This Book Ghosted Me and I’m Still Waiting for Closure

Okay besties, gather round, because I have to talk to you about The Man Who Didn’t Call by Rosie Walsh. I finished it three days ago and my brain is still spinning, my heart’s a little bruised, and I’ve already sent it to two people with the warning: “You're gonna need tea, tissues, and maybe a hug.”

At first glance, the plot sounds simple enough. Girl meets boy. They fall hard and fast — like romcom-level intense. Then poof — he disappears. No call, no text, no “hey sorry, I just emotionally ghost people sometimes” message. Just... gone. And not in a "he's just not that into you" way. More like... something is very, very off.

Let’s talk about ghosting for a second — because this book does not hold back on how real and painful it can be. We’re not talking about a guy you chatted with on Bumble for two days and then he dipped. No. This is a full-on emotional connection, “I might have just met my soulmate” type of thing. And then he disappears like he never existed.

And what hit me so hard is that the grief in this story? It’s not just “oh no, I miss him.” It’s that not knowing. That gnawing, obsessive, “what the hell happened?” spiral. The kind where you replay every word, every glance, every emoji, trying to find the moment it all went wrong. It’s messy, and raw, and so painfully real.

I swear, I was reading it like: “Wow, this is emotional damage I didn’t sign up for but okay let’s go."

Sarah = All of Us (Unfortunately)

Sarah, the main character, is so deeply relatable it almost hurts. She’s successful, smart, emotionally aware — and she still gets blindsided. Because when someone disappears from your life without explanation, it doesn’t matter how put-together you are. You still unravel.

And that’s what I loved (and hated) about this book: it doesn’t sugarcoat that experience. Rosie Walsh doesn’t tidy up the grief into something palatable. She shows it in all its frustrating, confusing, heartbreaking glory. Sarah doesn’t bounce back right away. She doesn’t brush it off. She spirals. She clings to hope. She asks why over and over and over again. And if you’ve ever been ghosted — whether by a date, a friend, or anyone you cared about — you’ll feel that ache in your chest while reading.

What surprised me most is that this book isn’t really about romance. Sure, there’s love and longing and chemistry and all that, but at its core, it’s a story about grief.

Not the kind you prepare for. Not the kind with sympathy cards or casseroles. But the kind where someone walks out of your life and doesn’t explain why. That weird in-between space where you’re not technically grieving a death, but you still feel like something inside you has been ripped out.

Rosie Walsh explores that so beautifully. How sometimes, the hardest grief is the one you can’t name. The one that lives in silence, in the texts never sent, the answers never given, the endings that never actually ended.

Now. Let’s talk about the second half of the book. Because OH BOY. I thought I knew where it was going. I thought I had my little theories, I was being all smart and emotionally prepared.

I was wrong.

There’s a twist that completely reframes everything you’ve just read. And then another. And then another. And suddenly, this book isn’t just about love and loss — it’s about forgiveness, grief, healing, and how the people we love aren’t always who we think they are. I actually had to pause mid-page and stare into space like, “I’m sorry... WHAT?”

And it wasn’t twisty for the sake of drama — it meant something. It made the emotional stakes higher. It made Sarah’s grief even more layered. And it made me realize that sometimes, the truth hurts more than the unknown… but it’s still better than silence.

The Man Who Didn’t Call broke my heart in the gentlest, most thoughtful way. It made me think about all the times I didn’t get closure — and all the times I gave none. It made me want to be braver in saying what needs to be said, even when it’s hard. Because the emotional limbo of not knowing? That’s a hell no one deserves.

This book is about love, yes. But it’s also about what happens when love disappears. How we heal. How we forgive. And how we somehow keep going, even when we never get the answers we want.

Would I Recommend It? Absolutely. But read it when you’re in the right headspace. This book will poke at old wounds. It will make you emotional. It will linger with you long after the final page. But in the best, most necessary way.

Bring tissues. Make tea. Text someone you love afterward. And when you’re done? Come talk to me about it. I’ll be here, still recovering.