Page 114 of The Yoga Teacher

Daniel shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “It’s fine. It’s temporary.”

Hannah studied him. The soaked collar of his jacket. The bags under his eyes. The way he didn’t meet hers—not fully.

And for a split second, she felt the strangest urge to invite him inside. Just to dry off. Just for a minute.

“I never wanted this to be your burden,” he added, voice raw. “The house. The memories. I wanted it to be clean. Yours. Without me in it.”

“It is mine,” she said simply.

Daniel nodded, eyes fixed somewhere near the doorframe. “Good.”

And for once, he didn’t try to explain himself. Didn’t try to say something profound or beg her to see him differently.

He just stepped back.

And when he turned to leave—hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind—he didn’t look back.

Hannah watched him go, the key heavy in her hand.

Then she closed the door.

Turned the lock.

And stood there for a long time.

It wasn’t peace, exactly. It wasn’t closure.

But it was something.

And tonight, that was enough.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Daniel

THE MOTEL LAMP buzzed faintly above Daniel’s head. He had a legal pad open, a marker-pen in one hand, and a web of scribbled arrows, post-its, and half-drawn diagrams taped to the wall above the desk.

Intergenerational storytelling.

Grant application deadlines.

QR code donation drive.

He stared at the draft for a print flier, adjusting the font sizes like it mattered more than his job title ever had.

It did.

This mattered.

He hadn’t realized how hollow his agency work had become until he’d started building something real. Something for the community. Something that didn’t require his name on it.

Something forher.

He’d spent all week assembling marketing kits for Hannah’s nonprofit—logos, social tiles, press packets, outreach scripts. He wasn’t doing it for her. He wasn’t selling an image. He was building something with a pulse.

There was a knock on the motel room door.

Daniel stiffened.

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