What My Mother Hid is a quiet gut-punch of a book, the kind that leaves you staring at the wall long after you’ve turned the last page.
Daniel Hurst takes a premise that could have been melodramatic (a twelve-year-old boy discovers his mother has been hiding an entire other family for years) and treats it with such tenderness, restraint, and emotional truth that it absolutely broke me. Told in alternating chapters between “now” and the mother’s past, every secret is revealed at exactly the moment your heart can bear it, and then Hurst somehow manages to peel back one more devastating layer.
This isn’t a thriller built on cheap twists; it’s a deeply human story about love, shame, sacrifice, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive. The mother, Rachel, is one of the most complex, heartbreaking characters I’ve read in years. You’ll want to scream at her, hug her, and ultimately forgive her all at once. The son’s voice feels painfully authentic; his confusion, anger, and eventual understanding had me crying on the train more than once.
I finished it in two sittings because I physically couldn’t stop, and when I reached the final page I just sat there sobbing (quietly, because public transport). It’s beautiful, brutal, and hopeful in a way that feels earned. One of those rare books that’s both a page-turner and a soul-changer.
If you loved The Push or We Need to Talk About Kevin but wished they had more grace at their core, read this immediately. Daniel Hurst just skyrocketed to my auto-buy list. Masterpiece.