Boundaries Book Reviews Novels & Stories

“You tell me you kicked that prima out, and now she’s playing victim online? I just saw her I*******m story, ‘family betrayal before Christmas’? Are you kidding me?” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I didn’t throw her out for a man, Cássia. I threw her out because she kept pushing and…” “Because you finally had enough,” she finished for me, crossing her arms. “Good. About time.” Despite myself, I laughed. “You sound like my therapist.” She smirked. “Maybe I should be. I’d charge less and swear more.” Then her tone softened. “Listen, amiga, you didn’t do anything wrong. Setting boundaries isn’t cruelty. You let her walk all over you for weeks. Peace is priceless. You chose peace.”

“You really think so?” “I know so.” Another pause. “I’m thinking of putting some boundaries in place,” she said tentatively. “Just until he sorts himself out. I don’t want him coming and going whenever he pleases. I can’t handle the emotional whiplash.” Pride bloomed somewhere deep in my chest, gentle and warm. “That’s good,” I told her. “That’s strong. Boundaries don’t push people away, Grace. They protect you. And if he respects you, he’ll respect them.”

I saw threat flying at me, his words, they are the threat, or maybe he’s going to give me a real one now. Wrong with me? Yes, and not something, everything is wrong with me. I am the pieces that will never come together, I'm the one that’ll cut your hands if you touch me. But I won’t blame you for touching me then, because you chose to, and I didn’t force Phoenix to touch me. on the contrary I stopped him, set boundaries. But what are boundaries when you’re in love? Or aren’t boundaries meant to be crossed? “I'm sorry, if you've never fallen in love, or your dick is shorter than your brain, I don’t care, but if you try to break us, I’ll shorter your life than your dick. 2 fucking inches…”

And I swallowed hard, gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I can’t. I cannot let this happen again. Not with him. Not while I’m here. Not ever. I forced myself to take a deep breath and put the phone down. Yssa could handle herself for a little while. I needed boundaries. Clear ones. Hard ones. I picked up the book again, more out of habit than anything else, and forced myself to read. The words jumped off the page, but now I tried something new. I imagined them as ridiculous, absurd, completely disconnected from reality.

My gloved hands rested uselessly on the open manuscript. “You’ve worked late every Thursday for the past two months,” he said quietly. “Always alone. Always in this room. I’ve watched you from the upper gallery more than once. The way you handle the books. The way you go completely still when you think no one is looking. The way your breathing changes when you turn certain pages.” My mouth went dry. I stared at the botanical illustration in front of me—delicate ink lines of a flower that suddenly felt obscene. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“But you’re firm.” “Yes.” A slow nod followed. “I used to believe power meant tightening control when challenged,” he said. “You’re proving it can mean widening clarity.” She sat across from him. “I don’t want leadership built on intimidation,” she replied. “But I won’t let it be eroded either.” Later, outside in the garden, Lydia stood alone for a moment. The plants had grown tall now, rooted deep. Boundaries, she realized, weren’t walls. They were definitions. They protected growth.

Appeared again. *That’s not a small thing to admit to a stranger.* *You’re not exactly a stranger if you’re asking the right questions.* Another pause, longer this time. *Boundaries matter more than intensity. If we talk about this, we talk about limits first. Consent isn’t a formality. It’s the entire structure.* Something in her chest loosened. No one had ever led with that. Most men either got crude or got careful in the wrong way—soft, hesitant, as if she might break.

"And you are someone I want approval from. So doesn't that fit the pattern?" "What I think doesn't matter," he says. "What matters is how you feel about yourself." "But what if what you think affects how I feel about myself?" He sets his pen down. "Sloane, I think we should talk about boundaries." *There it is.* "Okay," I say innocently. "What about them?" "Therapy requires clear boundaries," he says. "Between therapist and patient. Those boundaries exist to keep you safe. To create a space where you can be vulnerable without fear of judgment or... exploitation."

"It's the true word for it. There's a difference between work and this, between the office and here, and I'm trying to keep them separate so I can survive the office. That's not the same as pulling away from you." "Isn't it?" He slowly came around the counter, that unhurried way he had that made my heart speed up whether I wanted it to or not. "I have seen people set boundaries my whole life. Do you know what a boundary is, really? It's a fence you build one panel at a time so that when you finally walk away, you can tell yourself the fence was always there. That you never really let them in at all." "That's not what I'm doing."

It was just a fact. I slid down on my side of the bed, keeping a canyon of space between us. I faced the window, my back to her. My rule was intact. I wasn’t sharing the bed with her. She was just… there. A familiar piece of furniture that breathed. I closed my eyes. The last conscious thought I had was a mild irritation that my sheets would smell like her coconut shampoo tomorrow. And the part of my brain that should have been screaming about violations, about boundaries, about the dangers of letting someone this close… was silent.