NATIONAL BESTSELLER • A dedicated journalist unearths a generations-old family secret—and a connection to a string of missing girls that hits way too close to home—in this “nail-biting debut” ( Booklist ). “A well-written, emotionally wrenching tale.”—Associated Press A PUBLISHERS WEEKLY BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR In the wake of her grandmother's passing, Sydney Singleton finds a hidden photograph of a little girl who looks more like Sydney than her own sister or mother. She soon discovers the mystery girl in the photograph is her aunt, Carol, who was one of six North Carolina Black girls to go missing in the 1960s. For the last several decades, not a soul has talked about Carol or what really happened to her. But now, with her grandmother gone and Sydney looking to start a family of her own, she is determined to unravel the truth behind her long-lost aunt’s disappearance, and the sinister silence that surrounds her. Unfortunately, this is familiar territory for Sydney: Years earlier, while she worked the crime beat as a journalist, her obsession with the case of another missing girl led to a psychotic break. And now, in the suffocating grip of fertility treatments and a marriage that's beginning to crumble, Sydney’s relentless pursuit for answers might just lead her down the same path of self-destruction. As she delves deeper into Carol's fate, her own troubled past reemerges, clawing its way to the surface with a vengeance. The web of secrets and lies entangling her family leaves Sydney questioning everything—her fixation on the missing girls, her future as a mom, and her trust in those she knows and loves. Delving into family, community, secrets, and motherhood, We Don’t Talk About Carol is a gripping and deeply emotional story about overcoming the rot at the roots of our family trees—and what we’ll do for those we love. “So much more than your typical missing person story, We Don’t Talk About Carol is a twisting mystery spanning six decades, as well as a stark reminder of the disproportionate treatment given to missing Black girls by the media. Kristen L. Berry has managed to weave such an elaborate web of thematic threads that when you take a step back to admire the full picture, it’s a pretty wondrous thing to behold. A fantastic debut.” —Stacy Willingham, New York Times bestselling author of Forget Me Not “[A] nail-biting debut thriller.” — Booklist “A well-written, emotionally wrenching tale.” — AP News “A riveting page-turner by a powerful new voice. I couldn’t put it down.” —Joshilyn Jackson, New York Times bestselling author of With My Little Eye “A moving portrait, a compelling family drama, and a riveting cold case . . . This novel swept me away.” —Katie Gutierrez, bestselling author of More Than You'll Ever Know “ We Don’t Talk About Carol is beautiful, evocative, and brilliant. Kristen L. Berry weaves a suspenseful tale while insightfully handling themes of generational trauma and grief with vulnerability and grace. I loved the parallels between Sydney trying to make sense of her family’s past while also building a foundation for her future. Packed with relatable characters and gasp-inducing reveals, this debut is perfect for fans of true-crime podcasts and captivating mysteries.” —Miranda Smith, author of Smile for the Cameras “Berry debuts with a striking and soulful crime novel. . . . She’s as interested in character as she is in plot, to the novel’s immense credit. . . . Readers will be wowed.” — Publishers Weekly , starred review Kristen L. Berry is a writer and communications executive. Born and raised in Metro Detroit, Berry graduated from the University of Michigan with a bachelor's degree in English language and literature. She has provided PR and communications expertise to leading consumer brands for nearly twenty years, all while writing in her spare time. When she isn’t reading or writing, Berry can be found lifting heavy at the gym, hiking in Malibu, eating her way through Los Angeles with her partner, or shouting at the latest Formula 1 race. We Don’t Talk About Carol is her debut novel. One Present Day “You sure you’re going to be able to pack up the house without killing each other?” my husband, Malik, asked, his warm, rich voice amplified by the rental car’s surround sound system. I snorted as I drove out of the hotel’s garage and into sunny, leafy downtown Raleigh. “I can’t make any promises.” “There’s really no one there who can help?” “You saw how it was at the funeral. Grammy didn’t have any family left, just church friends as old as she was.” “She had family,” Malik said. “She had you guys.” I shook my head and felt my springy shoulder-­length curls exaggerate the movement. “Our relationship consisted of exchanging birthday cards and calls at Christmas. Not much of a family.” It had all happened so fast. Grammy had always been so spry and independent, it was easy to forget that she was ninety years old. And then last week we