My father hadn't died of shame. He hadn't died because of me. He'd been murdered because of what he'd discovered. The guilt I'd carried for six years—the weight that had bent my spine, hollowed my chest, made me believe I was poison to everyone I loved—evaporated in a single, terrible instant. I was still crying when Heath found me. He stood in the doorway, his frame filling the space, his eyes dark with concern. He'd come to check on me, to ensure the security detail was in place, to make sure no one else had been sent to finish what the men at the hospital had started. "Katherine?" His voice was soft, uncertain. I looked up at him, my cheeks wet, my breath ragged. And for the first time, I didn't push him away. "I was wrong," I whispered. "I was so wrong." He crossed to me, kneeling beside the chair, his hands finding mine. "What happened?" I showed him the journal. He read the final entry, and I watched his face transform, the carefully constructed walls crumbling, revealing
最終更新日 : 2026-08-03 続きを読む