Page 177 of The Yoga Teacher

Her throat tightened.

She lit the edge.

The flame caught fast—too fast—like the paper had been waiting for this. The edges curled inward, blackened and brittle, then cracked apart entirely. The fire hissed for a moment, bright and greedy, then softened into smoke and ember and memory.

They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched it disappear.

Not just the paperwork.

The waiting. The weight.

The purgatory of almost.

When it was over, just ash and heat and the faint curl of smoke rising toward a blue April sky, Hannah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She turned to Daniel.

“This is our home,” she said. “I want you here with me.”

His voice cracked when he replied. “I’m yours. For as long as you’ll have me.”

She stepped into him. Pressed her palm to his chest, right over where her ring rested against his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“You are mine.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the wordoursdidn’t feel like hope.

It felt like fact.

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The community center buzzed with soft chaos—clipboard checklists, excited kids tracking muddy footprints across tile, volunteers in branded T-shirts trying to wrangle compost bins and enthusiasm all at once.

Hannah stood by the double doors, watching it unfold. Her clipboard was tucked under one arm, but she wasn’t checking off boxes today.

Today, she was letting it breathe.

Expansion Director. That was the new title. It still looked strange on the email signature—sharper, somehow. But she’d made the job fither,not the other way around. Her feet were still in this soil, but her reach stretched across four states now. And by the end of the year, it would be ten.

Behind her, Daniel crouched near the newest garden bed, sleeves rolled up, joking with a group of fourth graders who were arguing over the proper name for their squash plant. One of them declared it should be “Captain Dirtbeard.”

Hannah smiled to herself.

Daniel wasn’t on staff. But when she asked if he’d help with the marketing for the Youth Garden Initiative’s national rollout, he’d shown up the next day with three slide decks, a strategy proposal, and homemade coffee cake for the team.

He didn’t take over the meeting. Just stood beside her in the room and let her lead.

Now, he was helping one of the girls straighten a crooked garden stake, showing her how to stabilize the soil around it. Dirt smudged across his forearm. He looked like he belonged there.

She crossed the garden slowly.

“You should probably let them win that naming battle,” she said, teasing.

He stood, dusting his hands on his jeans. “You think ‘Captain Dirtbeard’ has cross-brand potential?”

“I think it’s going to be our next fundraising campaign.”

He laughed, and the sound of it settled deep in her ribs.

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