Page 149 of The Yoga Teacher

Across the garden, Daniel picked up a folding chair one of the kids had knocked over. He set it upright and smiled as a girl covered in glitter and grass stains climbed into it proudly.

He crouched again, this time beside the compost bins, starting to sift through the vegetable scraps.

Hannah kept watching. Watching the way he moved. The way he didn’t ask for credit. The way he acted like he belonged—not in her life, but in this place. In the work she loved.

And slowly, terrifyingly, she felt something in her chest loosen.

Not forgiveness.

Not yet.

But something quieter.

Steady.

And it scared her more than anything else.

Because it didn’t feel like manipulation.

It felt like truth.

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Whatever was for dinner smelled incredible.

James was stirring something on the stove, one arm around Mia’s waist like he’d forgotten how to stand without touching her. Mia didn’t seem to mind—she leaned into it as she flipped through a stack of flyers on the counter, tossing one into the recycling bin every few seconds.

Hannah sat at the kitchen table, a glass of wine in hand. She’d come over to drop off seed packets for the new garden plots, but now she wasn’t sure she was ready to leave.

James looked over at her. “You’re quiet.”

“She’s thinking,” Mia said without looking up.

“Dangerous,” he murmured, kissing the top of Mia’s shoulder before turning back to the pot.

Hannah smiled faintly. Her gaze drifted around the room—the warmth that radiated not just from the food, but from them. Together. Mia wore James’s sweatshirt. James wore his love for her like it was a second skin.

It didn’t look performative.

It looked like peace.

“They offered me the job,” Hannah said after a beat. “But I’m not going to move to Denver.”

Mia’s head snapped up. “You said no?”

“I said yes to something better,” Hannah replied. “National expansion. Strategy lead. But I do it from here.”

James whistled low. “Damn. That’s a power move.”

“I thought about what I wanted,” she said. “And I made my case.”

Mia let out a joyful, breathless laugh—something sharp and gleeful, like it had been building in her chest. “Hannah!” she practically shouted, launching off her stool and wrapping her in a fierce hug. “That’s not just a win, that’s ahomegrown dynasty.You didn’t climb a ladder—you built the fucking building.”

Hannah laughed into her friend’s shoulder, surprised by how good it felt to be held in that moment. How right.

Mia pulled back, hands still on her arms, eyes shining. “I am so proud of you. Like obnoxiously, can’t-shut-up-about-it proud.”

Hannah hesitated. The words caught in her throat, too raw, too vulnerable. She looked down, tracing the rim of her wine glass with one fingertip like the shape of her doubt might settle if she just kept her hands busy.

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