It's been two years since her 4-year-old son... her baby... her Owen... disappeared from his bed in the middle of the night.
Every day Eleanora waits for news that he's been found. And every day she lives with the nightmare of knowing that she failed to protect her son.
Intuition tells her that Owen is alive, and Eleanora shuts out everyone who doesn't believe. But she fails to see that her single-minded hope has come at the expense of everything else she used to care about. With her career ruined, her marriage disintegrating, and her family coping with the loss in ways she can't understand, Eleanora is left trying to claw her way out of the black hole her world has become.
When an unexpected surprise suddenly offers Eleanora a second chance at happiness, she is shocked to feel...nothing.
Doubting her own worth, questioning her right to find peace, and still praying for her son's return, Eleanora struggles to see that life, ugly and painful as it can be, might still be worth living.
It's been two years since her 4-year-old son... her baby... her Owen... disappeared from his bed in the middle of the night.
Every day Eleanora waits for news that he's been found. And every day she lives with the nightmare of knowing that she failed to protect her son.
Intuition tells her that Owen is alive, and Eleanora shuts out everyone who doesn't believe. But she fails to see that her single-minded hope has come at the expense of everything else she used to care about. With her career ruined, her marriage disintegrating, and her family coping with the loss in ways she can't understand, Eleanora is left trying to claw her way out of the black hole her world has become.
When an unexpected surprise suddenly offers Eleanora a second chance at happiness, she is shocked to feel...nothing.
Doubting her own worth, questioning her right to find peace, and still praying for her son's return, Eleanora struggles to see that life, ugly and painful as it can be, might still be worth living.
The closest way I can describe it is the feeling of thinking there is one more step in the staircase…that stomach-dropping rush as your foot keeps moving through the empty air when your body expects it to stop.
I knew where his body should be, so often had I felt it there before. But instead of warm skin and a sweaty swatch of hair sticking up above the blanket, I felt nothing, my outstretched hand falling in a sickening drop to land on the empty mattress.
I didn’t turn on the hall light anymore when I checked on him. Now that he was older and so close to his 5th birthday, he was more sensitive to interruptions in the night and would ask me to leave it on if he happened to wake. He had caught enough glimpses of the evening news and ads for scary movies to know that frightening things existed in the world. Each day brought about a new ‘Is it real?’ question. Are ghosts real? Are vampires real? Are volcanoes real? Are heroes real?
Usually, the answers were simple enough and reassuring to him.
This is not to say he didn’t catch me off guard sometimes. ‘Are bad guys real, Mommy?’ he had asked. It broke my heart to say yes and watch his eyes fill with fear like rising water. We talked about not speaking to strangers and locking our doors and trusting the police to keep us safe. But somehow, these were harder ideas to grasp than bad guys on the loose.
So, we stuck with bedtime stories and extra goodnight kisses and checking for monsters under the bed, and soon, he would drop peacefully into sleep, tucked in a ball in the center of the mattress. Still, I was a young mother who had just survived his vulnerable infancy and needed to check on him before I could rest. One last confirmation that he was breathing, making sure his blanket was straight and his stuffed animals were securely tucked under his arm so he wouldn’t wake in the night reaching out for them. This is what I told myself, though I knew he no longer needed me in that way. And so, each night I stole into his dark room on whisper-quiet feet to place a hand on his sleeping form one last time before I went to bed.
I used to have nightmares sometimes that he was gone. That I would fail at the most basic requirement of parenting. That I would turn around in a store and he would have vanished. That I would search every inch of the playground after losing sight of him for a second and never find him. That he would choke or slip and hit his small head or step into a busy street at the wrong moment.
I imagine every parent gives free rein to these thoughts every so often—allowing themselves to contemplate the worst, imagine the horror. The presence of him, the warmth of his breath, his sticky hand in mine, his piping voice all chased the nightmares away and fed the sense of security I tried to build around us.
Until he was gone. And then, everything was gone.
The sudden loss of her 4-year old son, who was abducted from their home and remains missing, has left Eleanora consumed by grief, guilt, and overwhelming sadness. She is unable to process her emotions or connect with those around her who are trying to offer support. The author portrays Eleanora’s deep depression and sense of helplessness with sensitivity and insight, exploring themes of loss and mourning in a moving and powerful way.
Two years on, Eleanora is still engulfed by grief and unable to forgive herself as a mother. She pushes away those who love her, family and friends trying desperately to help, unintentionally straining the very relationships that might guide her toward healing. However, change begins to unfold through the presence of a compassionate, characterful therapist with whom she finally begins to engage. New life events also reveal the depth of care and shared sorrow held by those around her, helping Eleanora reconnect with the living and imagine a more hopeful future. Ultimately, she begins to forgive herself and reconcile with her past.
Eleanora’s story of a parent grieving the loss of a young child could have easily felt bleak or heavy. Yet I found myself not only sympathising with her pain but also understanding the frustrations of the other characters who long for her to re-join the world.
I usually read to escape, and wouldn’t typically choose a novel centred on grief and loss. But I’m so glad I read this debut. It’s a beautifully written, captivating book. Eleanora’s rediscovery of life is profoundly moving. The author masterfully conveys her emotional numbness in a way that is both realistic and compelling, making her journey a genuine page-turner.
I would recommend this novel to anyone wanting to better understand grief and depression through fiction. It is relatable, incredibly well written, and offers a deeply human perspective on loss, one that resonates not just through Eleanora, but through all the characters and their own expressions of sorrow.