The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

At this point, Hilda let out a long sigh. "I thought, at the very least, I'd find out where you were. I never imagined it was all a setup from the start-designed just to get rid of me."

Hearing this, Citrine felt her heart ache with every word.

She couldn't bear to imagine how crushing it must have been for her mother, to have all her hopes so completely destroyed.

Hilda continued, her voice trembling, "Back then, your Uncle Nigel was worried about me, so he followed after. He even called the police. When those people realized, they flew into a rage. They doused the entire building in gasoline, trapping both me and your Uncle Nigel in the fire."

Her voice grew even softer, heavy with memory. "The Saunders family arrived soon after. The fire was raging, and the fire department hadn't made it yet. Your grandfather was frantic, but there was only time to save one of us. It tore him apart—either way, he'd be losing someone he loved. In the end, he made the only choice he could: he saved me, since I was closest. The moment I was out, your grandfather ran back inside for your Uncle Nigel. But by then, Nigel had already dragged himself out. They searched everywhere, even with the firefighters, but they couldn't find him."

"After that," Hilda said, her eyes squeezed shut, "your Uncle Nigel's relationship with the family completely fell apart. He quit medicine, stopped caring what anyone thought, and threw himself into painting full time. He became more distant with me, too." The guilt in her voice was unmistakable.

After all, she felt this all happened because of her.

"This is all my fault. If Nigel resents me, I can't blame him." Herschel sighed deeply. Despite all his bluster about Nigel, he'd always carried a sense of guilt about what happened. He never regretted his choice he knew it was the only rational decision he could make in that moment—but the guilt stayed with him. Citrine pressed her lips together. The story brought back memories of her own, old wounds that time still hadn't healed.

Maybe her grandfather really had made the right choice that day, but that didn't change the pain it had caused Uncle Nigel the kind of hurt that lingers, never fading, even after years.

If it still haunted him after all these years, it meant he'd never truly moved on.

Suddenly, Citrine asked, "Grandpa, did Uncle Nigel ever know you went back into the fire to look for him?"

Herschel paused, then shook his head slowly.

"He was so angry with me back then," he said, his voice weary. "I tried to explain, more than once, but he never wanted to listen. Eventually, I just let it go. Thought maybe was better if he didn't know. If he found out the truth, knowing his temperament, he'd blame himself to the point of not eating or sleeping."

Citrine stared off, lost in thought.noveldrama

She wondered: if Sawyer Iverson had come back for her that day, would things have been different?

It took her only a moment to find her answer.

If Sawyer had come back for her, she would have been overjoyed—maybe she wouldn't have resented him so deeply.

But there were no what-ifs. He hadn't come back. He hadn't even tried.

After a while, Citrine looked up at Herschel, her voice steady and earnest. “Grandpa, if Uncle Nigel knew you went back for him, he wouldn't hate you. You shouldn't have kept it from him. He deserves to know."

Herschel waved her off. "Let it be. He's held on to that anger for so many years: If he finds out the truth, I know exactly what'll happen. He'll just tum that blame on himself lose sleep, skip meals. I'd rather he stay angry at me than destroy himself with guilt."