What Happens At The End Of 'The Things We Cannot Say'?

I've scoured every source I could find about 'The Things We Cannot Say' by Kelly Rimmer, and there's no official sequel as of now. The novel wraps up its dual-timeline narrative beautifully, tying together Alina's WWII struggles in Poland with Alice's modern-day journey to uncover family secrets. While some readers desperately want more of these characters, the story feels complete—no dangling threads demanding resolution. Rimmer hasn't hinted at continuing this particular story, though she's written other powerful historical fiction like 'The Warsaw Orphan,' which explores similar themes of wartime resilience. If you loved the emotional depth of 'The Things We Cannot Say,' you might enjoy Kristin Hannah's 'The Nightingale' next—it delivers that same gut-punch blend of love and war.

The heart of 'The Things We Cannot Say' belongs to Alina Dziak, a Polish teenager during WWII whose life gets torn apart by the Nazi invasion. She's not your typical war heroine—she's fiercely loyal but naive, brave but terrified, and her journey from a sheltered farm girl to a resistance courier is brutal yet inspiring. What makes Alina unforgettable is her voice—raw letters to her lost love Tomasz reveal her desperation, hope, and gradual hardening. Parallel to her story is modern-day Alice, Alina's granddaughter, who unravels her grandmother's secrets while grappling with her autistic son's needs. Alice's chapters hit differently—she's a mom drowning in guilt, unaware that her struggles mirror Alina's wartime sacrifices. The dual timelines show how courage isn't just about bombs and borders; sometimes it's in raising a special needs child or decoding a dying woman's cryptic past.

I recently finished reading 'The Things We Cannot Say' and was completely absorbed by its emotional depth. While the novel isn't a direct retelling of true events, it's heavily inspired by real historical circumstances during World War II. The author, Kelly Rimmer, did extensive research on Polish resistance fighters and the atrocities faced by civilians during Nazi occupation. The story follows a fictional family, but their experiences mirror those of countless real people who endured similar hardships. The dual timeline structure makes the historical elements feel even more authentic. The past narrative involving Alina and her struggle to survive in war-torn Poland captures the desperation and courage of ordinary citizens caught in the conflict. Many scenes, like the Warsaw Ghetto uprising and the underground resistance networks, are based on documented historical events. The modern timeline with Alice discovering her grandmother's past adds another layer of realism, showing how wartime trauma echoes through generations. What makes this book special is how it blends fact with fiction. While specific characters are invented, their situations reflect genuine historical realities. The author's note explains how interviews with Holocaust survivors and research into Polish history shaped the narrative. You can feel the weight of real suffering behind every page, even if the central story itself is a work of imagination. It's this careful balance between historical accuracy and creative storytelling that gives the novel such emotional power.

I just finished 'The Things We Cannot Say' and it hit me hard how it shows WWII from a civilian perspective. The dual timeline between modern day and 1940s Poland makes the war feel personal, not just dates in a textbook. The historical parts follow Alina, a Polish girl whose quiet farm life gets shattered when Nazis invade. What's brilliant is how small details build the horror—ration cards, neighbors disappearing overnight, that constant fear in her stomach. The resistance efforts aren't glamorized either; they're messy, desperate acts like smuggling food in coffin bottoms. The modern thread with Alice discovering her grandma's past adds layers—it shows how war trauma echoes through generations in ways we don't always see.

The appeal of 'The Things We Cannot Say' lies in its raw emotional honesty. Readers connect with its portrayal of love and sacrifice during wartime, something that feels both historical and painfully relevant today. The dual timeline structure keeps you hooked, flipping between WWII Poland and modern-day Florida with perfect pacing. Kelly Rimmer nails the gut-wrenching choices families make when survival is on the line. What sticks with me most is how the past bleeds into the present—those unsaid words between generations that shape entire lives. The book doesn’t just tell a war story; it shows how silence can echo louder than bombs. For anyone who’s ever wondered about their family’s hidden history, this novel hits like a revelation. If you’re into emotional historical fiction, also check out 'The Nightingale'—it’s another masterpiece that balances heartbreak and hope.

The protagonist in 'Only Say Good Things' is a deeply flawed but fascinating character named Julian Carter. He's a former investigative journalist who lost his career after a scandal, forcing him into obscurity. Julian is haunted by his past mistakes but finds redemption when he stumbles upon a conspiracy involving a powerful tech company. What makes Julian compelling is his duality—he’s cynical yet idealistic, broken but determined. His sharp wit and observational skills make him an underdog worth rooting for, especially as he uncovers truths that could change lives. The novel explores his internal struggles just as much as the external plot, making him a layered protagonist who grows significantly by the story’s end.

The protagonist in 'Things I Wanted to Say' is a deeply flawed but relatable guy named Ethan Cross. He's a struggling writer stuck in a dead-end job, haunted by past regrets and unspoken words that weigh him down. What makes Ethan interesting is how he bottles up everything—his failed relationships, his strained family ties, his creative block—until it all explodes in messy, human ways. The novel follows his journey as he finally confronts the things he's too scared to say aloud, especially to his estranged father and the ex he never got over. Ethan isn't your typical hero; he's selfish sometimes, cowardly others, but that's what makes him feel real. His growth comes in small, painful steps, like learning to apologize or admitting he needs help. The book's power lies in how raw and unfiltered his inner monologue is, full of self-loathing but also dark humor.

The ending of 'Things I Wanted to Say' hits hard with emotional closure. The protagonist finally confronts their estranged father in a raw, unscripted moment at his deathbed. All those bottled-up words—anger, regret, love—come flooding out in a messy but cathartic monologue. The father responds with a single handwritten letter, revealing he'd been keeping a journal of his own unspoken apologies. The last scene shows the protagonist burning the letter in a bonfire, symbolizing letting go while preserving the ashes in a locket. It's bittersweet but satisfying, like finally exhaling after holding your breath for years. The author nails the complexity of parent-child relationships where forgiveness isn't neat but necessary.