The ending of 'The Vanishing Triangle' left me with this eerie, lingering sense of unease—like the kind you get after watching a psychological thriller that refuses to tie up every loose end. The protagonist, who’s been digging into the disappearances of women in Ireland, finally uncovers a twisted network of corruption and cover-ups. But instead of a neat resolution, the book ends with this haunting ambiguity. She finds evidence pointing to powerful figures, but the system swallows it whole, leaving her (and the reader) staring into the void. It’s frustrating in the best way—because real-life mysteries often don’t get solved, and the book leans into that hard truth.
What really stuck with me was how the author mirrors real cases from Ireland’s history, like the unsolved disappearances that inspired the story. The protagonist’s exhaustion and defiance in the final pages made me want to scream—but also cheer. It’s not a 'happy' ending, but it’s one that lingers, gnawing at you long after you close the book. I found myself googling Irish cold cases for days afterward, which I guess means the story did its job.