Page 175 of The Yoga Teacher

It was worn from years of love and neglect and rebuilding.

She stared at it for a moment. Then said, “Can I have it?”

Daniel froze.

He thought maybe he’d misheard.

But she was still looking at him, eyes steady. Her hand lifted, palm open.

“Only if you want to,” she added softly.

He couldn’t speak. Not at first. His throat was too tight.

He slipped the chain over his head, untangled the ring, and held it in his fingers. It felt heavier than it used to. Or maybe it was just the weight of what it meant now.

Not a symbol of ownership.

Not a return to what they’d had.

But a promise to try again.

Slowly. Honestly.

With everything laid bare.

He reached for her hand.

Her fingers didn’t shake, but his did.

He slid the ring back onto her finger—where it had always belonged.

And when it settled into place, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Not in relief. Not in triumph.

In reverence.

Her hand curled around his.

They sat in silence for a moment, the morning warming around them.

The ring caught the light between their joined hands.

He kissed her knuckles.

Then stood and went to make the coffee.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Hannah

THE SECOND CUP of coffee had gone cold in her hands.

Daniel was barefoot, standing at the kitchen counter. His hair was a little wild, pushed back by sleep and her fingers, and the collar of his T-shirt—his shirt, her detergent—hung loose around his throat.

She couldn’t stop looking at him.

Not with anger. Not with shame. Not even with longing.

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