Grief makes people do strange things. Sometimes tender things. Sometimes very questionable ones. This book sits right in that uncomfortable middle.

Poppy is still reeling from the death of her older sister, Dandelion. Dandelion was the bright one. Loud, fearless, magnetic. The kind of person who filled every room and left Poppy quietly orbiting beside her. Losing someone like that doesn’t just leave a gap in the family. It leaves a gap in identity.

Then Poppy finds a message on Dandelion’s dating app from a man named Jake. He seemed to really understand her sister. And in a moment that is equal parts grief, curiosity and poor judgement, Poppy replies as if she is Dandelion.

What begins as a one-off meeting quickly spirals into something more complicated. Jake feels a connection. Poppy feels seen in a way she hasn’t since Dandelion died. And the lie grows larger with every interaction.

This is where the novel becomes interesting but also frustrating.

The premise is genuinely compelling. Using impersonation as a way to explore grief, identity and the shadow siblings sometimes grow up in is a strong idea. Poppy stepping into Dandelion’s life forces her to confront the version of herself she’s always believed was smaller, quieter, less interesting.

But emotionally, the execution didn’t fully land for me. I struggled to stay sympathetic toward Poppy once the deception deepened. Grief explains the initial decision. It doesn’t always justify the sustained performance. Jake, meanwhile, veers into intensity very quickly, which made their connection feel slightly unsteady.

The novel is structured in three sections: The Lie, More Lies, and The Truth. It’s a smart framework that signals exactly where the story is heading. Unfortunately, the middle section drifts a little. The pacing softens and the tension that the premise promises doesn’t always escalate the way it could.

There were also moments where the language tipped into crass territory in a way that pulled me out of the emotional tone rather than adding to it.

That said, I can see this resonating with readers who enjoy messy, character-driven stories about grief and self-discovery. Poppy is flawed in ways that feel recognisably human. People make bad choices when they’re lost. This novel leans into that discomfort rather than smoothing it over.

For me, the idea behind the story was stronger than the execution. But I still found myself thinking about the central question it raises: when you’ve spent your life in someone else’s shadow, how do you figure out who you actually are once they’re gone?

And that’s not a small question for a debut to take on.