s assault statutes.

My story had grown beyond just family drama. It sparked broader conversations about success, gender, family expectations, and standing up for oneself.

Sabrina’s Instagram account, which had been filled with wedding photographs and jubilation just hours before, was now inundated with angry comments.

People called her entitled, abusive, and spoiled.

Her wedding hashtag, #SabrinaAndDerekForever, was ironically used to broadcast a video of her punching me.

I nearly felt bad for her. Almost.

Then I remembered her triumphant expression as she smacked me.

The way she sneered at finally receiving what she deserved, and my sympathy fled.

My dinner arrived, and as I ate the pad Thai, I began receiving calls from unexpected sources.

My college roommate, whom I had not spoken with in years, contacted me to express her support.

A cousin on my father’s side, who had always been the family’s black sheep, contacted me to discuss her own experiences with mistreatment by relatives.

Even my high school guidance counselor, who had obviously seen the article on Facebook, called to express her pride in how far I had gone.

But the most meaningful call came from Judge Margaret Chen, who had attended the wedding.

“Vivien, I hope you don’t mind me calling. I got your number from the court directory. I wanted to personally apologize for what I witnessed tonight.” She said.

“Judge Chen, you don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I said.

“I should have intervened. I should have said something when I saw what was happening. Instead, I just stood there like everyone else.” She said.

“You were a guest at a wedding, not a referee at a family fight.” I said.

“Perhaps. But I’ve been thinking about it all evening, and I keep coming back to something. That wasn’t just family drama, Vivien. That was a pattern of abuse. Emotional abuse, financial abuse, and then physical abuse. I’ve seen it too many times in my courtroom.” She said.

Her comments struck me like a physical blow.

I’d been so concentrated on the slap and the demands for my penthouse that I hadn’t given much thought to the wider picture. But she was correct.

This was more than simply one awful night. This was the culmination of years of my family treating me like a personal ATM, disregarding my accomplishments, and making me feel bad about my success.

“I never thought of it that way,” I said.

“Abuse isn’t always obvious, especially when it’s coming from the family. We’re conditioned to accept behavior from relatives that we’d never tolerate from strangers. But what I saw tonight… the financial demands, the public humiliation, the physical violence… that’s a textbook case of family abuse.” She said.

After I hung up with Judge Chen, I sat in my apartment for a long time reflecting on her words.

Had I actually been abused by my family?

It seemed like too strong a word. They had never hit me until tonight.

They had never intimidated me or attempted to control my daily life.

However, they had consistently attacked my accomplishments, made me feel guilty about my success, and asked me to sacrifice my happiness for Sabrina’s convenience.

They treated me like a bank account, not a daughter and sister.