“The last thing you said to me” – the thriller, which has sold over 2 million copies worldwide, is released in Bulgarian


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Winner of the Goodreads Choice Awards Thriller Book of the Year, New York Times Bestseller for 48 weeks, Amazon Book of the Month for May 2021.

These are just a few of the many accolades that Laura Dave’s sensational novel The Last You Said To Me has won over the past year, making it a must-read on every thriller lover’s shelf.

Ciela Publishing House

Now the novel, which will soon appear as a miniseries on Apple TV+ with the participation of Jennifer Garner, is also published in Bulgarian (IC “Siela”).

Telling the story of a woman who wants to discover the truth about her husband’s disappearance, “The Last You Said to Me” promises to draw readers into a whirlwind of dizzying plot twists and exciting family relationships.


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Hannah Hall never imagined she would be this happy. She is head over heels in love with her husband Owen, lives in a beautiful home in California, has lots of friends, the job of her dreams – and a 16-year-old stepdaughter, Bailey, whose approval she is determined to win.

One day, however, a mysterious note with two hastily scribbled words subtly turns Hannah’s life upside down. “Take care of her”. Two short words that seem to pull the rug of security from under her feet. Two words – or the last thing Owen says to her before he disappears.

As if in a nightmare come true, Hannah does everything in her power to keep her sanity. Things like this only happen in the movies though, right? But when her numerous calls go unanswered and the FBI and state sheriffs show up at their home and bombard her with unexpected questions, the young woman quickly learns that her husband is not who he claims to be.

Is Owen a criminal? Is that his real name? And will she ever see the man she thought was the love of her life again? Hanna has no answers to these questions, and the only thing she knows for sure is that she must protect Bailey at all costs.


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Convinced they can’t trust anyone, Hannah and Bailey embark on a headlong pursuit of the truth about Owen’s disappearance. And while putting together the confused and chaotic pieces of the puzzle of the past, the two unexpectedly realize that together they are also building their future – one that neither of them expected.

With an impeccable style, dizzying dynamics and a rich story devoted to family relationships, devotion, personal sacrifices and the risks parents take to protect their children, this mind-blowing novel in the spirit of “Little Fires Everywhere” launches Laura Dave right into the most the promising names of the modern thriller.

And the shocking and heartbreaking twist of the finale ensures that the first thing you do after reading The Last You Said to Me is to turn the book over and start over.

Ciela Publishing House

From The Last Thing You Said To Me by Laura Dave

By opening up to strangers…

This happens all the time in the series. There is a knock on the door. You open it and see the person waiting to tell you the news. The news that will change everything. In the series, the person is usually a police chaplain or a fireman, or perhaps an armed forces officer in uniform. But when I open the door—when I learn that everything about me is about to change—the messenger is not a policeman or a federal agent in starched pants. Instead, she’s a twelve-year-old girl with a soccer team. With protectors under the socks and everything.


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– Mrs. Michaels? – it says. I hesitate before answering – as I often do when someone asks me if I am that. I am and I am not. I haven’t changed my name. I had been Hannah Hall for thirty-eight years before I met Owen, and I saw no reason to be any other after that. But Owen and I have been married for just over a year. And during that time I learned not to correct people, either way. Because they actually want to know if I’m Owen’s wife.

The twelve-year-old girl certainly wants to know, which leads to the question of how I’m so sure she’s twelve, after most of my life I’ve divided people into two broad categories: children and adults. The change is due to the last year and a half and the fact that my husband’s daughter, Bailey, is the stunningly unfriendly age of sixteen. As well as the mistake I made when I met reserved Bailey: telling her she looked smaller. It was the worst I could do.

Maybe not. Perhaps the worst was my attempt to fix things by joking how I wish someone would say the same to me. Since then, Bailey can barely stand me – even though I know by now that I shouldn’t try to play any kind of prank on a sixteen-year-old girl. And I’d better try not to talk at all.

But back to my twelve-year-old friend, who is standing in the doorway, pacing from foot to foot, both wearing dirty boots.

“Mr. Michaels said to give you this,” she says.

Then he held out his hand, in which he held a folded sheet of notebook paper. It says HANNAH on the front in Owen’s handwriting.

I take the note and catch the girl’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” I say. – But I’m obviously missing something. Are you Bailey’s friend?

– Who is Bailey?

I didn’t expect a positive answer. Between the ages of twelve and sixteen there is a whole gulf. But I can’t get the big picture. Why didn’t Owen just call me on the phone? Why does he involve this girl? My first thought would be that something has happened to Bailey and Owen must be with her. But Bailey’s home, avoiding me as usual, and music (today: “Beautiful,” the album of songs from the Carole King musical) blares from upstairs to remind me that I’m not welcome in her room.


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– I’m sorry. I don’t understand something… where did you see it?

– In the corridor – she answers.

For a moment I decide he means our hallway, right behind me. But there is no logic in this. We live on a houseboat on the bay – a houseboat, as they’re usually called except here in Sausalito, where there’s a whole neighborhood of them. Four hundred pieces. Here they call them “floating homes” – with glass walls and views. The sidewalk in front of our house is paved, and the door leads directly into the living room.

– So you saw Mr. Michaels at school?

– Is that what I said?

She looks at me as if to add, “Where else?”.

– My friend Claire and I were going to training. And he asked us to pass that on. I said I can’t come before practice and he said – ok. And gave us your address.


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The girl holds up a second sheet in her hand, for proof.

– He also gave us twenty quintals – he adds afterwards.

He doesn’t pick up the money. Maybe she thinks I’m going to take them from her.

– His phone was broken or something, so he couldn’t contact you. I do not know. He hardly slowed down.

– So… you said his phone was broken?

– How else would I know? – she answers.

At that moment, her phone rings – or at least I think it is a phone until she unhooks it from her belt and I see that it looks more like a high-tech pager. Maybe pagers are back in fashion?

Carole King Musical Songs. High-tech pagers. This must be another reason Bailey can’t stand me. There’s a whole world of teenage stuff that I know absolutely nothing about.

The girl sets about dialing something on her device, leaving both Owen and the twenty dollar mission behind. I don’t want to let her go because I’m still not sure what’s going on. Maybe this is some idiotic joke. Maybe Owen thinks it’s funny. I don’t think it’s funny. At least for now.

“Bye,” she says.


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Then he walks away along the pier. I follow her with my eyes as she gets smaller and smaller. The sun is setting over the bay, and there are already a handful of stars in the sky to light her way.

At this point I look to the side. I’m kind of expecting Owen (my wonderful, stupid Owen) to pop out of nowhere, followed by all the other girls on the football team giggling, and finally tell me what the joke is, which I obviously don’t get. But it’s gone. There is no one.

So I’m closing our front door. And I look at the folded sheet of notebook in my hand. I haven’t opened it yet.

In the silence, I think about how much I don’t want to open it. I don’t want to know what the note says. A part of me yearns to stay in that last moment—the time when you can still think it’s all a trick, a mistake, a big nothing; the time before you are sure that something has started that you can no longer stop.

I open the page.

The note from Owen is short. One line, a puzzle in itself.

“Take care of her.”



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The article is in bulgaria

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