Page 109 of The Yoga Teacher

Just a line drawn in legal ink, signed, sealed, filed—like it meant nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was everything.

Hannah stepped out of the car before she could stop herself. She walked up the sidewalk, not all the way to the front door—just to stand at the edge of the lawn. The wind carried the faint scent of herbs from the planter box she’d built herself, before everything fell apart.

The plants were still alive.

Still blooming.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the front windows. The curtains were drawn.

Was he home?

A part of her imagined knocking. Just to talk to him. Just to see what he’d say.

But she didn’t.

She stood there, silent, the cool night air brushing against her bare arms. And for the first time in months, she felt something she hadn’t let herself feel since she left.

Safe.

Not because of him. Not because she trusted him.

But because this house—this place they’d built together—was still hers.

Even if he was inside.

Even if her name on the deed came with nothing else. No reconciliation. No reunion.

He had made it hers.

But safety could be a trap. It could lull you into forgetting. Could make you soften your armor. Could convince you that maybe… maybe the fire was out.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

She wasn’t ready to feel safe.

Not yet.

But standing there, in the dark, watching the porch light hum against the quiet street—

She let herself want it.

Just for a minute.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Daniel

THE MOTEL ROOM smelled faintly of bleach and air freshener that had given up halfway through the job. The kind of place you didn’t book unless you were passing through or hiding from something.

Daniel set the last of his boxes—just three, really—on the edge of the dresser. The room was barely bigger than his college dorm had been—a lumpy full-size bed, a clunky TV bolted to the wall, a tiny bathroom with rust stains in the sink. The curtains didn’t quite close, and the lock on the door stuck a little.

But it wasn’t home.

And that was the point. That wasn’t his house anymore.

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