I Stopped Fixing His Mistakes. Then I Found My Boundary.

At three in the afternoon, the air conditioner hummed. I held the phone between my left shoulder and ear. My right hand flipped through orders. A customer asked where the shipment was. I said I would check. Three windows were open on my computer: logistics, inventory, chat. My water cup sat next to the mouse. I had not drunk from it all morning. A ring of tea stain circled the inside.

I looked up.

He leaned back in his chair. Phone in landscape mode. The corners of his mouth lifted. His fingers slid across the screen. Three order sheets lay open on his desk, edges curled. He laughed once, short. Heat rose in my chest.

The order in my hand was his. The address was missing a district. The note “customer pickup” was missing. I circled both in red pen and walked to his desk. He put his phone face down and looked up.

“What?” he said.

“Address is wrong.”

He said oh. He picked up a pen and fixed it. I stood there. I watched him finish. Then I went back to my seat.

That day I worked until seven, rechecking his order from top to bottom. On the way home, my stomach soured. I told myself I would not fix his orders for him next time. Next time, I fixed it again.

The first time I fixed one for him was three months ago. The customer was pushing hard. Logistics was waiting on the order. He was on leave. His phone was unreachable. I crossed out the mistake, filled it in again, and faxed it over. My manager posted “Thanks for the hard work” in the group chat. I stared at those two words. Something in me warmed. After that, it became the rule. When an order came out, I checked his first.

His mistakes were like landmines. Quantities did not match. Addresses were missing characters. Shipping fees were calculated wrong. I cleared them one by one. By the time I finished, my own work was piled up past quitting time. He came back. He charged his phone. He got water. He went to the bathroom. He sat down. He slacked off.

Wednesday afternoon, the customer yelled over the phone. The shipment was stuck at the transfer station. I checked the order. He had written “standard” instead of “urgent.” I went to his desk. He was watching short videos with the sound on. I put the order on his desk.

“This one is urgent. You wrote standard.”

He picked it up and frowned. “Let me see.”

He looked at it for a long time. The phone rang again. I answered. The customer cursed. I apologized while watching him. He put the order down.

“So what do we do now?”

My chest tightened. I said, “I’ll fix it.”

I fixed it. I called logistics. I begged someone to cut the line. The shipment went out at eight that night. He left at five thirty. Before he left, he patted my shoulder.

“Thanks for the hard work.”

I smelled the hand cream on his hands. My stomach hurt.

Friday, my manager asked in the group chat why three orders had been delayed that week. I typed: Source order errors. Resubmitted after review. My manager replied: Everyone pay more attention. He replied: Got it. Then he sent a slacking-off meme. I stared at the meme. I put my phone face down on the desk. The pothos leaves in the corner had turned yellow. I took scissors and cut one off. After that, I went to the bathroom. In the mirror, the corners of my mouth pointed down. I took a deep breath.

Back at my seat, I opened a document and made a table: date, order number, error, responsible person, impact. In the first row, I typed his name. My fingers stopped on the keyboard. I closed the document. Opened it again. Finished the row.

Monday, I walked to his desk with a stack of orders. He had earphones in. His feet were propped on a cardboard box. I raised the orders. He took out one earphone. I started, “You need to...”

My manager called from behind me: “Customer on the phone!”

I turned. My manager handed me the phone. I took it. The customer asked for the contract number. I read it out. I turned back. He had already put the earphone back in. The orders were still in my hand. I walked back to my seat. I put them down. The mistakes circled in red looked like small wounds. I did not blow up. I took a sip of water. The water was cold.

That night, I could not sleep. At two, I sat on my bed, scrolling through my phone. The work group chat was quiet. I opened a job app. I looked at a few pages. I closed it again. The question kept turning over: was I being petty, or was I just tired of covering for him? My manager’s voice was still in my head: be more accommodating. His face floated up. The red pen marks on my fingers. I put the phone down. My stomach soured again. I got up to look for stomach medicine. The box was empty. I sat in the living room, listening to the refrigerator hum. Just before dawn, I made a decision: tomorrow, I would not fix his order.

The next day, the office was as usual. The air conditioner hummed. He arrived at nine. He got water. He sat down. Phone in landscape mode. I put his order on the corner of my desk. I checked my own. At ten, he came over.

“Where’s my order?”

“On your desk.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Address is wrong. Note is missing. Fix it yourself. Bring it back when it’s done.”

He froze for a moment. He stood there. I kept typing. He picked up the order and left. At noon, he brought it back, fixed. I checked. One mistake left. I circled it and put it back on his desk. He fixed it again in the afternoon. Back and forth three times. His face looked bad. I did not speak. Before quitting time, the order passed. I shut down my computer. He was still slacking off. I grabbed my bag and left.

Over the next week, I did a few things.

First, I sent the error log to my manager. Subject: This week’s order review risks. Three lines: number of errors, impact, suggestion.

Second, I posted a self-check list in the group chat. Five items: address, quantity, notes, shipping fee, urgent.

Third, I stopped giving verbal reminders. Wrong orders went straight back, with a cc.

Fourth, I reported once every Friday afternoon. Not the process, just the results and risks.

Fifth, I set an alarm. At five forty-five, I stopped what I was doing. Anything unfinished could wait until tomorrow.

I started drinking water. The cup sat next to my keyboard. The pothos grew new leaves.

He complained once. In the break room, he said, “People these days won’t help at all.” I was getting water and heard him. I did not turn around. I carried my cup back to my seat. He saw me and shut up. I sat down and opened an order. He slacked off. I did my work. At five thirty, he left. At five forty-five, I left. No shipment got stuck. No customer cursed. My manager did not come looking for me.

Today, three in the afternoon. The air conditioner hummed. His phone was in landscape mode. A stack of orders sat by my hand. I flipped to his. The address was missing a district. I picked up the red pen and circled it. I walked to his desk. He looked up. I put the order on his keyboard.

“Address is wrong. Fix it and bring it back.”

He took it. I went back to my seat. I picked up my water cup. Took a sip.

The water was warm.