I didn’t mean to start reading Colleen Hoover.
It was raining, the kind of slow, soaking rain that makes the whole street smell like damp cardboard, and there was nothing on TV except a quiz show repeat I’d already half-watched the week before.
It Ends With Us was sitting on the kitchen counter—probably left there by my sister when she came over for tea. I picked it up thinking I’d read a few pages before bed. Four hours later I was still in the same chair, toes going numb, coffee gone cold, phone buzzing with three missed messages I couldn’t be bothered to answer.
Her books don’t let you just “read.” They sort of catch you by the collar. You get the banter, the sweet lines, the moments you’d underline if you still did that kind of thing—and then, out of nowhere, you’re in the middle of something heavy that feels way too close to home.
She’s not shy about the stuff most people avoid in love stories. Domestic abuse. Grief. The way mental health can creep in and mess with everything. People making decisions that don’t make sense until you remember the times you’ve done the same. But there’s always this flicker at the end—hope, maybe, or just proof that even when it’s bad, it can get better.
After that first one, I didn’t even pause to breathe. Ugly Love next—like re-reading a diary you swore you’d burned. Then November 9, which made me oddly hopeful in a way I didn’t see coming. And Verity… I couldn’t sleep after that one. I ended up making toast at 2 a.m. because the house felt too quiet.
Her characters are never perfect. They’re messy, impulsive, sometimes infuriating. You recognise bits of them—your cousin who vanished after that bad breakup, the friend you can’t quite forgive, a younger version of yourself you don’t talk about. And you root for them anyway.
If you’ve never read her before, start here:
- It Ends With Us – The kind of story that rips you apart and then dares you to keep loving anyway.
- Ugly Love – Painful and tender in the same breath.
- November 9 – Two people, one day a year. It shouldn’t work. It does.
- Verity – A book that leaves you checking over your shoulder long after you’ve finished it.
She’s the reason I stopped making my own stories neat. Real love isn’t neat. It’s late-night arguments in the kitchen. It’s holding your tongue when you want to win. It’s staying put when every instinct says to walk out. She makes you remember all of that.