All The Things We Never Knew by Sophie Ranald
Thank you to Storm Publishing and NetGalley for my gifted ARC.
Let’s begin with this: I sat down to read All The Things We Never Knew expecting a bit of melodrama, some tears, maybe a few eye rolls. What I didn’t expect was to be emotionally steamrolled by a story that’s as devastating as it is razor-sharp. This isn’t just a book about marriage and infidelity. It’s a masterclass in emotional damage control—and by “control,” I mean trying to hold your entire life together with nothing but willpower and sarcasm while it all goes up in flames.
We open on Anna, wife, mother, and all-around emotionally responsible adult, who finds diamond earrings in her husband Gray’s drawer. No note. No receipt. No justification. And no, her ears are not pierced. Suspicious? Extremely. This is the literary equivalent of finding lipstick on the collar. But before she can confront her husband about the apparent affair, the plot whiplashes into tragedy: Gray is diagnosed with terminal cancer. The affair, it turns out, isn’t a vague suspicion—it’s real, ongoing, and comes with a name: Laurel. A hospice nurse. Because apparently this man couldn’t just cheat—he had to do it with someone trained to handle his slow demise.
And here’s where Ranald’s writing absolutely sings (or maybe sobs quietly into a pillow): Laurel doesn’t waltz in as some cartoon villain or vampy homewrecker. She’s a fully realized human being with depth, guilt, compassion—and yes, questionable boundaries. Anna, meanwhile, becomes the most frustratingly generous protagonist I’ve read in a long time. She lets Laurel in. Into her home. Into Gray’s final days. Into her pain. And no, I don’t mean metaphorically. Laurel is in the damn living room.
What could’ve been a Lifetime-level drama turns into a nuanced, slow-burn exploration of grief, betrayal, womanhood, and the unbearable awkwardness of sharing a dying man with another woman. The emotional landscape here is complex and painful and weirdly funny in that “If I don’t laugh, I’ll lose my mind” sort of way. Ranald captures that liminal space where your life is falling apart and yet the dishwasher still needs to be unloaded. That’s where All The Things We Never Knew lives—between the trauma and the mundanity, between heartbreak and the school run.
The twist comes in the attic. No, seriously. Anna finds traces of a boy—a musician, a whole other identity from Gray’s past—hidden in the loft like emotional asbestos. It’s then that Anna begins to realize that she didn’t just lose her husband. She never fully knew him to begin with. And that’s the real gut punch. Not just that he cheated. Not just that he’s dying. But that the life she thought they built together was assembled on half-truths and omissions.
The story unravels gently, almost cruelly, in alternating perspectives, giving us glimpses into Laurel’s motivations and Gray’s history. It’s messy and uncomfortable, especially when the children get involved and begin forging their own relationships with Laurel. You want to root for Anna to scream, to slam doors, to demand her narrative back. But she doesn’t. Because she’s a mother, and a wife, and a woman who has been conditioned to make space for everyone’s needs but her own.
Still, Anna’s quiet strength is not weakness. It’s grit. It’s dignity. It’s survival. And when she finally begins to dig into Gray’s past and uncover who he really was—a boy shaped by trauma, music, and abandonment—it’s not about justifying his betrayal. It’s about reclaiming the truth and reshaping her future from the rubble he left behind.
Is it romantic? No. This is not a love story. It’s a truth story. A survival story. A “please give this woman a vacation and a fully funded therapy session” story. There’s redemption, but it’s hard-won. There’s hope, but it comes with baggage. And the ending? It’s not fireworks and closure. It’s a quiet breath. A beginning. The kind of conclusion that trusts the reader to understand that healing doesn’t always look like happiness—it often looks like clarity.
Favorite quote: “Sometimes the truth doesn’t set you free. Sometimes it just wrecks the place.” Yes. That. A thousand times, that.
This is one of those novels that sneaks up on you. You pick it up thinking you know what you’re in for. You don’t. Sophie Ranald peels back the layers slowly, deliberately, until you’re exposed, raw, and feeling everything. Her writing is clean, perceptive, unflinching—and never overwrought. Even at its most emotional, it never turns maudlin or melodramatic.
If you’ve ever had your heart broken by someone you thought you knew—or if you’ve ever rebuilt your life while still standing in the wreckage—this book is for you. It will not hold your hand. But it will sit beside you in the dark and say, “Yeah. Me too.”
Five cathartic, exhausted, heart-shredded stars. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
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