Page 54 of Letters From A Stalker

Useful. The word registers immediately, but I don’t interrupt.

“People trust me,” she continues. “They bring me problems because they know I’ll figure them out. I know the clients, I know who needs what, I catch things before they become disasters, and I’m very good at telling lawyers when they’re wrong without making them feel like I’ve told them they’re wrong.”

“You’re smiling.”

Her fingers move toward her mouth as if she’s checking. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I enjoy telling lawyers they’re wrong.”

“That sounds healthy.”

She gives me a look. I allow myself a small smile before continuing. “What you’re describing doesn’t sound like someone who struggles universally with confidence or boundaries.”

How her brow furrows. “I didn’t say I did.”

“No. But you’ve described yourself several times as someone who gives too much, apologizes too often and has difficulty saying no. At work, none of that appears to apply in quite the same way.”

Julia thinks about it. “I guess not.”

“You tell people when they’ve made mistakes.”

“Constantly.” She gives a small nod.

“You establish expectations. You say no. So the problem isn’t that you’re incapable of setting boundaries.” Her gaze stays on mine. “It’s that you establish them effectively when you believe you’re entitled to have them.”

Something changes in her face. Not hurt. Recognition.

She looks down at her hands. “That sounds annoyingly accurate.”

“It doesn’t have to be annoying.” I offer.

“You’re the one saying it.” She bites back but not out of annoyance.

She’s being playful and I feel myself react to it. I shouldn’t react to it.

“Fair.” That earns me another small smile.

I make a note before asking, “Did anything happen this week where you noticed yourself doing that differently outside work?”

Julia’s mouth twists. “My mother texted me the morning after our session.”

I lower the pen slightly. “About?”

“She had a doctor’s appointment the day before. Everything was fine, but she worded the message in that very particular way she has of informing me everything is fine while also making sure I understand what a terrible daughter I am for not asking.”

I remember what she told me about her mother last week and keep my tone even.

“What did you do?”

“Started writing an apology.”

“Did you send it?”

“No.” That surprises me.

Not because I think she’s incapable of it, but because six days ago she would have described the impulse as automatic.