Page 122 of The Yoga Teacher

His father scoffed. “I heard all about it from Isabella. How pathetic you are for the wife who’s left you. Isabella seemed to think I should follow your example. Christ, Daniel. Men don’t beg. That’s not how this works.”

Daniel looked up.

“Maybe that’s not how it worked for you,” he said. “But I’m not you.”

His father smirked, as if amused by the notion. “You think women respect that kind of desperation? That kind of weakness? They don’t. You show them too much, and they eat you alive. You think they want vulnerability?” He leaned in. “They want winners.”

Daniel didn’t blink. “No. You wanted winners. You wanted mirrors.”

His father looked confused.

“I don’t think you loved any of your wives,” Daniel said. “You collect women like watches. Trade them in when they stop flattering you.”

“That’s rich,” his father said coolly. “Coming from you.”

Daniel nodded once, slowly. “You’re right.”

His father raised an eyebrow.

“I followed you,” Daniel continued. “Not consciously, maybe. But I did. I believed the lie—that youth and desire and being admired… meant I was still worth something.” His voice stayed even. “And I hurt the best person I’ve ever known because of it.”

His father laughed, but it was thinner now. Less smug. “So what now? You wallow forever? Sit on the porch and cry about how you let a good thing go?”

Daniel’s voice dropped lower. Steadier.

“I will never treat a woman the way you treated Mom. I will never punish someone for aging. For growing. For outgrowing me. I won’t fear getting older just because you do.”

He leaned forward, his hands folded on the table.

“I’m not going to spend my life running from who I am. I’m not chasing approval from people who wouldn’t know real love if it knocked them flat.”

His father’s smile faltered—just barely. But Daniel saw it.

Saw the flicker of confusion behind the practiced mask. The cracks in the performance.

“You always thought being wanted was the same as being worthy,” Daniel said. “But it’s not. And I’m done inheriting that fear.”

His father shook his head, half-laughing, like he wanted to swat the whole moment away. But Daniel was already standing.

“I’m done,” he said. “Not angry. Not trying to prove anything. I just… don’t want what you have. And I’m not afraid to let go of it.”

He left a twenty on the table, even though he hadn’t touched the drink.

As he stepped into the street, the noise of the city wrapped around him like wind—horns and footsteps and the rhythmic hum of a world that kept moving.

Daniel stood there for a moment, the breath in his lungs steady, the weight in his chest… lighter.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Hannah

THE HEELS CLICKED confidently across the polished floors of the foundation’s downtown office, but Hannah’s pulse was uneven beneath her blazer.

It fit a little differently now. Her arms had more definition. Her body more weight. She liked it better this way.

She sat through the panel interview with still shoulders and calm precision. Talked through the mentorship metrics, the intergenerational outreach.

When Marcus Calloway asked about long-term sustainability, she pivoted with ease. By the time they were wrapping up, she felt almost light. Like maybe—just maybe—this was the clean new chapter she’d been clawing her way toward.

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