My mother slapped me in front of two hundred wedding guests because I refused to hand over the keys to my penthouse. The force of it sent my diamond earring flying across the marble floor, and the ballroom fell silent.
Seconds earlier, my father had raised his champagne glass and proudly announced that my penthouse would be his wedding gift to my younger sister, Chloe. A satin box with a fake key ring sat beside the wedding cake while my sister smiled like she had already moved in.
“That apartment is not yours to give away,” I said, remaining seated.
“Don’t embarrass us,” my father snapped. But when I said no again, my mother crossed the dance floor and slapped me hard enough to draw blood from my ear-
