Page 130 of The Yoga Teacher

And another.

He gasped for air, but the sobs kept coming, shaking him apart, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

His chest burned. His throat ached. His face was wet, his shoulders heaving, his body curling in on itself.

He let out a strangled, guttural sound, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him from completely dissolving.

He had lost her.

Not just in theory.

Not just as some distant possibility.

But fully. Completely. Irrevocably.

Hannah was gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Daniel

THE GRILL SMOKE hung low, clinging to the warm air above the lot behind the community center. Plastic chairs scraped against pavement. Children shrieked as they chased each other around the folding tables. The scent of charcoal and ketchup and something too-sweet filled Daniel’s nose.

He stood at the edge of it all, like an afterthought.

He hadn't brought anything. Just himself. Just that unbearable, constant ache inside his chest.

He took a breath. Stepped forward.

James spotted him first. Didn’t wave. Just lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgment before turning back to the grill. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a warning: stay in your lane.

Daniel nodded once. Fair.

He made his way to the drinks station. Took a bottle of water. Didn’t make eye contact. Someone brushed past him without apology. Another glanced at him, then looked quickly away.

That was fine. He hadn’t come to be forgiven. He was here to work. To be useful. To carry the weight he’d earned.

He grabbed a garbage bag and started circling the tables, collecting used napkins, empty cups, the stray chip bag crushed under someone’s boot. Nobody stopped him. Nobody thanked him.

Good.

He moved to the far side of the lot where the folding chairs had been abandoned, crooked and sun-bleached. He bent to unstack them, one by one. His shoulder throbbed with the motion, but he didn’t stop.

And then—he saw her.

Hannah.

Near the edge of the tent, laughing with Mia and Morgan. She wore a faded gray t-shirt knotted at the waist, the fabric pulled tight across her stomach. Her jeans hugged strong thighs, worn soft from wear. Her hair was down. Wind-tousled. Sunlit.

Daniel’s breath caught in his throat.

She was radiant.

Her body had changed over the last few months—more muscle now, more presence in her shoulders, her legs, her arms. But God, it hadn’t made her more beautiful. Just… different. Real. Grounded.

And still, all he could see was her. His Hannah. The woman he’d been obsessed with before the gym, during it, after it. He had loved her when her body was softer, loved her when it was leaner, loved her now that it could probably outlift his.

He’d never loved her for her body.

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