The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Herschel glanced at Nigel, whose expression was a tangled mess of emotions. He knew exactly what was running through his son's mind, so he took the initiative. "Let's find somewhere private to talk. There are things I've wanted to tell you face- to-face for a long time."

After all these years, it was time to clear up the misunderstandings between them. Nigel was clearly surprised by Herschel's sudden olive branch, but he didn't refuse.

They left the gallery and found a quiet, tucked-away bistro.noveldrama

Nigel had no appetite for food and didn't bother with pleasantries. "All right, let's hear it. What do you want to say to me?" His voice was tinged with impatience.

A fleeting look of bitterness crossed Herschel's face, but he quickly masked it.

Remembering what Citrine had told him, Herschel steeled himself and spoke. "Back then, before the firefighters arrived, I only had time to save one person-or else both of you would have died."

At the mention of that night, Nigel's face lost a shade of color.

If Herschel hadn't brought it up now, Nigel would have spent the rest of his life refusing to speak of that painful memory.

Herschel went on, "Nigel, I made the decision to save Hilda first because I had to think rationally. She was closer to the door. Getting her out was the only chance for at least one of you to survive."

The mask of calm on Nigel's face finally cracked. He let out a cold, bitter laugh, no longer hiding the resentment that had simmered for years. "Of course. You've always favored my sister. So it made perfect sense to leave me behind."

Herschel had always known that Nigel resented him, but only today did he realize just how deep that wound went.

He sighed and managed a pained smile, shaking his head. “I never gave up on you. After I got Hilda out, I went straight back in. I searched every corner of that burning house for you. When the firefighters arrived, they helped too, but you were nowhere to be found."

"You went back for me?" Nigel's voice trembled as a raw, desperate hope flickered in his eyes. The walls he'd built for years began to shake. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

Herschel looked away, his voice

heavy. "By the time I went back, you

were already gone. Later, I tried to explain, but your anger was so strong you couldn't even look at

me.

The longer it went on, the less sense

it made to dredge up the past."

Nigel's composure shattered. He all but shouted, "How could it not make sense? If

I'd known the truth, I wouldn't have spent my life hating you!"

He lowered his voice, hoarse with emotion. "Why didn't you just tell me sooner?"

Seeing his son fall apart, Herschel's

met

own heart broke a little. He sighed. "With so much time gone by, I worried that telling you would only make you feel guilty. If hating me brought you some comfort, b thought maybe it was better that way."

He'd never planned to say these things, but Citrine's words echoed in his mind.

She was right-guilt could be healed, but the belief that your own father didn't love you was far crueller.

A new thought suddenly struck Nigel, and he asked, bewildered, "If you meant to keep this hidden forever, why tell me all this now?"

Thinking of his beloved granddaughter, Herschel's expression softened. He said gently, “Citrine made me see it differently. She said that guilt is nothing compared to believing you're unloved. I realized she was right."

Nigel fell silent, stunned.

He'd always known Citrine was perceptive, but it took a nineteen-year-old to both understand his paintings and see through the armor around his heart. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of warmth.

And somehow, the tide of guilt that threatened to drown him began to ebb away.