Page 101 of The Yoga Teacher

He paused.

“She deserves to be happy. If I can give her even one piece of that… it would be the only thing I’ve done right.”

Marla was quiet.

“I’m not trying to win her back,” Daniel said. “I’m not trying to make a statement. I’m just…” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. “Trying to do one thing right. One thing that doesn’t hurt her.”

He didn’t expect understanding. Didn’t want it.

“I don’t need to be protected in this,” he added. “That’s not why I hired you. I hired you to make this clean. Efficient. Final.”

She tapped her pen once, slowly. “I’ve had a lot of clients who regretted how their marriages ended. Regret alone doesn’t usually look like this.”

Daniel’s laugh was soft, hollow.

Let her have it all.

Let her start over.

Let him be nothing but a footnote.

Daniel stood slowly, buttoning his jacket like the weight of it might keep him from unraveling.

“Let me know when the papers are ready.”

And then he left.

Not with closure. Not with relief.

But with a strange, hollow sense of fulfillment.

He couldn’t be her future.

But he could help build it.

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Daniel knelt in the dirt, patiently listening as an elderly woman showed him how to properly space seedlings. His knees were soaked from the morning dew, his back aching from hours of work. He'd arrived before anyone else, setting up tables, unloading supplies without being asked.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Carmen watching him.

Only when the cleanup was mostly done—when Daniel was alone by the shed, stacking folding chairs into place—did she finally walk over, wiping her hands on the thighs of her jeans.

“You’re thorough,” she said, nodding at the neatly arranged supplies.

Daniel didn’t look at her. “Figured I’d finish the job.”

Carmen studied him for a moment. “Hannah’s not here today.”

“I’m not here for her,” Daniel said, too quickly. Then softer, “I mean… I am. But not to see her.”

Carmen didn’t reply. Just leaned against the side of the shed, arms crossed.

Daniel kept working. Dust clung to his forearms. His sweatshirt was damp with sweat.

“Does she know you’re still showing up?” Carmen asked.

“I don’t think so.” He adjusted a latch on one of the storage bins. “Doesn’t matter.”

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