The Heart Never Forgets のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

I don’t remember walking home that night.My mind was too full, replaying my father’s words over and over, each repetition sinking like an anchor into my chest. Daniel knows… the truth about the accident.The accident. The one that broke my father’s body and left him clinging to borrowed time.The one I’d told myself was nothing more than a cruel chance. But now? Now the ground under me cracked wide open.And yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to believe Pierce was at the center of it all.It was too neat, too obvious. My gut said the truth was uglier, more complicated, and Daniel was somehow tied to it.The next morning, I buried myself in work. Or tried to. The office, usually my refuge, now felt like a trap.The eviction notice was still taped to the glass outside; I hadn’t had the heart or courage to peel it down.Inside, the place buzzed with nervous energy. Volunteers whispered in corners, throwing me uncertain looks.A couple of donors had already pulled out after hearing rumor

My fingers trembled so hard I could barely hold the note.The words blurred as my tears fell onto the page, bleeding the ink into tiny blue rivers.The paper felt thin, fragile, like my entire world. My father’s hand lay limp beside it, pale against the white hospital sheet.“Dad,” I whispered, shaking his arm gently. “Dad, wake up. Please, wake up.”No response.His breathing was steady, but faint. The rhythmic beep of the monitor was the only sound filling the sterile air. I pressed the nurse call button, but my hand was shaking too badly to even hold it down.When the nurse rushed in, I stepped back, clutching the note behind me.“He’s fine,” she said after checking his vitals. “Just sleeping deeply. You should get some rest too, Miss Riley.”Rest. The word felt like a cruel joke.I nodded anyway, forcing a weak smile, and waited until she left before sinking into the chair beside him. My heart was pounding, my palms damp.He lied to protect himself.Who was he?Was it Daniel? Or P

The email from the donor had burned in my mind all night.I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the subject line again — “Termination of Funding Agreement.”By morning, my throat was raw from holding back tears.The city outside my apartment was just waking up, traffic hums, early sunlight slipping between buildings, but inside, everything felt gray and heavy.I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone screen one more time, hoping maybe I’d misread it.I hadn’t.“Due to recent concerns regarding leadership integrity and financial accountability…” The words cut deep. My nonprofit wasn’t just a job.It was my heartbeat, something I built out of grief and hope after losing Mom.Now it was being pulled apart, piece by piece, by something I couldn’t even explain.By the time I got to the office, whispers had already started. Eyes followed me as I walked past the cubicles. People tried to look busy, but their glances said everything. Fear. Doubt.Maya, my operations direc

The reflection in the rain-slick glass vanished as fast as it appeared.One blink and the figure was gone, like a trick of light, or maybe a warning.I stayed frozen by the window for a full minute, breath fogging the glass. The street below glistened under the wet glow of the streetlamps. Empty. Silent.But in my chest, every instinct screamed: I’m being watched.Sleep was a lost cause. By sunrise, I was already at my desk, dark circles bruised beneath my eyes, scrolling through emails I could barely process. The smell of burnt coffee filled the small kitchen.Then a headline flashed across my screen, bold, shiny, and cruel:“Billionaire Jonathan Pierce Launches New Foundation: ‘The Future of Compassion.’”My stomach dropped.The accompanying photo showed Pierce, with a perfect smile and tailored suit, shaking hands with city officials. Behind him, a massive banner read:

The next morning, the rain had finally stopped, but the world still felt gray, like the clouds hadn’t moved on, only settled inside me.I hadn’t slept. Not really. I kept hearing my father’s voice, replaying it over and over in my head.Daniel… the fire… tell her the fire…By the time I reached my office, I was running on caffeine and fear. The lobby smelled faintly of polish and paper, the kind of sterile normalcy that mocked how everything in my life had shifted overnight.Marcy, my assistant, looked up from her desk. “You’ve got mail. Physical mail. No return address.”My pulse jumped. “Where is it?”She handed over a brown envelope, the kind that looked too ordinary to be safe. No stamps. No markings. Just my name scrawled in a shaky hand.I took it to my office and shut the door behind me. The click of the lock sounded louder than usual.Inside the envelope was a single manila folder, old and water-stained, with the faint scent of smoke that clung to the paper like memory. Across