Page 121 of The Yoga Teacher

He should live in the ache. In the hollow left by her absence. He shouldacheforever, because anything else would be mercy he hadn’t earned.

But still… somewhere beneath the pain, buried deep, was a single thread of purpose.

If he couldn’t be forgiven—

If he couldn’t undo what he did—

Then at the very least, he could become the kind of man who never, ever took love like that for granted again.

The kind of man who would worship her from a distance. Who would never stop repenting. Who would never, not for one second, forget what it cost to lose her.

Even if he did still care about status, about paychecks and promotions—he’d lost there too.

Once Hannah took that Denver job she’d be earning more than him. She’d have more leadership, more respect, more impact.

And it would bedeserved.

He let his head drop into his hands.

Of course he should suffer.

Of course this was what he’d earned.

Somewhere deep in his chest, shame gave way to something else: a flicker of resolve.

He couldn’t earn back what he lost...

But he wanted to be the man worthy ofwatching her win.

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This wasn’t the kind of place you went to talk. It was the kind of place you went to be seen. Dim lighting. Polished brass. Conversations loud enough to impress anyone listening nearby. A curated kind of expensive—just exclusive enough to feed the illusion of status without doing any of the real work to earn it.

Of course this was where his father had chosen to meet.

He spotted him immediately—same tailored jacket, same perfect posture, same practiced smirk. He was sipping from a lowball glass, already halfway through a drink, and looked like he belonged in a lifestyle ad for "men who still had it."

Daniel approached slowly, heart steady. Not calm. But clear.

“Daniel,” his father said, rising just enough to extend a hand.

Daniel ignored the handshake and sat down.

His father chuckled, unbothered, and slid a second drink across the table. “Figured you could use this.”

Daniel didn’t touch it. “You said you wanted to talk.”

His father leaned back, studying him. “You look like hell.”

Daniel said nothing.

“Still hanging out for Hannah?” the older man added, casual as flipping through headlines.

There it was.

Daniel exhaled through his nose, gaze fixed on the condensation sliding down the untouched glass between them.

“Always,” he said quietly.

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