Page 156 of The Yoga Teacher

The silence had shape now.

It was thick enough to choke on.

Dr. Ellis made a few quiet notes. Her pen scratched gently across the page. Hannah hated how calm she was. How practiced. Like heartbreak was just another case study. Like there was a technique for this. A protocol.

She wanted to claw her way out of the chair. Or crawl into it. She wasn’t sure.

Daniel hadn’t moved.

Not a twitch.

Just sitting there like someone had pulled the plug on him. Shoulders slightly hunched. Palms resting on his thighs like he was waiting for a verdict, not a conversation.

Coward.

Look at me, she thought.

He didn’t.

She stared at him anyway.

He looked worse up close. Not just tired—haunted. Like guilt had taken root in his ribcage and was growing slowly, painfully, through bone.

And somehow, that made her angrier.

He should look fine. Polished. Arrogant. She needed a villain. Not this husk of a man who used to know her better than anyone else on the planet.

Her jaw ached. She unclenched it slowly.

Dr. Ellis glanced up. “Would it help to say what you’re holding back?”

Hannah blinked. “I’m not holding back.”

“You’re using control as a shield,” Ellis said, not unkindly. “That’s valid. But maybe not helpful.”

Hannah gave a small, bitter laugh. “If I don’t hold it in, I’m going to start screaming.”

Ellis nodded once. “And if that happens, we’ll make space for it. You don’t need to perform grace here.”

Daniel shifted. Just slightly. A breath in. A flinch of movement. Not enough.

Hannah turned toward him fully now. Her chest rising and falling too fast, too hard.

She wanted to pick her words like weapons. Sharpened. Precise. She wanted him tofeelthem. Bleed from them.

But what came out wasn’t what she rehearsed.

“I liked being thirty with you,” she said again. Softer this time. Like it hurt. “I liked the creaky routines and Sunday laundry and arguing about the thermostat. I liked building a life where we didn’t have to be exciting anymore.”

Daniel’s gaze lifted.

Finally.

His eyes met hers, and it felt like taking a punch. Because she saw it—the ache—right there, wide and raw in his expression. He looked like he wanted to say something. He didn’t.

“Did I bore you?” she asked. Her voice almost gentle. “Is that what happened?”

“No.” His voice was rough.

---