What Happens At The End Of 'More Happy Than Not'?

The ending of 'More Happy Than Not' hits like a gut punch. Aaron Soto, after struggling with his identity and memories throughout the novel, makes a heartbreaking decision. He undergoes the Leteo procedure to erase his memories of Thomas, the boy he fell in love with, because the pain of rejection and societal pressure becomes unbearable. The procedure works, but it leaves him hollow. In the final scenes, Aaron is back with his girlfriend Genevieve, living a life that feels 'normal' but is achingly empty. He doesn’t remember Thomas or the depth of his feelings, but fragments of his past linger, haunting him. The tragedy isn’t just the erased love—it’s that Aaron chooses conformity over self-acceptance, and the cost is his authenticity. The book leaves you wondering: was the procedure a mercy or a surrender?

The finale of 'More Happy Than Not' is a masterclass in emotional devastation. Aaron’s journey culminates in a decision that’s both shocking and inevitable. After facing homophobia, grief over his father’s suicide, and the crushing weight of poverty in the Bronx, he opts for the Leteo Institute’s memory-altering procedure. He wipes Thomas—the boy who made him feel seen—from his mind entirely. The twist? The procedure doesn’t just erase Thomas; it resets Aaron to a version of himself that’s palatable to others but unrecognizable to the reader.

The epilogue is brutal in its simplicity. Aaron is functionally 'happy' with Genevieve, but the prose drips with irony. He plays video games, cracks jokes, and lives a life devoid of the trauma that shaped him. Yet, there’s a chilling moment when he finds a note from his past self, and the disconnect between who he was and who he’s become is staggering. The novel doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it forces you to sit with the cost of escaping pain—the loss of self. It’s a commentary on how society pressures marginalized people to carve out parts of themselves to fit in, and whether that’s truly survival or another kind of death.

For fans of raw, unfiltered storytelling, this ending lingers like a scar. If you want more explorations of identity and memory, check out 'The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue' or 'We Are Okay'—both dive into similar themes with equally poignant prose.

The conclusion of 'More Happy Than Not' is a quiet tragedy dressed as a fresh start. Aaron, desperate to escape the pain of his father’s suicide and his unrequited love for Thomas, chooses the Leteo procedure. The sci-fi element—memory erasure—becomes a metaphor for how society forces queer kids to amputate parts of themselves to survive. Post-procedure, Aaron is technically 'fine.' He’s back with Genevieve, laughing, living, but the narrative subtly reveals the cracks. He doesn’t flinch at things that once hurt him, not because he’s healed, but because he’s forgotten why they mattered.

What makes the ending so powerful is its ambiguity. Is Aaron’s new life a victory or a defeat? The book refuses to say. Instead, it shows him finding a note from his past self—'Don’t forget me'—and feeling nothing. That moment captures the horror of the procedure: it doesn’t just remove pain; it removes the person who endured it. The ending resonates with anyone who’s ever pretended to be someone else for safety or acceptance. For a different take on memory and identity, try 'The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue'—it tackles similar themes with swashbuckling flair.