Page 43 of The Yoga Teacher

“Yo,” Tristan said, poking his head in, holding two mismatched mugs of shitty break room coffee. “You alive in here?”

Daniel nodded, barely.

Tristan grinned. “C’mon. Take a break. Coffee’s hot, and I’ve got gossip.”

Daniel stood stiffly, the motion mechanical. His hand hovered over the phone, a pulse of panic rising in his throat.

But what was he supposed to do? Call her? Beg?

He followed Tristan out into the hallway. The walls didn’t seem to move, but somehow they still felt like they were closing in.

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Daniel stared at his reflection in the darkened window of his office. The city stretched behind him, the skyline points of light against the night sky.

Tristan had left hours ago, still buzzing from his plans for the weekend, already texting some girl whose name he probably wouldn’t remember by morning.

Tristan talked about the clubs, the women, the "options out there" like the world was some endless buffet of bodies.

He could do that.

He should do that.

Wasn’t that the logical next step?

So why did the idea of going to some dark, overcrowded club make his stomach turn?

He could take someone home. He could fuck someone.

And then what?

Wake up next to a woman who wasn’t Hannah, feeling like he’d lost something all over again?

No.

This wasn’t how this ended.

He wasn’t going to become that guy—the one who let his life unravel, who leaned into the fall instead of stopping it.

Hannah was mad. She was hurt. But she was still his wife.

It was time to fix this.

Daniel exhaled sharply, setting his glass down with more force than necessary.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he’d go to her office.

He’d speak with her, say the right things.

He’d remind Hannah of what they had, of who they were.

She wasn’t the only woman in the world.

But she was the only one who mattered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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