Laura Murphy was on her dream European honeymoon: wandering the busy streets of London, dining on the French Riviera, and watching the Tuscan sunset. But this trip wasn’t the blissful start of a marriage it was supposed to be—it was a solo honeymoon. 

Laura’s fiancé, Devon, had died in her arms one month before their wedding. Heartbroken and consumed with grief, Laura decided to face her pain, setting out alone on the trip they had planned together. 

Along the way, she turned to TikTok—sharing her grief and her travels, her memories of Devon and their unique love story. Her posts went viral, garnering millions of views, and an outpouring of support. As she travelled across Europe, she built a community that shared in her grief, and gave her hope as she chose life in the face of unimaginable pain. 

Now, Laura dives even deeper into her story—chronicling not only the six weeks she spent on her solo honeymoon, but the three years she spent with Devon, and why their relationship was so special.

Currently a New York Times Summer Reading pick, The Solo Honeymoon: A Brief Beautiful True Love Story has also received praise from beloved Canadian authors like Sophie Grégoire Trudeau and Shelley Saywell. 

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from this romantic, life-affirming memoir, on sale July 14.

I had wanted to go to Castellina in Chianti, Italy, for years. My fiancé Devon’s father vacationed there every fall, and Devon had shared with me his family photographs of narrow cobble-stoned streets, close- packed medieval buildings, and long gorgeous views over rolling Tuscan hills. I had watched Devon grow up in those photographs, from a teenager in ill- fitting shorts to the kind, handsome, fun-loving man I had fallen in love with. I had seen his happiness blossom over time; a happiness the two of us were eager to share for the rest of our lives. So the village was an obvious destination when we sat down together to choose locations in Europe for our honeymoon. 

Still, I was surprised by Castellina. I had come from London, a modern and boisterous city, and the village was a contrast: ancient, peaceful, and more intimate than any social media post or photograph could capture. From every angle there was a gorgeous view: an alley twisting between two yellow stucco buildings; a glimpse of formal gardens across a courtyard; an ancient tower above terra-cotta roofs. The palazzo where Devon’s father rented an apartment was near the top of the hill, with the vineyards of Tuscany spreading out to the horizon below it; vineyards I had seen in the background of so many photos of the man I loved. You know love at the moment you experience it. It’s an electricity that thrills you, a peace that cools and calms. I fell in love with Devon a few weeks into our friendship, as we sat on a cliff watching the sun rise over the ocean. I fell in love with Castellina as I watched an older couple walking arm in arm, helping each other along its uneven streets.

The sunset, though, is what you come to a place like Castellina for. Already on my honeymoon I had spent a day on the French Riviera. I climbed a mountain in Ireland. I went backstage at a West End musical. I ate dinner while hovering twenty feet above the Mediterranean Sea. All those experiences should have been magical. They should have been luminous, like my mad dash to the ideal spot to watch the sun drift down below the Tuscan hills. Instead, each of those moments was shot through with sadness because Devon wasn’t there. My fiancé, the love of my life, the best person I have ever known, died in my arms one month before our wedding, and I was on our honeymoon alone. 

I never thought I’d write this book. A year ago, I was a twenty-seven-year-old associate lawyer at a small firm in my small hometown a thousand miles from anywhere. I had two dogs, a three-bedroom house, and a fiancé I was madly in love with, and who was madly in love with me. I was happy. I know that sounds simplistic, but that was my story: I was happy, and nobody gets asked to write about being happy. My life might not have been perfect—whose is?— but I was perfectly content. 

Then Devon died, and my life shattered into a billion pieces, like the exploding of a sun. 

Everything I’ve done since that moment has been about that moment, this sometimes frantic, sometimes crawling attempt to pull myself together. Clinging to memories of Devon, terrified I’ll begin to forget. Pushing away the pain because I’m drowning in it. I took a leave of absence from my job. I took a leave of absence from my life. I spent three months in a sadness so black I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t get out of bed, because there was nothing that interested me, no place I wanted to go, no future without the future I had envisioned with Devon, and the children we were supposed to have, and the sixty years we should have lived together. 

I’m not going to dwell in that dark place, even though, even now, I still go there. This is not a book about my depression. It’s about loss . . . and love. Friends . . . and travel. It’s about just getting up and doing when the last thing you want to do is get out of bed. It’s about Devon, my beloved Dev, who was so much more than this tragic thing that happened to him. I want the world—I want you—to understand that. I want you to know that he was funny, that he was kind, that Devon O’Grady loved everyone, even those who didn’t love him back. I want you to know that he was flawed, he made mistakes. But he was never malicious. 

He was barely competent in the kitchen. But he never told me lies.

He thought it was funny to hug me long and hard when he was sweaty from a run. But he never said an unkind word to me. 

He poured water into the blender and drank the last gray clumps of every smoothie. But oh my god, he was sexy when he took me in his arms and kissed me. 

He broke me when he died. He broke me. But alive, he made me whole. 

He was my ultimate hype-man. He believed in me. 

He would have been your hype-man, too. No matter who you are, Devon would have believed in you.

I’ve shared pieces of our story already, in TikToks that went viral. Millions of people followed me as I flew out alone on the honeymoon Devon and I had planned. I wanted to see, as I said in my first post, if life was still worth living. Millions of people watched me search for the answer. Millions of people told me, We’re with you, Laura, we believe in you, there is so much more for you to do, for you to give. I didn’t know what to do with this generosity of spirit, this unexpected connection. For months, I had felt alone. Now I was overwhelmed by how enormous and kind the world could be. How do I answer a million voices when I am only one?

And then I thought of this: I can get off social media and dig down deep into what my love for Devon meant. I can show you how connection changes your life, how your pain is a reflection of your joy.

I’m not writing The Year of Magical Thinking, though this book, in part, is for those who are grieving. However hopeless you’re feeling right now, however meaningless your life may seem, I’ve been there, too. You are not alone. You are not lost. You cannot die of heartbreak. I’ve written this book to prove this simple message: You can and will go on.

I am also not writing Eat Pray Love, although a life- affirming overseas journey is here as well. I hope you find magic and beauty in these pages. 

I’m trying, I’m really trying, to write a book about love. This book is organized around the six weeks I spent on my honeymoon alone, but it’s also about the three years I spent with Devon. That time has ended now, but it’s not gone. It’s in my heart. It’s in my mind. It changes every time I come back to the page, it grows with every word you read.

So many times I felt alone in grief. I felt so very, very alone. But the truth is, I was never alone. I had my family. I had my friends. I had the four million people on TikTok who cheered for me. I had the hundreds of young women who reached out to me from circumstances like my own. I have the tens of millions—the hundreds of millions—who have gone before and led the way, who have suffered catastrophic loss and relearned the art of vibrant living. 

Even when I was sprinting toward the sunset in Castellina, I was not alone. Devon’s sister, Kathleen, was beside me, running step for step. Loss, despair, the hope that begins to grow from the depths of pain: This is the human condition. The eternal story and struggle. It’s not just me. It’s not just everyone who loved Devon. It’s all of us. 

I’m nobody special. To the rest of the world, Devon was nobody special. But he was special to me. All I can tell you is this: You want to love someone the way that I loved Devon. You want to be loved the way Devon loved me. 

In the end, that’s why I’m writing this book. Because we’re all running to catch that perfect sunset, to capture the brilliant flare of love before it drops into the sea.

Copyright © 2026 by Laura Murphy