Page 91 of The Yoga Teacher

Morgan nodded slowly, like she knew Hannah needed to believe that.

Even if it wasn’t entirely true.

A voice carried over from the next garden bed, raised enough to reach Hannah across the space.

“You have to be patient with these.”

Hannah glanced over. An elderly woman with thin silver hair was kneeling nearby, patting the soil around a tiny sapling with practiced hands. A small group of children were gathered in a loose semicircle around her, listening intently as she spoke—her voice carried over the garden, clear and steady.

“They take time,” the woman continued. “You don’t just plant something and expect it to thrive overnight.” She pressed the dirt firmly. “You tend to it. Every day. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s not growing the way you want it to.”

Hannah couldn’t help but look to Daniel. She saw him frozen.

He had heard her, too.

Hannah’s pulse quickened.

Because for a second—just a second—she saw something in his face that scared the hell out of her.

Understanding.

She turned away, heart hammering.

No.

She would not do this. She would not let this shake her.

She would not let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—he was actually changing. She couldn’t.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Daniel

HIS MOTHER’S CONDO smelled like lemon balm and books.

Daniel stood awkwardly in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, like maybe if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t see how ruined he was.

She pulled him into a warm, familiar hug. She felt small against him, but solid. Present. He didn’t deserve the comfort of it, but he let her hold him anyway.

“Sit,” she said, already walking toward the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Sure,” he murmured, throat dry.

The living room hadn’t changed in years. Plants on the windowsill, watercolor prints on the wall, a stack of novels beside her armchair. Her knitting basket overflowed in the corner, full of softness he felt like he had no right to be near.

She returned with two mugs and an arched brow. “You’re here unannounced and didn’t even bring me gossip?”

He tried for a smile. It came out twisted. “I needed to talk.”

She sat beside him, folding her legs up beneath her like she was still thirty. Comfortable in her skin. Comfortable in the life she’d built.

“Is it about Hannah?”

The name hit like a brick to the ribs. “Yeah.”

She didn’t look surprised. Just watched him with that same gentle, terrifying patience she’d always had. He’d once mistaken it for softness. Now he knew better. It was strength.

“She’s doing well,” he said, as if that mattered. As if it helped. “She’s… thriving.”

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