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Audible Audio
Expected publication February 10, 2026
This is not a thriller.
It looks like one. It wears the skin of one. A hotel under siege. A woman trapped in a room with the man she should not be with. A city holding its breath. But Room 706 is not interested in explosions. It is interested in implosions. The quiet, internal kind. The ones that happen when you finally have nothing left to distract you from your own life.
I picked this up because it was a Goldsboro Premier choice and went in with no real expectations. What I found was something far more intimate than I anticipated. A book about motherhood and marriage. About the lives we build and the small, private rebellions we make against them. About love in its many forms, and the uncomfortable truth that wanting more does not always mean wanting differently.
Kate is in a hotel room with James. Both of them are married to other people. They have been meeting like this for years. Then the hotel goes into lockdown. The outside world turns violent and unknowable, and the room becomes a capsule of memory, confession, and reckoning. There is tension in the siege, yes, but the real pressure is interior. The slow, unaplogetic examination of how a woman arrives at this precise point in her life.
“this. Affairs involved emotions, falling”
This book lives in Kate’s head. In her doubts. Her justifications. Her tenderness for her children. Her love for her husband. Her need for something that belongs only to her. There is so much internal monologue here, and it works because it is honest about how contradictory people are. How we can be devoted and selfish in the same breath. How we can love deeply and still step sideways from our own lives.
The sections of Kate’s marriage to Vic are especially beautiful. The ordinariness of it. The shared jokes, the rituals, the gentle gravity of a long partnership. It made the affair feel less titillating and more devastating, not because of scandal, but because of what is quietly at stake.
“But they had posed the question and none of the interviewees had seemed to mind. She remembered the most poignant of the answers: ‘There will always be unread books.’”
This novel is full of small, aching thoughts like that. About time. About the life you get versus the life you imagined. About the things you will never have space to read, or be, or become. It is contemplative, tender, and unafraid to sit in emotional ambiguity. I can absolutely see this being a Women’s Prize longlist contender. It has that quiet, searching intelligence to it.
Marketed as a thriller, this will wrong-foot some readers. It is far closer to women’s fiction, or literary domestic drama, with a high-stakes frame. But for me, that misdirection worked. The tension of the siege simply creates the conditions for the real story to unfold.
This is a book about roads taken. And roads not taken. About how a single room can become a confessional. About how love does not always simplify your life, and motherhood does not silence your questions. It is thoughtful, humane, and emotionally generous.
4.25 out of 5.
For readers who like their suspense quiet, their prose reflective, and their emotional truths complicated.