Chapter 13 - MY SLAP
Celeste’s cheek bruised.
The side table caused a contusion near her shoulder.
No fracture.
No concussion.
I was charged with misdemeanor assault.
The district attorney did not care that she had locked my daughter inside luggage eight minutes earlier when deciding whether my slap was self-defense.
It was not.
Sophie was already behind Joanne.
Celeste was standing on the stairs.
She was not attacking me.
My anger was understandable.
The strike was still retaliation.
I accepted diversion.
Anger-management.
Restitution for Celeste’s medical evaluation attributable to the slap.
No unlawful contact.
No new offenses.
Completion would permit dismissal.
One colleague told me:
“I’d have done worse.”
That stopped sounding supportive.
Dr. Harris, the instructor, asked:
“What did you want your hand to say?”
“That I knew what she did.”
“No.”
He waited.
“That she couldn’t do it and remain safe from me.”
“Better.”
I hated that answer.
Then:
“What did Sophie hear?”
“The slap.”
“What had she just experienced?”
“Being physically overpowered by an adult.”
“And then?”
“Her father physically overpowered another adult.”
There.
Different target.
Same nervous system.
I apologized to Sophie.
Not dramatically.
“Daddy should not have hit Celeste after you were safe.”
She asked:
“Because police?”
“Because hitting in anger was wrong.”
“Even bad people?”
“Yes.”
“What if Mason take picture?”
“I stop him.”
“How?”
“Block him. Move you away. Call for help. Only use force if it’s actually needed to keep someone safe.”
She thought.
“Picture safe?”
May you like
“Yes.”
That was what she cared about.
