Jodie Pine’s Before We Arrived spins a beautiful tapestry of interconnected lives across time, grief, and healing. Told through alternating chapters set between 1975 and 2005, the story traces three families—each marked by loss, resilience, and quiet strength—as they find each other through fate and a shared sanctuary. A former archaeologist, a social worker, and a man recovering from injury and trauma become unlikely kin under the roof of a goat sanctuary, of all places. But it’s more than goats. It’s about second chances, and third. It’s about holding sorrow in one hand and still reaching out with the other.

As a widow, I didn’t expect this book to hit me like it did. From the very first chapter with Henry and his mangled hand, I felt my heart slide into that familiar hollow space. The line—“trying so hard to keep things light”—caught in my throat. That’s exactly what it’s like when you’re walking around with your grief zipped up under your coat. Henry’s story reminded me how healing doesn’t look like a movie montage. It’s awkward, reluctant, even a little muddy. His growth is slow but steady, like learning how to breathe again after forgetting for a while.

Then there’s Rivka. Oh, Rivka. I adored her. The way she stepped into Nina King’s quiet, grief-soaked apartment, dripping wet and uninvited, but still offering help with a kind firmness—it was deeply moving. Her voice felt familiar to me, like someone I would’ve met. Her compassion for baby David, and her refusal to flinch in the face of Nina’s silence or mistrust, showed the kind of stubborn kindness I’ve come to cherish in my own life. The moment when Nina finally lets her hold the baby? That nearly did me in.

Jayce’s chapters, especially the funeral scene and the pact he makes with his mother, stirred something in me. We can’t disappear with our dead. I loved how his archaeology background tied into the theme of digging—literally and emotionally—for what’s been buried. His arc wasn’t flashy, but it was profound. Quiet endurance. I know it well.

What Jodie Pine does so beautifully is show how people can be shattered and still be whole. There are no villains here, just folks doing their best with their pain. The prose is warm and alive, sometimes messy, just like real conversation. I chuckled more than once—especially during Henry’s first day with the goats—and found unexpected joy in the ordinary moments: Rivka eating Fig Newtons at her desk, David fixing a bike, a fox sculpture on a table. These small details made the world feel lived-in, like someone left the light on for you.

This book is for anyone who’s ever been broken open and needed help stitching themselves back together. It’s for people who are lonely but not hopeless. For readers who don’t mind stories that move like real life—with detours, overlaps, long silences, and sudden beauty.

Pages: 395 | ASIN : B0FG3L2V5Q