You changed the way I walked home on a Friday evening. You changed the taste of wine, the plot of a novel, the confidence of Edward’s hands.

I have read many books in recent months, but few have left me so emotionally wrecked. Not many leave me stranded in the middle of a metaphoric island, thinking about the characters long after I’ve turned over the final page and returned the book to the library.

Abigail Dean’s writing in The Death of Us does exactly that.

To reunite not out of love but out of pain. To share a courtroom but not a home. To stand together yet still so alone, so vulnerable.

The story is about the uncomfortable reunion of a divorced couple. Years ago, a person broke into their house and assaulted Isabel while restraining Edward. This perpetrator, now caught, is being brought to justice, as they are forced to face each other under the same roof once again. They are here to read the victim statement, and in doing so, voice the years of anger, indignity, and a plethora of unspeakable feelings that came with that night. Dean tells the harrowing consequences the incident has had on this former couple and many other victims.

Dean’s every sentence is thoughtful and shaped to bear the significance of the story she tells. As someone who appreciates language, I cherish how every feeling is weighed before it becomes part of the larger narrative.

As I heard it on the audiobook, in my mind’s eye, I saw Isabel and Edward experience the trauma both individually and as a couple. Being a woman myself, I often found Isabel on my mind. Dean’s writing really shines when she describes the thought process of a rape victim. The way one lives and perceives circumstances changes at its very core. Fear becomes a way of life. The familiar becomes foreign, with doubt creeping into every move.

The crimes once watched and read, seemingly harmless, suddenly imprint themselves. Even as the world’s attention moves on, it takes with it Isabel and Edward’s carefreeness. They are instead hypervigilant, looking for monsters lurking in the dark, living on the edge.

Their separation is written tenderly. There is no one to blame; what happened changed their relationship not only with the world, but also with each other. Their time spent together felt like poking at a scab on a wound that refused to heal.