HappyNovelChapter 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.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtOne month later.
Herschel arrived at the Crestwood Art Gallery, just as Citrine had told him. The halls were lined with paintings, each more intriguing than the last.
Once upon a time, Herschel would have written all this off as nonsense. But now, standing in the midst of these works, he found himself-for the first time-curious. He wanted to understand.
The gallery was bustling with people, many of whom were discussing the art in thoughtful, passionate tonesz Herschel found himself drawn into their conversations, listening keenly, almost as if he were a student in class.
sŵ Strangely enough, the more he listened, the more his prejudice toward art faded.
For one thing, the people around him were polite and articulate, impossible to dislike. And their insights were impressive-he realized how much there was to learn from listening to their interpretations.
After wandering for 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 a moment longer.
Then, suddenly, he stopped in front of a familiar image. The girl and the cat in the painting-it was unmistakably Citrine.
He froze on the spot.
The painting was titled "Home." A small crowd had gathered around it.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm"It feels so warm and comforting. I don't know why, but just looking at this painting makesfeel cozy all over," someone murmured.
"This is Mr Nigel's best piece in the last couple of years. The gloom from his earlier work is gone there's no sense of despair.
It's like he's finally stepped out of the darkness." "It's such a heartwarming painting."
Herschel stood in front of "Home" for a long time, until he noticed the other paintings nearby.
They were all by the sartist, but unlike "Home," the rest were chilling. Their bleak, somber tones sent a shiver down his spine-a sense of pain and torment radiated from them.
Herschel didn't know much about art.
that, All he knew was that looking at those paintings made his chest ache with En sorrow.
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