Page 56 of The Yoga Teacher

She had worn this. Every day. Slipped it on every morning like it was part of her. Twisted it when she was nervous. Let it touch his skin when she held his face in her hands.

He had given it to her with steady hands and a vow he’d believed in.

A vow he had broken.

He sank down onto the bed, curling forward, his elbows digging into his thighs, the ring pressed to the center of his palm like a brand.

She had trusted him.

And he had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

Not just the act.

But the erosion.

The slow decay of truth. The thousand little withholdings. The moments he could’ve turned toward her and chose not to. The weakness he called loneliness. The selfishness he disguised as confusion.

He hadn’t just broken her heart.

He’d broken something sacred between them.

And now—God, now she was gone. Not metaphorically. Not temporarily.

Gone.

He’d seen it in her eyes the last time they spoke. The calm. The clarity. The love, burned clean away.

He stayed there, bent and silent, for what felt like hours.

And then—slowly—he stood. Walked to her jewelry drawer. Pulled it open like it might bite him.

He found what he was looking for—a thin gold chain.

His hands were unsteady as he threaded the ring onto it.

He held it up to the fading light.

It gleamed.

A reminder. A wound. A prayer.

He slipped it over his head and let the weight of it fall against his chest, tucking it under his shirt, where no one else would see. Where it could press into his skin like penance. Like memory.

He didn’t wear it to win her back.

He wore it because the ring still meant something.

Because she still meant everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Daniel

DANIEL SAT ON the couch in Dr. Ellis’s office, fingers loosely clasped between his knees, staring at the floor.

“How have you been feeling since our last session?” she asked.

Daniel let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders like he could physically shake off the tension wrapped around his body.

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