Page 162 of The Yoga Teacher

It didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a ghost.

She walked slowly toward the living room. Same windows. Same rug. The couch was new. The artwork was hers now. But the bones of the place still carried echoes of a life that had felt permanent until it wasn’t.

They used to sit here on Saturday mornings. Coffee, crossword, that worn blanket. Daniel always filled in the clues too fast. She used to pretend to be annoyed.

She sat down now, curling one leg underneath her, facing the window.

This house had been a promise once. A future. A slow accumulation of routines and inside jokes and grocery lists and seasonal wreaths that got recycled every year.

And now, it was hers.

Only hers.

That was what she'd wanted. Autonomy. Power. Ownership—of her time, her work, her body, her home. She wasn’t shrinking anymore to fit someone else’s story.

So why did her chest still tighten every time she saw the paint smudge he never got around to fixing?

Why did the silence sometimes sound like missing?

She looked down at her hands. No ring. No indent.

But still—want.

Not just the ache of memory. Not even the heat of regret.

It was the quiet, infuriatingwantfor something that had once felt like belonging.

For him.

Even now.

Even here.

And it wasn’t weakness, no matter how much her pride wanted to call it that. She knew weakness. Weakness was staying in denial. Weakness was silence instead of rage. Weakness was believing she had no power left after what he did.

This?

This wasgriefwith open eyes. This was longing held in a steady hand.

She loved this house.

She wanted what it had almost become.

She didn’t know what came next.

But the one thing she was certain of, she wouldn’t let fear write her choices for her.

------------------

She opened the door before he could knock.

Daniel stood on the porch, shoulders tense. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then her feet, then finally her face—like he was soaking up the sight of her.

Hannah stepped back, just enough. Not an invitation. Just space.

“Come in,” she said.

Her voice didn’t tremble. That was important.

---