By Rachel Sikkema
Published October 5, 2026

The most unsettling thing about Verity is how easily Lowen can imagine being happy inside a life that has already made her afraid. The Crawford house offers comfort. Jeremy offers attention. Verity’s career offers the kind of success Lowen has struggled to reach. Put those things together and even a deeply troubled household starts to look like an opportunity.
That is the uncomfortable appeal of Michael Showalter’s adaptation of Colleen Hoover’s novel. Dakota Johnson’s Lowen Ashleigh has good reasons to feel uneasy around the Crawfords. She also has increasingly personal reasons to stay. Every discovery about Anne Hathaway’s Verity arrives while Lowen is growing attached to things that belong to her.
The question becomes how clearly anyone can judge a situation when their preferred outcome is already taking shape. Lowen has been invited to finish another woman’s books. Imagining herself elsewhere in that woman’s life becomes a dangerously small next step.
The Job Gives Her a Respectable Reason to Enter
Lowen’s assignment is intimate from the beginning. Continuing a successful author’s series requires access to her work and an understanding of how she thinks. Going through Verity’s papers has a legitimate professional purpose.
That makes the arrangement particularly slippery. Lowen can enter private territory while telling herself she is doing the job she was hired to do. Curiosity has a useful cover story.
There is also an imbalance between the two writers before they ever share a room. Verity has the commercial success. Lowen has the opportunity to keep that success going on someone else’s behalf. She is being trusted with valuable work while receiving a rather pointed reminder of whose name made it valuable.
I like the tension in that. A dream assignment can flatter you and make you feel small at the same time.
Lowen’s reservations about Verity’s writing add a little sting. It is perfectly possible to question someone’s talent while envying the life it has bought them. In fact, that can make the envy worse. Imagine believing you deserve the recognition and then being hired to maintain the career of the person who received it.
The house puts the rewards of that career right in front of her.
You Can Start Wanting the House Before You Trust Its Owners
The Crawford home makes success physical. Lowen gets to walk through it. The space and expensive surroundings give her something more immediate than a sales figure or a reputation to envy.
A beautiful home can be persuasive that way. You begin mentally arranging yourself inside it before asking enough questions about the people who live there. Where would you write? What would it feel like to wake up here? How much easier might your days become?
In Verity, those ordinary fantasies have an ugly context. This household has suffered, and its comforts exist alongside that suffering. Lowen can see both. The appeal survives anyway.
That feels more psychologically interesting than simple ignorance. People are quite capable of recognising danger while continuing to bargain with it. Perhaps the job will be worth the discomfort. Perhaps the atmosphere will improve. Perhaps being needed here means something.
Each explanation makes another day in the house easier to justify.
The disturbing part is how familiar that reasoning sounds. Most of us have wanted an opportunity badly enough to become generous about its drawbacks. Lowen takes that habit somewhere considerably darker.
Trying on the Clothes Makes the Fantasy Visible

Lowen wearing Verity’s clothes gives this whole idea a wonderfully uncomfortable physical form. Another woman’s wardrobe lets her test the appearance of a life before she has any claim to it.
Clothes carry the outline of their owner’s choices. Stepping into them invites comparison, especially when the owner is still in the house. How does Lowen look? How does she feel? What might Jeremy see?
There is an awkward intimacy to borrowing something under those circumstances. Permission can settle the practical question of whether a dress may be worn. The emotional question remains sitting there in the room.
Jeremy’s willingness to encourage that overlap makes it more troubling. Josh Hartnett’s character participates in the blurring of boundaries. Lowen receives signals that her presence is welcome even as the situation becomes more personal.
That matters because the fantasy has begun to acquire outside approval. She can stop feeling quite so alone in imagining it.
The wardrobe is a sharper image than another ominous doorway. A dress can make someone else’s place feel temporarily available. For a moment, Lowen gets to see whether it fits.
Jeremy Comes Attached to the Life She Wants
Jeremy’s appeal reaches beyond his appearance. He is also the person who welcomes Lowen into this world and makes her feel useful within it.
That is a potent combination for someone whose professional life has been uncertain. His attention offers reassurance alongside attraction. She has been chosen for something. Her presence matters.
Hartnett’s casting gives that temptation an obvious advantage. Still, the more revealing part is the context around the handsome man. Lowen encounters him through a marriage she is learning about in fragments. She has access to private material while developing desires that could influence how she understands it.
Sympathy becomes especially convenient here. Believing Jeremy deserves comfort can sit very comfortably beside wanting to be the person who provides it.
There is room for real concern in that feeling. There is also room for self-interest. Both can exist in the same gesture, which is where Lowen becomes worth discussing.
She can care about his unhappiness and be drawn to the opening it creates.
The Manuscript Gives Desire an Argument

The disturbing manuscript Lowen discovers changes more than her understanding of Verity. It potentially changes how she understands her own attraction to Verity’s husband.
If she accepts the worst account of this woman, wanting her life becomes easier to excuse. The moral obstacle begins to shrink. Lowen can imagine herself bringing something better into the household.
That is the insight that gives the premise its nastiest edge. Information can be horrifying and useful to the person reading it. Lowen has an emotional stake in what these pages appear to prove.
Her investment gives us a reason to watch her conclusions carefully. A writer should understand how powerfully a chosen perspective can shape a story. Yet professional familiarity with storytelling offers very little protection when a particular version of events serves your own hopes.
I find that more unnerving than the simple possibility of being deceived. Lowen may sincerely believe she is seeing clearly. Wanting something badly can make certainty feel remarkably natural.
Verity’s life remains attractive even as Lowen discovers reasons to recoil from it. Eventually, the ugliness can become part of the appeal, because it allows her to imagine how much better she would make everything.
Someone else’s home starts to feel like a place waiting for you. Their unhappiness begins to resemble your chance. By then, you may already be wearing the dress.

Rachel Sikkema is a New Zealand-based writer and creative entrepreneur who explores the intersection of film, culture, and modern relationships. Through her articles, she examines how stories shape the way we connect, love and see ourselves – all for God’s glory. When she’s not writing about film and television, she’s watching Dexter and The White Lotus for the third time.