Finished Another Book and Now I’m Just Here, Staring Into the Void

Oh, the agony of finishing a book or series and feeling like you’ve just been evicted from a world you didn’t realize you’d started calling home. You know that post-book slump I’m talking about, right? That moment when you close the last page and stare at the ceiling like a heartbroken Victorian heroine, wondering how the world expects you to go on. Honestly, it feels like betrayal—by the author, by the characters, and by the universe for daring to continue spinning when your world has clearly ended.

Take the Magnolia Parks series, for example. When I tell you this series had me clutching my metaphorical pearls and screaming into my actual pillow, I’m not exaggerating. Magnolia and BJ? Toxic. Chaotic. Utterly maddening. And yet, I would’ve followed them into the depths of their dysfunction forever. The drama, the fashion, the pettiness—it’s like Gossip Girl on steroids but with a soul-crushing emotional core that leaves you gasping for air. Finishing that series felt like saying goodbye to your most problematic friends who you secretly adore because their messiness makes life interesting. I’m still not over it. Who gave Jessa Hastings the right to create characters who feel more real than some people I’ve actually met?

And don’t even get me started on Elsie Silver’s books. If you haven’t read them, let me set the scene: small-town romance, swoony cowboys, and women who are equal parts vulnerable and badass. Her Chestnut Springs series had me emotionally wrecked in the best way. I’d finish one book and immediately dive into the next, only to realize I was racing toward the end of something I wasn’t ready to let go of. The banter! The tension! The way the characters felt like they could step off the page and invite you to their ranch for a barbecue! By the time I finished, I was genuinely considering packing up my London life and moving to Canada in search of my own brooding cowboy.

And then there’s I’ve Found Her. This series. THIS SERIES. It’s the kind of emotional rollercoaster that makes you question why you willingly put yourself through the wringer, only to remember it’s because the payoff is so damn good. The slow burns? Torturous. The emotional breakthroughs? Gut-wrenching. The love stories? So beautiful they make you want to scream into the void. When I finished the last book, I felt like I’d lost a group of friends I didn’t even know I needed. And let’s be honest: I’m still mentally revisiting those characters and imagining what they’re up to, as if they’re real people who might pop up on my Instagram feed one day.

Devney Perry’s books are another prime example of why I have trust issues. Whether it’s her Runaway series or the Eden series, she has this magical way of creating small-town settings that feel so vivid you’d swear you could book a plane ticket there. The family dynamics, the swoon-worthy romances, the little mysteries woven into the plot—it’s like comfort food for the soul, but with enough emotional depth to keep you hooked. By the time I’d finished her books, I was genuinely mourning the fact that I couldn’t move to a tiny Montana town and bump into one of her broody, protective heroes at the local diner.

And how could I not mention Brooke Montgomery? Her stories hit that perfect balance of steamy, emotional, and downright addictive. The Sugarland Creek series, in particular, had me laughing, crying, and fanning myself—sometimes all at once. Her characters feel so authentic, like people you’d want to grab a drink with and spill all your secrets to. The way she writes about love—messy, complicated, but ultimately redemptive—makes you believe in happily-ever-afters, even if you’re currently single and eating ice cream straight from the tub.

The thing is, becoming emotionally attached to fictional characters is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it’s proof of an author’s talent—their ability to create people and worlds so vivid that they feel like an extension of your own life. On the other hand, it’s also the reason you find yourself ugly-crying at 3 a.m., clutching a book to your chest, and wondering how you’re supposed to move on. It’s like a breakup, but worse, because you can’t text the characters to check in and make sure they’re okay.

But here’s the silver lining: the emotional devastation is always worth it. Every tear, every laugh, every moment of second-hand embarrassment is a reminder of how incredible it is to connect with a story so deeply. And the best part? There’s always another book, another series, another set of characters waiting to ruin your life in the best way possible. So, to Magnolia and BJ, to Elsie’s cowboys, to the unforgettable cast of I’ve Found Her, to Devney’s small towns, and to Brooke’s heart-warming romances: thank you for the chaos, the heartbreak, and the joy. I’ll never truly move on—but maybe that’s the point.