【1時間の人生教訓の物語】母の墓前で四姉妹と出会った億万長者——涙で結ばれる約束の奇跡
This is the story of four orphaned sisters who meet a billionaire at their mother’s grave. The billionaire asks a single question. Little did they know the answer would bring tears to his heart. An autumn wind blew through Komodo Hill Cemetery, rustling fallen leaves across the perfectly manicured grounds. Tanaka Kenshin, his cashmere coat collar turned up, weaved his way through the rows of gravestones shrouded in silence. Only the crunch of his polished Italian leather shoes on the gravel road, along with the occasional distant call of a turtledove, broke the silence. Ten years have passed since he last held his beloved daughter’s hand. Ten years have passed , not of living, but of simply existing. Ten years have been empty. Against a backdrop of maple trees beginning to turn red and ginkgo trees shining golden, the marble tombstone stood elegant, yet somehow cold. The inscription read, “Tanaka Hana, 16 years old at the time of her death. Here lies my beloved daughter.” Kenshin gently placed a bouquet of white roses, Hana’s favorite, on the cold stone. Tracing the engraved words with his fingers was a ritual he performed every month without fail. “Hana, it’s my father,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. At 52, Tanaka Kenshin was the undisputed leader of a successful IT company. Silver strands mingled with his black hair at his temples, and years of focus and determination etched thin lines at the corners of his eyes. A financial magazine recently valued his company at 1 trillion yen. He owned mansions in five countries and could afford anything he wanted. But now, kneeling before his daughter’s grave, he was just a father, with a void that could never be filled. He sat down on the small bench he had personally installed next to his daughter’s grave and was about to begin his usual one-sided conversation when suddenly… He saw movement among the trees. Turning his gaze, he saw four small figures approaching a grave a few blocks away. They were children. Four girls of different heights. Their clothing was clearly worn and mismatched. The oldest, who looked about twelve, tightly held the hand of the youngest, who couldn’t have been more than six. The two middle girls held small bouquets of white daisies that looked as if they’d been picked somewhere. Kenshin’s grief was interrupted, and he gazed at them with curiosity. It was unusual for children, especially children, to visit a cemetery alone. The eldest girl led the others with calm authority. She helped the youngest place the flowers, carefully adjusting them. Their quiet voices carried on the wind, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. But their reverent attitude was clear. They stood in a small semicircle, heads bowed deeply, for a moment. Finally, the smallest girl lifted her head and looked directly at Kenshin. Even from this distance, he could see her radiant smile. She waved enthusiastically at him. Kenshin, aware that he was being watched, gave a small nod, feeling a bit awkward. Kenshin had assumed they would leave immediately. Instead , the sisters talked for a moment, then timidly approached Kenshin. “Hello, Uncle,” the oldest girl said, guarded yet surprisingly calm. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her eyes held a serious light that was out of keeping with her age. “Sorry to bother you.” “No, you’re not a bother,” Kenshin replied, surprised by her composure. “I was just here to see my daughter.” The smallest girl popped her head out from behind her sister, her blue eyes wide and curious. She was clutching a worn stuffed rabbit with one ear nearly missing. “Who are you here to see?” she asked in a small but clear voice. Takeshin glanced at Hana’s tombstone. “My daughter,” the oldest girl gently reprimanded her younger sister. “Saki, you shouldn’t ask such rude questions.” But the youngest, or Saki as she was called, paid no attention and took a step forward, peering curiously at the tombstone bearing Hana’s name. “Is her name Hana?” she asked, pointing at the tombstone. Takeshin’s breath hitched. “Yes, but… why?” “We’re here to see Hana, too,” Saki said proudly. “Mom said Hana is our guardian angel in heaven.” Noticing Takeshin’s confused expression, the youngest sister quickly added. “No, actually we’re here to see Mom, but Mom always told me about Hana, the angel who watches over us .” Takeshin felt the world tilt slightly beneath his feet. “Your mother knew my Hana?” “Yes.” The oldest girl nodded solemnly. “I’m Aya. These are my younger sisters, Mio, Yui, and Saki.” She introduced them, pointing at each one. ” Our mother is Sato Yuriko. She was a nurse at Memorial Children’s Hospital.” The name gave Kenshin a physical shock. Sato Yuriko. Of course he remembered her. A nurse with a kind face and gentle hands. She had been with Hana on the night she was in the most pain. She was the nurse who had brought a smile to her daughter’s face like no one else could. “Your mother…?” Kenshin’s voice trembled. “While she was treating Hana…” “Yes.” A shadow fell over Aya’s young face. “Our mother passed away six months ago. But she always told us not to forget about Hana . They made a promise.” Kenshin stared at the four girls. The worn clothes, the thin bodies of the two eldest, and the smudges on their faces that told of neglect stirred something inside him that had been dormant for a decade. “What promise?” he asked softly. It was the third girl, Yui, who answered. Her voice sounded more solemn than her years. “Mom promised Hana that you’d never be alone . And Hana promised Mom that she’d watch over us all from heaven.” She pointed to the grave next to where they had been. Compared to Hana’s ornate headstone, it was a simple marker. Kenshin rose slowly and walked over, drawn to the modest gravestone. “Here lies Sato Yuriko, beloved mother, kind-hearted healer.” As he gazed at the name, Saki slipped her small hand into Kenshin’s. The touch was genuine human warmth, something he hadn’t allowed himself in all these years. An electric current ran through his body. “Is that uncle, Hana’s father?” Saki looked up at him, eyes filled with innocent curiosity. Kenshin, unable to speak due to the lump in his throat, simply nodded. “So, uncle is the one Mom said would be okay someday,” Saki said with the confidence only a child can muster. “He told Hana she didn’t have to worry about her anymore .” Before Kenshin could stop it, a tear rolled down his cheek, leaving a mark on his weathered skin. For ten years, he had visited this cemetery, wearing his grief like armor. He never imagined he would find a connection with Hana here. A thread of her life he hadn’t known existed, undeniably alive within these four little girls holding wildflowers. “May I place one of our flowers on Hana’s grave?” Mio, the second eldest sister, asked, holding out a perfectly shaped white daisy. Kenshin, with hands that handle trillions of yen in assets, trembled as he accepted the humble stem. Together with his four sisters, he gently placed the wildflower among a bouquet of priceless roses. “Thank you,” he managed to utter. “I’m sure Hana will be very happy.” The autumn wind blew again, rustling the trees in the cemetery. Standing next to the four Sato sisters, Tanaka Kenshin experienced a feeling he hadn’t felt in a decade: a sense that something had fundamentally changed in his world. He had no idea how these four girls would change his life . He couldn’t even imagine the journey he was about to embark on. But as he gazed upon the white daisy nestled beside his daughter’s tombstone, Kenshin felt a certainty of something he thought was lost forever. It was a small but certain light called hope. That night, Kenshin wandered sleeplessly through the vast, empty mansion. His encounter with the four sisters at the cemetery had stirred him to his core. His thoughts swirled with memories of Hana and fragments of conversations with Yuriko, the nurse who had shown him incredible kindness during his darkest hours. He stepped into a study where time seemed to stand still. The same leather chair, the same mahogany desk. The walls were lined with awards he no longer paid any attention to. In the bottom drawer was a box that had remained locked for years. It was a box containing Hana’s belongings. With trembling hands, he opened it for the first time since his daughter’s death. Hana’s diary, with its worn purple cover, was at the top. Kenshin had never dared to read it before. Now, he carefully turned the pages. His daughter’s handwriting reminded him of everything he had lost, and it ached. And then he found it. The diary entry was dated three months before her death. “Today, Sato-san told me a funny story about her daughters. Saki, the youngest, tried to wash the cat in the bathtub with soap bubbles. It was so funny, I laughed out loud. Mommy thought something bad had happened. How wonderful that you can laugh again. With Sato-san here, hospitals aren’t so scary. She promised to keep an eye on Dad if anything ever happened to me. I told her that Dad was stubborn and always worked, but Sato-san just smiled and said, ‘Everyone needs someone to care, Hana-chan. Even billionaires.'” Tears blurred Kenshin’s vision. For all those years, he had shut himself away, immersed himself in work, and rejected every offer of friendship. All the while, Hana had been worrying about him, hoping that someone would break through the wall in his heart. Then the doorbell rang, bringing him back from his sea of thoughts. It was 2 a.m., and there was only one person visiting at that time. “You look awful,” Junya Ando, his best friend and legal advisor, said bluntly, entering the room. He was the only person who regularly checked in on Kenshin, no matter how much Kenshin tried to push him away. “I need help,” Kenshin said, ignoring his friend. “I met four girls at the cemetery today. The Miller sisters…no, the Sato sisters. Their mother was Hana’s nurse.” “Oh,” Junya raised his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?” “They didn’t seem to live normal lives . I want to make sure they’re okay.” “Kenshin, you can’t save everyone in the world.” “I’m not trying to save the whole world.” Kenshin’s voice was firm. “It’s just those four. There’s a connection, Junya. A connection with Hana. You have to understand that.” Junya eyed his friend carefully. For ten years, he had watched Kenshin retreat from life, reject comfort, and cut off connections with others. It had been years since he’d shown any interest in anything other than his company. “I understand,” Junya finally said. “I’ll have our investigators look into the Sato family first thing tomorrow morning.” After Junya left, Takeshin returned to Hana’s diary and continued reading through the night. Yuriko appeared many times in the diary: bringing small gifts, telling interesting stories, sitting by Hana when Takeshin was stuck in a meeting. By dawn, Takeshin’s resolve was firm. He would return to see the girls, and not just to learn more about their connection to Hana. Something he thought had died with his daughter had awakened in Saki’s innocent eyes and Aya’s mature sense of responsibility. It was a sense of purpose that went beyond mere raison d’être. The following Saturday, Takeshin returned to the cemetery. His heart pounded with anticipation. Would the girls return? He stood by Hana’s grave, pretending to arrange the new flowers, carefully watching the path. After about an hour, he spotted them: four small figures passing through the gravestones. This time, she noticed details she’d missed the last time: Aya’s protective stance guiding her sisters, Mio’s careful steps, Yui’s thoughtful expression , and young Saki skipping along despite the solemn setting. “You’ve come again,” Aya said in surprise when she spotted Kenshin. Her auburn hair was tied in the same practical ponytail, but today there was a small hair clip to keep her bangs out of her eyes. “Yeah,” Kenshin replied, trying to sound casual. “We wanted to talk to you two a bit more.” The girls looked at each other. It was a silent communication that spoke to the strong bond between them. “We are the Sato sisters,” Aya finally took the lead in introducing herself. “I’m Aya, I’m twelve. This is Mio, I’m ten. Yui is eight. Saki turned six last month.” “Nice to meet you again,” Kenshin said. “I’m Tanaka Kenshin. Hana’s father.” “Tanaka… you mean Tanaka Technology?” Yui asked, eyes wide. “I learned about your company at school…” she trailed off, looking down. “…before you couldn’t go to school,” Mio continued quietly. Kenshin became concerned. “You haven’t been going to school?” “It’s complicated, a lot of things. ” Aya straightened up. “After my mom passed away, we had to move. We needed paperwork from my stepdad for the new school, but he’s… busy.” The way she said “busy” told Kenshin everything. “Is your stepdad looking after you two now?” “That’s what he’s supposed to do, but…” Aya’s face fell into a shadow. “He doesn’t come home very often.” “Would you like something warm to drink?” Kenshin suggested, sensing their discomfort. ” There’s a good teahouse nearby.” Twenty minutes later, Kenshin watched with quiet anguish as the girls greedily devoured melon bread and milk tea, as if they hadn’t eaten properly in days. Even Aya, trying to be strong, couldn’t hide her hunger. “Mom worked at that hospital for fifteen years,” Aya explained, munching on bread. “She loved her job, especially working with children.” “She always told me stories about Hana,” Yui added. ” How brave she was, and how she made everyone laugh, even when they were sick and in pain. ” “Mom said,” Saki, her mouth stained with chocolate, looked up at Kenshin. “She said Hana was the strongest person she’d ever met. That’s why she was such a beautiful angel.” Kenshin choked up. “Your mother was so kind to Hana, and to me.” “Would you like to see where we live?” Mio suddenly asked. “It’s not far from here.” Despite Aya’s warning glare, Kenshin accepted. Something told him he needed to see their living conditions for himself. As they walked, Junya called. It was the result of a preliminary investigation. Kenshin stepped a little ways away to answer the phone. “The girls’ mother died of pneumonia six months ago,” Junya reported. “She left her children with their stepfather, Toru Suzuki. He has a criminal record. Mostly theft, but some fraud…” “There’s one more thing,” Junya continued. ” Just before Yuriko died, she inherited an inheritance from a relative. It should have been close to 50 million yen , but there’s no sign of it now.” “The girls said they had to move,” Kenshin muttered. “That makes sense,” Junya replied. “The house they used to live in was sold three months ago.” As he hung up the phone, Kenshin looked at the four sisters waiting for him with a new understanding. These children weren’t just connected to Hana. They needed help. And perhaps, by helping them, he could finally fulfill the promise Yuriko had made to his daughter all those years ago. The apartment building loomed before them, a crumbling five-story building with boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. Kenshin’s luxury sedan looked particularly out of place as it parked against the curb. Aya led the way, clutching the key attached to a frayed string around her neck. “We’re on the third floor,” she explained as they climbed the stairs without a handrail. The smell of mold and urine permeated the staircase, making Kenshin breathe through his mouth. Their room was small, but meticulously clean, in stark contrast to the dilapidated building itself. Kenshin noticed the children’s desperate efforts to maintain order. A mattress sat in the corner, draped with neatly arranged blankets. Schoolbooks and a few toys were placed on a small table. “Do you all sleep here?” he asked, noticing the lack of beds. “Yes, we all do,” Aya answered matter-of-factly. “It’s warmer that way.” The kitchen consisted of a hot plate and a mini-fridge. Opening the fridge, he found only half a bottle of milk and a few slices of bread. “Tooru brings food over sometimes,” Mio said, noticing his expression. “If I remember correctly,” Yui tugged on Kenshin’s sleeve. “Do you want to see Mommy’s treasure chest? There’s pictures of Hana in it too.” The treasure chest was a tattered shoebox hidden under a loose floorboard. Inside were photos, letters, and a small leather-bound diary. Kenshin’s hands trembled when he found a photo of Hana in her hospital bed, smiling despite being hooked up to IVs and monitors. Yuriko was sitting next to him. “Mommy kept everything related to Hana,” Aya explained. “Because it’s important to remember special people.” A yellowed envelope caught Kenshin’s attention. Inside was a letter written in Hana’s handwriting. “Dear Yuriko, Thank you for being my friend when I needed it most . Don’t worry about Dad when I’m gone. He’s stronger than you think. But if he ever seems lost, remind him that I want him to be happy . Love, Hana.” Tears blurred Kenshin’s vision again. Another envelope contained official documents: financial statements, wills, and real estate deeds. “These are your mother’s financial documents,” Kenshin said, examining them. ” Did you know she inherited money from relatives? ” The girls exchanged confused looks. “Mom said Aunt Martha left her something,” Aya replied. “But Toru said it was all gone to pay off old debts…” Kenshin’s jaw clenched as he found a document signed by both Yuriko and Toru. It was a document transferring property rights and financial assets. Even to the untrained eye, Yuriko’s signature appeared to be forged. “Where’s Tohru now?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. “Work, I guess?” Aya shrugged. “He won’t be back until late tonight. Maybe tomorrow.” Kenshin continued poring over the paperwork. At that moment, Saki climbed into his lap, holding a faded photo album in her tiny hands. “Here, a photo of us with Mom,” she said, opening to the first page. The contrast was heartbreaking. The earlier photos had shown a loving family, with a healthy, smiling Yuriko and neatly dressed children. But more recent photos revealed Yuriko’s deteriorating health and the girls’ increasingly shabby appearance. As Saki flipped through the pages, Kenshin noticed Yui’s labored breathing and occasional coughs. Mio was unnaturally thin, and Aya’s wrists protruded sharply from her sleeves. In that moment, his resolve crystallized. I can’t leave these girls here. His phone vibrated. It was a text message from Junya. “Background check complete. Suzuki Toru has been arrested twice for fraud and is currently on probation. Please contact me immediately.” Takeshin was preparing to leave his seat to make the call when the apartment door slammed open . A man staggered to his feet in the doorway. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the unexpected visitor. “Who are you?” Suzuki Toru asked in a low voice, the smell of alcohol clinging to him. Takeshin slowly rose to his feet and positioned himself between the girls and his stepfather. “I’m Tanaka Takeshin,” he replied calmly. “And I think I need to talk to you about these girls.” Tanaka Takeshin. At the name, Suzuki Toru’s bloodshot eyes widened in recognition. “That billionaire… what the hell are you doing in someone else’s house?” Kenshin suppressed his inner rage and maintained a calm facade. “I just came to check things out as a friend of the family.” Toru’s gaze shifted calculatingly between Kenshin and his frightened children. His initial shock was quickly replaced by a sly look. Aya had her younger sisters behind her, and Saki was clinging to her older sister’s leg. Fear was clearly written on all four of their faces. “Thank you for your kindness,” Toru sweared, trying to force a half-hearted smile, but his eyes were anything but. “But these are my responsibility. My stepdaughters. I have the documents. ” “Yes, I’ve seen some interesting documents today,” Kenshin said, his voice soft and deceptive. “Including financial documents with Yuriko’s signature. They looked suspiciously forged.” Toru’s face hardened. “Get out of here!” “With pleasure,” Kenshin said. “And take these kids with you.” “Go ahead and do it if you can.” Toru lunged forward, but the alcohol made him unsteady on his feet. Kenshin dodged with ease, and positioned himself more firmly between the man and the children. “Toru, you’re drunk. These kids haven’t been properly cared for in months. They’re malnourished, and maybe sick. They live in horrible conditions.” “You have no rights,” Toru spat, his mask of friendliness completely gone. “These kids are my cash cow.” Toru seemed to realize his own slip-up as soon as the words left his mouth. Kenshin’s expression went stone cold. “What did you just say?” “N-nothing.” Toru stepped back, literally and figuratively. “That means I’m the one taking care of them. The child allowance goes into my account.” “And Yuriko’s inheritance?” Kenshin pressed. “And the house that was sold, and the huge sum of 50 million yen.” Toru’s hand moved to his pocket. Kenshin braced himself, but instead of a weapon, Toru pulled out an old smartphone. “I’ll call the police. It’s trespassing.” “That’s a great idea,” Kenshin agreed. ” The police will be very interested in these financial documents and the health of these children.” Toru’s fingers hesitated on the smartphone screen. At that moment, Saki began coughing behind Kenshin. It was a deep, raspy cough that shook her small, fragile body. Everyone’s eyes turned to the girl as the coughing intensified. Saki’s face was turning redder and redder. “You need a doctor.” Kenshin immediately rushed to the child’s side. He placed his hand on her forehead, and it felt burning hot. “She has a fever,” Aya said, her face frozen with fear. “She’s been coughing for a week now… I was giving her some medicine my mom left behind, but it’s all gone.” With a split-second decision, Takeshin scooped Saki into his arms. “I’m taking her to the hospital. You two come with me.” “Don’t be so selfish…” Toru started to say something, but Takeshin cut him off. “Call the police, Toru. I’ll be happy to explain why we need to take a dangerous child to the hospital. ” He shot Toru a look that had made his corporate rivals tremble. “Or we can just get out of here right now. We’ll talk about it when you sober up.” Toru winced. Self-preservation trumped greed. He swore, but stepped back. Takeshin picked up Saki and hurried down the stairs, his sisters following close behind. The girl was struggling to breathe, and her small body was running a high fever. “Get in,” he said, unlocking the car. Aya hesitated for a moment, then quickly helped her sisters into the back seat. “Where are we going?” Mio whispered. “First, to the hospital for Saki,” Kenshin answered as he started the engine. “Then to a safe place.” As the car pulled away, his eyes met Aya’s in the rearview mirror. “I promise you, I’ll put an end to this today.” The fear in her eyes softened into something Kenshin had never seen before: a faint but definite glow of hope. Kenshin’s penthouse occupied the top three floors of a sleek glass tower towering over the city center. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking panoramic views, and the minimalist furniture and muted colors created a sophisticated yet somewhat sterile atmosphere. It was a space designed for a lonely man, a place devoid of warmth, color, or even a hint of children. Until just a moment ago. “A home in the sky…” Yui whispered, pressing her nose against the windowpane, her breath clouding the perfectly polished surface. Twenty-four hours after escaping Tohru’s apartment, while Saki was hospitalized with pneumonia, the three older sisters explored their makeshift sanctuary. “It’s more like a home…” Kenshin replied, watching the girls’ reactions with a strange mix of anxiety and pride. “It’s an apartment, a penthouse, you know.” “It’s bigger than all our apartments,” Mio said, running her hands along the cold marble kitchen counter. Ever-vigilant, Aya stayed close to Kenshin, as if wary he might change his mind at any moment. “How long can we stay here?” she asked bluntly. The question hung in the air. Kenshin’s only thought was getting them somewhere safe. Last night had been a whirlwind of hospital paperwork, worried looks from doctors, and an urgent phone call regarding temporary custody of Junya. “You can stay as long as you need,” he finally replied. “Until everything is sorted out.” Aya’s skeptical expression revealed just how many broken adult promises she had seen. The sound of the elevator arriving caught everyone’s attention. Junya emerged carrying several shopping bags. “Clothes, toiletries, and some immediate necessities,” he said, setting them on the floor. “I had my assistant help me find the right sizes.” Takeshin introduced the girls to his lawyer and explained that Junya would help them with the legal process. The lawyer’s usually stern face softened as he greeted each sister individually. While the girls examined their new clothes, Junya pulled Takeshin aside. “We’ve got a problem,” he whispered. “Toru claims the girls have been kidnapped. He’s filed a police report.” “That’s ridiculous . He was drunk and neglectful.” “I know,” Junya interrupted. “But legally, he is the guardian. The hospital’s report on Saki’s condition to Child Protective Services bolsters our case. But we need to move quickly.” “What do you need?” “Evidence of Toru’s fraud, testimony about the girls’ living conditions before and after Yuriko’s death, and…” Junya hesitated. ” We need proof that you can provide not only financial stability but also emotional support—that you’re committed to raising these children long-term.” “You are.” “Really?” Junya pressed gently. “Three weeks ago, you were living alone, working eighty hours a week, and hadn’t spoken Hana’s name in years. And now you’re fighting for custody of four traumatized children you just met.” Takeshin paused, considering his friend’s words. His gaze drifted to a photo of Hana that Mio had found and placed on the desk while exploring the penthouse. “I spent ten years building an empire that meant nothing,” he said finally. “These kids… are the first thing that’s made me feel like something’s right since Hana died.” Junya nodded, his expression softening. “Then we need to get the court to understand that. And we need something definitive about Toru.” “How about Yuriko’s safe deposit box,” Takeshin suggested. ” Aya mentioned it yesterday. Toru couldn’t find the key.” “That’s interesting,” Junya said. “It might be exactly what we need.” That afternoon, Takeshin gathered the girls in the living room. He needed to discuss the custody situation and prepare them for the legal battle that was about to begin. But how could he explain the complex legal process to children who had already endured so much? “I want to talk to you about the future,” he began carefully. “About you two living here with me forever.” Saki, fully recovered and full of energy, looked up from her coloring book. “Forever and ever?” “That’s the plan,” Takeshin nodded. “But Tohru wants to take you back to him.” “We’re not going back.” Aya’s expression hardened. “Yes, we won’t let you go back,” Kenshin assured. “But we’ll need to convince the judge to do that. It might get a little complicated. ” “Will I have to meet him again?” asked Yui, ever thoughtful. “There’s a chance they might meet, but I’ll never let them meet alone. Absolutely not,” Kenshin promised. Mio had been silent throughout the conversation, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Finally, she spoke. “Will we…be like daughters to you?” The question caught Kenshin, who had been so focused on the legal aspects, off guard. He hadn’t thought about what to call this new relationship. “Yes,” he said, surprised by the certainty in his own voice. “If that’s what you want.” “What about our last names?” Aya asked. “I think Mom would want us to keep the Sato surname.” “How about Sato-Tanaka?” Kenshin suggested. “Or you can stay Sato. Whatever feels right for you two,” Saki said, climbing onto Takeshin’s lap, a gesture that was becoming more frequent. “I’m sure Mommy will be happy you’re taking care of us. Mommy always said Hana-chan was watching over us. And now you are too.” Takeshin felt his throat tighten as he gazed upon these four incredible children, who had somehow broken through the walls he’d built around his heart. The legal path ahead would be difficult. But for the first time in a decade, Tanaka Takeshin was fighting for something more valuable than business success or financial gain. He was fighting for his family. “This is how you hold the spoon.” Takeshin took Mio’s hand as she began to measure out the baking powder, demonstrating. On the third day of their new life, they were trying to make pancakes. It was the girls’ first homemade breakfast since their mother passed away. The kitchen, previously used only for brewing coffee or storing takeout containers, had become a battlefield of flying flour. Yui sat cross-legged on the counter, reciting a recipe she’d found online , while Aya, with a look of intense concentration, carefully flipped oddly shaped pancakes. “Are they shaped like that?” Yui asked skeptically, pointing to the lumpy batter. “I have no idea,” Kenshin confessed, eliciting surprised laughter from the girls. “Cooking wasn’t part of my CEO training.” The pancakes were oddly shaped, but somehow they were edible. It was a small victory they celebrated like a major accomplishment. These small, everyday moments became precious, bridging the vast gap between Kenshin’s world and the girls’. After breakfast, they visited Saki in the hospital, bringing with them a hand-drawn card and a stuffed bunny Kenshin had impulsively purchased in the gift shop. The girl’s condition was improving, her fever finally subsiding, but the doctor wanted to monitor her for another day. “When can I take you home?” Mio asked as they left the hospital. Her small hand slipped effortlessly into Kenshin’s. The casual gesture caught him off guard: this unconditional trust from a child who had every reason to be wary of adults. “Tomorrow, if all goes well,” he promised. Back at the penthouse, while the girls settled into some kind of animated movie about a princess with magical powers that Kenshin had never seen, he retreated to his study and video-called Junya. “The investigation is progressing,” Junya reported. “We’ve confirmed that Toru forged Yuriko’s signature on at least eight documents . He liquidated all of her inheritance within three months of her death.” “Can we get some back ?” “Something. He spent a lot of money, but we’ve identified some big purchases, like a boat and a car. He’s also paid off his gambling debts. We can go after those assets.” “What about custody?” ” That’s more complicated,” Junya hesitated. “Due to Saki’s health condition, a temporary emergency protective order is in place for now. But when it comes to permanent custody…” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Kenshin, courts usually give priority to blood relatives and those with an established connection to the children.” “Hana is my connection,” Kenshin said firmly. “And Yuriko, too. These kids don’t have anyone else.” ” There may be relatives we haven’t tracked down yet. And, frankly, your lifestyle isn’t exactly child-friendly. You work sixteen-hour days and are constantly traveling.” “I can change it,” Takeshin interrupted. “I can change it.” A small noise made him turn. Aya was standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable. He wondered how much she had been listening. “We need more popcorn,” she said, her voice carefully level. After his call with Junya ended, Takeshin found Aya in the kitchen, methodically dividing popcorn into four bowls. “You don’t have to change your whole life for us,” she said without preamble. “You know this is only temporary.” Takeshin leaned against the counter. “What if I don’t want this to be temporary?” Aya looked up. Her young face carried the weariness of someone who learned early on that hope is a dangerous thing. “At first, everyone wants to help. But then things get tough…” “I’m not like them,” Kenshin replied, meeting her gaze directly. “And I’m not the kind of guy who gives up just because things get tough .” Aya stared at him for a long time, as if searching for the lie in his words. Finally, she handed him two of the bowls of popcorn. “Yui likes it extra butter,” she said simply. But the faint smile that accompanied the words felt like a more significant victory than any business deal Kenshin had ever made. That night, when he went to check on the girls before bed, he found them fast asleep in their shared room. Yui’s head was on Aya’s shoulder, and Mio was curled up protectively around her sister’s stuffed cat. The sight stirred something deep inside Kenshin’s heart. It was both painful and necessary. It was like blood starting to circulate again in a limb that had been numb for a long time. Saki was released from the hospital on Thursday morning. Her small frame was still frail, but her spirit was undiminished. The moment she stepped into the penthouse, the space transformed. Screams of joy at the sight of her sisters echoed off the minimalist walls, which had never before been filled with such pure joy. “This house is so big!” she exclaimed, eyes wide, as she unsteadily explored. “Did you live here alone?” “Yes, I did,” Takeshin answered honestly. “Until you came.” That night, after his excitement had died down and he had seen Saki tucked safely in bed with her sisters , Takeshin stepped out onto the balcony with a glass of Scotch. The city lights below him stretched out like a carpet of stars. The view, which had once symbolized everything he had achieved, now seemed strangely empty compared to the four children sleeping within. The balcony doors slid open, and Aya stepped out, wrapped in a blanket to protect her from the autumn chill. “Can’t you sleep?” Kenshin asked. She shook her head and sat down in the chair next to him. “It’s too quiet. I’m used to the noise of the city, but being on top of that…” They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Aya spoke up. “Can I tell you about Hana?” Kenshin stiffened reflexively, but quickly forced himself to relax. “Of course.” “What was she like? I’d heard stories from your mother.” “She was special,” Kenshin began, finding the words coming out surprisingly easily after avoiding the subject for years. “She was intelligent, stubborn, and compassionate. Even when she was sick, she cared more about the feelings of those around her than her own. ” “My mother said she never complained.” “That’s true,” Kenshin smiled faintly. “She often said that if you have energy to complain, you should use it to live.” Aya hugged her knees to her chest. “Who’s Hana’s mother? Your wife?” “Kayoko.” Takeshin uttered the name, rusted from disuse. “She died when Hana was seven. In a traffic accident.” “So you grew up without a mother, too…” Aya said quietly. The similarity struck Takeshin with unexpected force. “Yes. I wasn’t there for her as I should have been after Kayoko died. I got absorbed in my work.” “That’s what adults do,” Aya said with the weary wisdom of a child who has seen too much. “We hide from the hard times.” Takeshin gazed at her profile. Such insight, for someone so young. “Your mother…had she been ill for a long time?” Aya’s fingers gripped the blanket tightly. “She started coughing last winter. They said it was just a cold, but it got worse and worse . After I stopped working, I couldn’t afford to see a doctor. When I went to the hospital…” her voice trembled slightly. “I’m sorry,” Takeshin said. The inadequacy of his words hung in the night air. “Tohru showed up two days after the funeral,” Aya continued stiffly. “He said he was our legal guardian. Mom married him when I was nine , but we only met twice before. He left after a few months. Mom never even changed our last name.” “Did Mom leave any messages? Videos, letters, anything?” “No,” Aya shook her head. “Just a box of memories. And she made me promise to keep them together, no matter what.” Her voice trailed off. “I tried my best… but I couldn’t protect them from everything.” The weight of the responsibility on her young shoulders hit Takeshin like a physical blow. Here was a child forced to become a parent, just as he had been forced to become a father alone. Both were unprepared, both determined, both bound by promises to a dying person. Without a moment’s hesitation, Takeshin reached out and gently placed his hand on Aya’s. “You protected us. You kept us all together. You kept us alive. That’s something most adults couldn’t do.” Aya didn’t shake his hand. In the faint reflection of the glass balcony door, a tear rolled down her cheek. “I miss you, Mommy…” she whispered. ” I know,” Takeshin replied gently. “I still miss Hana every day.” They sat together in the quiet darkness, two souls bound by parallel loss . Inside the penthouse, the three girls slept peacefully for the first time in months. Weeks passed. What began as an emergency solution when the Sato sisters moved into Takeshin’s penthouse had evolved into something resembling a home. The refrigerator was now decorated with colorful pictures, cushions were always out of place, and the sounds of children’s laughter frequently echoed through the once- silent room. Today, Kenshin was in his study, surrounded by piles of legal papers. Across from him, Junya was reviewing his strategy for the upcoming custody hearing. “The good news,” Junya said, adjusting his glasses, “is that the Child Protective Services investigation made it clear that the girls were neglected under Toru’s supervision . Saki’s medical records alone are damning evidence.” “The bad news?” Kenshin asked, steeling himself. “Toru is fighting back. He claims you’ve essentially kidnapped the children and are using your wealth and influence to steal them. He’s calling himself a man of his own, devastated by the tragedy.” “You’re trying to portray him as a grieving stepfather, overcome with guilt.” “That’s ridiculous.” “It’s ridiculous, but it might work,” Junya warned. “The court will naturally be skeptical of a wealthy single man suddenly wanting custody of four young girls.” A soft knock interrupted their conversation. Aya was standing in the doorway, holding a tray of cookies. “Yui and Mio made these,” she explained. “They said thank you for the art supplies.” The cookies were uneven and a little burnt, but Kenshin accepted them with sincere gratitude. After Aya left, he turned to Junya. “What do we need to win this case?” Junya spread some documents on his desk. “First, concrete evidence of Tohru’s fraud. Second, testimony about the girls’ happiness before and after Yuriko’s death. And third…” he hesitated. “You need to prove you can provide not only financial stability but also emotional support—that you’re prepared to raise these children long-term.” “You are prepared.” “Really?” Junya pressed gently. “Three weeks ago, you were living alone, working eighty hours a week, and hadn’t spoken Hana’s name in years. And now you’re acting as a makeshift father to four traumatized children you’ve just met. ” Takeshin paused, considering his friend’s words. His gaze drifted to the photo of Hana that now sat on his desk , placed there by Mio, who had found it while exploring the penthouse. “I spent ten years building an empire that meant nothing,” he finally said. “These kids… are the first thing since Hana died that has made me feel like something is right .” “Then we need to make the court understand that.” Junya nodded, his expression softening. “And we need something definitive about Tohru. What about Yuriko’s safe deposit box ? Aya mentioned it yesterday. Tohru couldn’t find the key.” “We might have what you need there.” Dark clouds gathered over the city skyline, ominous with rain. All day, his phone had been buzzing with warnings of an approaching storm that could hit the area for the first time in decades. Kenshin stood by the window of his penthouse, watching the sky turn an unnatural greenish-gray. The air pressure was plummeting. “Come on, let’s finish packing our emergency supplies,” he called out, turning away from the view. In the kitchen, Aya and Yui were filling containers with water, while Mio was helping Saki sort the battery-powered lanterns and flashlights on the dining table. “Is it going to be a big storm?” Saki asked, her small hands carefully arranging the flashlights by size. “The Meteorological Agency says it might be,” Kenshin answered honestly. Over the past few weeks, he had learned that the girls responded better to accepting even difficult truths than to false reassurance. “I hate thunder,” Mio quietly admitted as he helped Takeshin tape up the windows. It was an unnecessary precaution at their height, but it reassured the girls. “Let’s all stay in the media room,” Takeshin reassured her. “The innermost room, farthest from the windows.” By evening, the storm had arrived in earnest. Rain pounded in horizontal sheets against the glass, and wind howled around the building. The girls had transformed the media room into a cozy fort, bringing in pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals to create nest-like environments on the floor. Midway through the second movie, the lights flickered, then went out completely. A backup generator kicked in after a few seconds, but it was only enough to power the emergency lights and essential systems. “Is everyone okay?” Takeshin asked, turning on one of the lanterns he had prepared. Four small voices answered in the affirmative, but there was audible tension in their voices. Outside, thunder rumbled with enough force to shake the building. Saki crawled into Kenshin’s lap and hugged her stuffed rabbit tightly. “Tell me a story,” she pleaded, her voice small but determined. “A fun story.” Kenshin thought for a moment, then began to recount Hana’s sixth birthday party. It was a princess-themed celebration, complete with a castle cake and a real pony. The girls listened intently, asking about details and laughing at Hana’s reaction when the pony ate part of her dress. As Kenshin shared memories he had long suppressed, he realized something had fundamentally changed within him. The pain was still there, but it no longer dominated the memories. He could now speak of Hana with joy, not just sadness. A particularly violent gust of wind slammed into the building, and there was the sound of something shattering in the distance. Saki buried herself deeper in Kenshin’s arms and sobbed. At that moment, the emergency lights flickered and then went out. The backup generator had failed. In the sudden darkness, Kenshin felt the girls huddle together, seeking comfort. He quickly lit several lanterns, creating pools of warm light in the darkness. “The storm must have damaged the generators,” he explained, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s okay, we have plenty of lanterns…” he trailed off . Yui began to cough. It was a deep, wheezing cough that reminded him all too much of Saki’s illness just a few weeks ago. The cough continued, growing more and more painful. “Yui, what’s wrong?” Aya’s voice became sharp with concern. “I can’t… breathe,” Yui gasped between coughs. Kenshin moved quickly to her side, his heart pounding. “Yui, do you have asthma?” The girl nodded, still struggling to breathe. “My inhaler… is in my bag.” Aya was already running toward the entrance. “I’ll get it!” Kenshin supported Yui, instructing her to breathe as slowly and controlled as possible. Mio and Saki watched with wide, terrified eyes. Aya returned a few seconds later, panic clearly written on her face. “It’s gone! I can’t find it anywhere!” “When was the last time you used it?” Kenshin asked Yui, trying to stay calm as he ran through his options. “Yesterday, maybe,” she gasped. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. Yui’s lips were turning blue, and her breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. They had to find her inhaler or she would need to be taken to the emergency room. “Aya, search the bathroom. Mio, search the kitchen. I’ll check the bedroom.” With Saki anxiously following suit, Kenshin searched the girls’ bedrooms, then his own. No inhaler. The storm outside was intensifying, rain pounding furiously against the windows. The thought of taking Yui to the hospital in this situation was terrifying, but increasingly necessary. They regrouped in the media room, but the result was the same: no inhaler. Yui was now leaning heavily against the wall, her breathing rapid and shallow. “We have no choice but to take her to the hospital,” Kenshin decided, mentally calculating the quickest route through the storm. At that moment, the penthouse landline, an equipment Kenshin had almost forgotten existed in the age of cell phones, began to ring. He answered immediately, hoping it might be the building manager’s message about the generator. But the voice on the other end sounded terribly familiar. “I hear you’re keeping my girls,” Toru slurred over the static-choked line caused by the storm. “And I know you’re going to that safe deposit box tomorrow. You think you’re clever , but I have a friend at the bank. He knows all about it.” Kenshin’s blood ran cold. “Toru, now’s not the time. Yui’s having a serious asthma attack. She needs medical attention.” There was a pause, followed by a high-pitched chuckle. “Yui-bou has always been sickly. Her inhaler is probably at my apartment. I found it last week and forgot to return it. Oops.” The casual cruelty hit Kenshin like a physical blow. “You deliberately took her medicine…” “I meant it as a warning,” Tohru snarled. ” Those are my kids, Tanaka. My money tree. I’ve come to get my stuff back.” The call ended, and Kenshin stared at the receiver in shock and rage. He turned to the girls and saw that Aya had heard every word. Her young face was a mask of fear. “He’s coming here…” she whispered. Before Kenshin could respond, a new sound cut through the chaos of the storm. It was the elevator alarm, indicating someone had activated the emergency override. Toru wasn’t just threatening. He was already inside the building. “Lock the door,” Kenshin ordered, instantly switching into crisis mode. “Aya, help me carry Yui to the master bathroom. The key is there .” “Mio, bring some water and wet towels.” They moved quickly in the dim light of the lantern and through the thunder. The building’s security was down due to the power outage, there was no cell phone signal, and the landline had been cut off after Toru’s call. “He has a key to the service elevator,” Aya whispered as they laid Yui down in the bathroom. “ I used to work in maintenance in buildings like this.” Kenshin locked the bathroom door and let Saki and Mio in with her sister. Aya refused to hide. “I have to help,” she insisted, face firmer than her years. They didn’t wait long. A thunderous banging on the front door announced Toru’s arrival. Kenshin, with Aya standing behind him, approached cautiously. Through the doorscope, he could see Toru, soaking wet, wild-eyed, stumbling slightly. Something metallic glittered in his right hand. A knife . “I know you’re here, Tanaka!” Toru yelled, slamming his fist against the door again. “Give me those kids! Or else…” Kenshin calculated quickly. Yui needed immediate medical attention. The penthouse had a private emergency staircase, but carrying a seriously ill child down 40 flights of stairs would be impossible. The threat needed to be neutralized. “Stay here,” he whispered to Aya and headed for his study. In a desk drawer was a small safe, containing the only thing Kayoko had insisted he keep since Hana was born: a self-defense stun gun. Kenshin had never used it outside of training, but its weight was eerily reassuring. As Toru began to slam into the door, Kenshin turned back to the terrified girl. “Aya, I’m going to ask you to do something very brave. The moment I open this door, run to the extension phone in my bedroom. It connects directly to the disaster prevention center in the basement.” Aya, pale as a sliver, nodded resolutely. There was a sound of the door splitting on its hinges. Kenshin, hiding the stun gun behind him, raised his voice. “Toru, stop! I’m opening the door. I want to talk to you.” He unlocked the door and took a step back. Just as Toru burst in, brandishing a knife, Kenshin moved with unexpected speed, knocking the weapon from Toru’s hand and pinning him to the floor with self-defense techniques he’d learned long ago. “Security, please!” Aya shouted into the phone. “Emergency at the penthouse! Man with a weapon!” Toru thrashed around beneath Kenshin, hurling threats and insults. “Don’t think you’ve won! I have insurance. This is a video of Yuriko admitting to stealing from patients . Her reputation is ruined, and those kids will lose everything.” Kenshin gripped Toru’s arm tightly. “Don’t lie.” “I’m not lying.” Toru’s laugh was ugly. ” I have his confession in the safe deposit box. It’ll all be public tomorrow, unless you pay me.” “Confess to what?” Kenshin pressed, but Toru was unconscious. The combination of alcohol and excitement had finally gotten the better of him. Within minutes, security arrived. The storm had died down enough for them to use the emergency stairs. Kenshin held the terrified girls tight while paramedics treated Yui and the police secured Toru. “It’s over now,” he promised. “And tomorrow, let’s go find the truth.” There was no confession in the safe deposit box. Instead, the next morning, Kenshin and Junya found carefully organized documents that told an entirely different story: a video recording of Toru admitting to forging Yuriko’s signature, bank statements showing suspicious transfers, and, most conclusively, a recorded conversation in which Toru boasts about orchestrating the perfect fraud with Yuriko’s inheritance. “That’s all,” Junya said as he looked over the evidence. “Toru was just bluffing last night. These recordings will send him to prison for a long time.” But there was more to it than legal evidence. The box Yuriko had kept also contained four sealed envelopes: letters and keepsakes addressed to each of her daughters. And, nestled among the children’s inheritances, there was a fifth envelope. It was simply marked, “To Hana’s father.” Kenshin’s hands trembled as he opened it. “Dear Tanaka,” Yuriko wrote, “if you are reading this, I am no longer with you and somehow my daughters have found their way to you. Hana made me promise to watch over you, but it seems fate had other plans. I hope you will watch over my daughters instead . Hana changed my life with her courage and kindness . She often spoke of you. I worried that you would lose yourself after she was gone. Perhaps by finding my children, you have found yourself again . Please tell my daughters that I love them beyond measure . And please know that Hana, wherever she is, is proud of you. With gratitude, Yuriko Sato.” Three months passed. Toru was in jail, awaiting trial with overwhelming evidence against him. The court granted Takeshin temporary guardianship to the Sato sisters while the adoption process proceeded. Life had settled into a rhythm none of them had previously imagined. Today was special: Mio’s eleventh birthday. The penthouse, once a monument to minimalism, had been transformed. Colorful ribbons hung from the ceiling, balloons gathered in corners, and a handmade banner—”Happy Birthday, Mio!”—Yui’s artistic talents adorned the living room wall. “Isn’t this going too far?” Kenshin asked Aya as he added the finishing touches to the decorations. His board meeting had been rescheduled to accommodate the party, something Kenshin would never have considered. “Mio deserves it,” Aya smiled with a genuine, honest expression that had become commonplace in recent months. “You haven’t had a proper birthday since Mom died.” In the kitchen, Yui and Saki oversaw the catering with comical seriousness. They inspected Mio’s favorite cake—chocolate and strawberry filling—and counted the napkins. Our protagonist, Mio, was out with her new piano teacher as a strategic diversion before the surprise party. When she returned home, a collective cry of “Surprise!” brought tears to her eyes. For hours, the once-quiet, sterile penthouse was filled with the happy chaos of laughter, music, and children celebrating. After cake, Kenshin ushered Mio into his study. “I have something special for you.” In the corner sat a baby grand piano, its ebony surface gleaming. “Is this mine?” Mio whispered, approaching it in awe. “Your mother wrote in her letters how much you loved music. Hana played piano, too,” Kenshin knelt next to her. ” I was wondering if you’d like to try some serious lessons.” Mio’s fingers glided ghostly over the keys. “Beautiful…” “I have one more,” Kenshin handed her a jewelry box. Inside was a delicate silver necklace with two charms: a musical note and a small heart. “The heart has words carved into it,” he explained as she examined it. Mio squinted at the small inscription. “A family found is never lost.” She looked up at him with eyes filled with understanding beyond her years. “Well, we found each other.” “Yeah, that’s right,” Takeshin agreed, feeling his vision blur. “And then we filed the adoption papers. If you’re all still willing…” He didn’t finish. Mio clutched the necklace tightly in her hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you… Dad,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. It was the first time any of the girls had ever called him that. A year had passed since then . It had been exactly one year since that fateful day, when the four girls, carrying wildflowers, met in the cemetery that changed Tanaka Takeshin’s life forever. Today, the Sato-Tanaka family were gathered in the living room of their penthouse for a special ceremony of their own devising. The space had been transformed; it was no longer the sterile showroom of a lonely billionaire. It was now undeniably a home. Family photos lined the walls, a piano sat in the corner where a contemporary sculpture once stood , colorful cushions and hand-knitted blankets softened the refined furniture, and children’s artwork was framed with the same care once reserved for priceless paintings. “Are you ready?” Kenshin asked, gazing at his daughters gathered in a semicircle. Aya, now fourteen and a thoughtful young woman, adjusted her camera on a tripod. Mio sat at the piano, fingers poised. Yui held a diary filled with her meticulous handwriting, and Saki, almost seven, was jumping up and down with barely containable excitement. “Today we celebrate Family Day,” Kenshin began, his heart pounding but in a calm voice. “It’s been a year since we found each other.” Two framed photographs sat on the coffee table between them: Hana, sixteen, smiling despite her illness, and Yuriko Sato with her four daughters in happier times. Next to it stood a third, now empty, frame. “In this family,” Kenshin continued, “we honor those we have lost by living fully in their memory.” Mio began softly to play a piece of music she had composed. It was hauntingly beautiful. Yui opened her diary and read a poem about a star that guides travelers. Saki placed homemade paper flowers in front of the photograph. Aya, always the guardian and now the family historian, stepped forward last. From a folder, she pulled out a digitally created portrait she had been working on in secret for weeks. It showed all six of them together: Kenshin, Aya, Mio, Yui, Saki, Hana, and Yuriko. As if they had always been one family. “Because they are still with us,” Aya explained, fitting the portrait into the empty frame. “ And always will be.” Kenshin gazed upon the portrait of his impossible family and felt tears well up in his eyes. Past and present had merged into one beautiful whole. Each daughter spoke in turn, sharing memories of the past year and hopes for the future. “I used to think family was something that was decided at birth,” Aya said, her voice firm despite her emotions. “But now I understand that family is the people who are there for you, who fight for you, who choose you every day.” Takeshin gazed with immense pride at his eldest daughter, who had supported her siblings through impossible circumstances. The frightened girl had blossomed into a young woman of remarkable wisdom and compassion. “I have something to give each of you,” he said when they finished speaking. He handed each girl a small box. Inside was an identical gold locket, each with two small photos: Hana on one side, Yuriko on the other. “To remind us that love never ends,” he explained. “It changes form and continues in new ways.” As Takeshin helped Saki fasten her necklace, she looked up at him with the same innocent eyes that had once asked him at the cemetery if he was Hana’s father. “Hey, Dad?” she said thoughtfully. “Hana isn’t just your angel anymore. She belongs to all of us now . Mommy too.” Takeshin hugged his four incredible daughters tightly, the ones who had helped him break through his wall of grief and taught him to live again. Outside, the spring sun bathed the city in a golden glow. Inside, a family bound not by blood but something stronger celebrated an impossible journey. Years ago, at the side of his hospital bed, Hana and Yuriko made a promise to each other: one to watch over their grieving father, the other to care for four vulnerable girls. Neither could have imagined that promise would be fulfilled so beautifully—through loss and love, pain and healing. As the timer on Aya’s camera counted down and they posed for their official “Family Day” portrait , Tanaka Kenshin, once defined only by his wealth and achievements, realized he had received the greatest gift possible: not just a second chance at fatherhood, but his first chance at true happiness. Camera flashes captured the smiles of the Sato-Tanaka family, a moment of perfect joy to be saved for a future chapter in their shared story.
この1時間の人生教訓の物語は、母の墓前で孤独な億万長者が四姉妹と出会い、失われた希望を取り戻す奇跡を描きます。
その出会いは偶然ではなく、まるで運命に導かれたかのように、家族の絆と涙の約束が深く胸を打ちます。
本作は、テレビで観るように楽しめる1時間のドラマ物語であり、実話のようなリアリティを持つ1時間の感動物語です。
涙を誘う場面、希望と勇気を与える展開は、1時間の奇跡の物語であり、また1時間の教訓的な物語として心に残るでしょう。
静かな朗読形式で進むこの動画は、家族愛を描いた1時間の朗読物語としても最適です。どうぞ最後までご覧ください。