Page 52 of The Yoga Teacher

“I know it’s a lot,” Morgan added, quieter now. “And I know you’ve been going through…” She trailed off, respectfully vague. “I just thought you should see it.”

Hannah managed a nod.

She had a life here. A garden. A job. A community.

But none of it had been built alone.

And now, every corner whispered his name.

Every grocery aisle. Every morning coffee. Every goddamn patch of sidewalk they used to walk in step.

Denver wouldn’t know the echo of his laugh.

Denver wouldn’t see her as broken.

She looked down at the folder. Her fingers hesitated.

Then, with a slow breath, she opened it.

And started to read.

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The weight felt solid in her grip. Heavy, but not impossible.

Hannah braced her stance, exhaling slow, steady, controlled. Then—she lifted.

Her muscles burned in the best way, her arms straining, core tight, legs planted firm. Her reflection in the mirror showed the effort in every inch of her body—the taut line of her arms, the flex of her legs, the sheen of sweat glistening across her skin.

She held the barbell for a breath, for two, before lowering it back down with control. The moment it hit the floor, she smiled.

She felt strong.

A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have even attempted that weight. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have trusted herself to push through the discomfort, to get stronger, to make progress for no one but herself.

Hannah rolled her shoulders, stretching out her arms as she straightened. Her entire body ached, but in the best way.This kind of pain wasn’t the kind that broke her down. It was the kind that built her back up.

She wiped sweat from her forehead and turned toward the mirrors lining the gym wall.

The reflection staring back at her wasn’t the Hannah who cried over Daniel at night, who agonized over what she could have done differently, who felt like she wasn’t enough.

It was someone new.

Still, the doubt crept in.

Siennahad a yoga body.

Lithe, toned, the kind of woman who looked delicate and strong all at once. The kind of woman who could fold herself into whatever shape a man wanted.

Hannah would never be that.

Her thighs were thicker, her muscles denser, heavier. She wasn’t soft curves and elegant lines. She was grit and weight and work.

Daniel might have married Hannah, but it had been Sienna’s body he had chosen. Her slender body, her younger body.

Hannah looked at herself again.

At the definition in her arms. At the power in her legs. At the sweat-drenched tank top clinging to a body she was learning to call her own again.

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