The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 678

He and his wife had only one daughter-Hilda-so over the years, they'd spoiled her a little. But that didn't mean he was completely biased, or that he didn't care about his own son's well-being. They were both his children. How could he not love them both?

Citrine went on, "Maybe Uncle Nigel chose to devote himself to painting as a way to cope, to redeem himself. People with autism often need special ways to express and process their emotions."

She paused, then gently encouraged him, "Grandpa, I think you should try to understand Uncle Nigel. Maybe you see painting as a frivolous pursuit, but you might not realize it's like the air he breathes. He needs it to survive."

Herschel had always scoffed at painting. Compared to the steady, respectable career of a doctor, painting seemed like a beggar's trade to him. That's why he'd been so adamant in opposing Nigel's choice.

But after hearing what Citrine had to say, something shifted inside him.

For the first time, stubborn old Herschel started to question himself.

Citrine continued, "Uncle Nigel will definitely be at the Crestwood gallery exhibit next month. If you want to make peace with him, that might be your chance. You could go see him there."

Herschel tucked that thought away, resolving not to let it slip his mind. He reached out and gently patted his granddaughter's head, his voice thick with affection. "You really are my little treasure, Citrine. If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be stuck in my old ways."

Citrine looked at him earnestly. "Grandpa, if you just explain yourself, I know Uncle Nigel will understand."

"I hope so." After all these years, the rift between father and son felt too deep to mend, but he couldn't help wishing for a second chance.

One month later.

arrived at the Crestwood Art Gallery, just as Citrine had told him. The halls were lined

Herschel would have written all this off as nonsense. But now, standing in the midst of these works, he found himself—for the first

with people, many of whom were discussing the art in thoughtful, passionate tonesz Herschel found himself drawn into their conversations, listening

sŵnovel

he listened, the

the

were polite and articulate,

to dislike. And

insights were impressive-he

there was to learn from listening to

a while, Herschel began to explore the gallery at his own pace. Whenever a painting caught his eye, he'd pause and study it for

of a familiar image. The

on

was titled

small crowd had gathered

warm and comforting. I don't know why, but just looking at