Let’s start on a positive note. The book opens with a deliciously spooky atmosphere centered on an old, haunted manor dripping with secrets and lore. A downtrodden couple, hoping to salvage their flailing marriage, move into the caretaker’s cottage on the estate, which just so happens to be owned by their former creative writing professor. Things go bump in the night. A ghostly woman drifts through the misty apple orchards. A phantom baby wails in the darkness. Such fun! I was fully on board.

And then the story veers sharply into domestic drama territory, saddling us with two deeply unlikable protagonists, Jess and Clare. The ghosts fade into the background while Jess’s red flags start whipping in the wind, and Clare twists herself into a pretzel making excuses for him—usuually while tearing herself down in the process. At one point she actually says, “I can’t blame Jess for straying because I’ve let myself go.” Absolutely not. This is 2026, not 1956. Her inability to stand up for herself was maddening, and not in a compelling, character-driven way—just frustrating.

As for the plot, it ended up being far lighter on the paranormal than I anticipated, which was a real disappointment. The twist wasn’t much of a surprise, though the suspense did pick up slightly toward the end. Still, the overall experience was a dud for me.

If I could ask the author one question, it would be this: How are readers supposed to care about the story when we can’t bring ourselves to care about the characters?