Bristol Vaudrin’s Afterward is a raw and gut-wrenching novel that pulls readers into a world of emotional turmoil, relationships strained by tragedy, and the quiet, lingering pain of grief and identity. The story follows Lauren Delgado as she grapples with the aftermath of a traumatic event involving her boyfriend, Kyle. From the harrowing moment she finds him unconscious in their apartment to the disorienting world of hospital hallways and waiting rooms, Lauren is thrust into a reality where nothing feels real, and yet every detail is unshakably vivid. As Kyle recovers physically, Lauren is left to navigate an emotional maze, one that forces her to question love, responsibility, and her own sense of belonging.

Vaudrin’s writing is strikingly intimate. There’s a weight to every sentence, an undercurrent of unspoken pain that makes the novel feel deeply personal. One of the most powerful moments comes early on when Lauren watches the EMTs take Kyle away, her mind latching onto a loose thread on her jacket button because what else can she do when her whole world is unraveling? These small but poignant details make Afterward feel like a lived experience rather than a work of fiction. The prose is beautifully restrained; Vaudrin doesn’t drown the reader in overwrought emotion but lets it seep in slowly, in glances, in hesitations, in the quiet spaces between words.

The novel also captures the complexities of human relationships with an almost brutal honesty. Lauren’s interactions with Kyle’s mother, Helene, are layered with tension, passive-aggressive remarks, and the unspoken battle for who understands Kyle best. Helene’s arrival at the hospital is a whirlwind of frantic energy, an intrusion that feels both necessary and unbearable. And yet, there’s a subtle shift as the story progresses, a recognition that grief and worry manifest differently for everyone, even when love is at the core. Similarly, Lauren’s phone calls with her own mother, who is vacationing in Italy, blissfully unaware at first, are heartbreaking in their contrast. The distance between them is more than just physical, and yet when Lauren finally reaches out, there’s an unshakable comfort in her mother’s voice. Vaudrin masterfully depicts how relationships bend under stress, how people fail each other even when they mean well, and how love sometimes looks like showing up even when you don’t know what to say.

Another standout aspect of Afterward is the way it handles trauma, not as a singular event but as an ever-present shadow that refuses to be ignored. The hospital scenes are deeply affecting, especially the moment Lauren realizes Kyle is being transferred to a unit where she can’t visit him. The quiet bureaucratic efficiency of it all, signatures, nods, and the clinical separation of a patient from a loved one feels almost cruel in its normalcy. The novel doesn’t offer easy solutions or grand epiphanies. Instead, it lingers in the uncomfortable, in the questions without answers, in the moments where moving forward feels both necessary and impossible.

Afterward is not a book for those looking for tidy resolutions. It’s messy, painful, and deeply human. But for anyone who has ever loved someone through their darkest moments, who has ever felt like they were holding their breath waiting for the next disaster, this book will resonate. It’s a novel about the aftermath of trauma, but more importantly, it’s about the quiet resilience of the people left to pick up the pieces. I’d recommend it to readers who appreciate emotionally charged, character-driven stories, especially those who aren’t afraid to sit with discomfort and see where it leads.

Pages: 207 | ASIN : B0CW9167GB