Netflix has adapted a lot of Harlan Coben novels. The Stranger, Safe, Stay Close, Fool Me Once—the list goes on. They're reliable entertainment: twisty plots, suburban secrets, shocking reveals. But Run Away, which premiered exactly one year ago this month, did something different. It made us feel.
Simon Feeney's search for his daughter Paige wasn't just a mystery to be solved. It was a portrait of parental desperation that felt almost unbearably real. When Simon saw that viral video of Paige—strung out, barely recognizable, singing for change on a street corner—his reaction wasn't plot-driven. It was primal. Every parent watching felt their stomach drop.
A year later, Run Away stands as Coben's most emotionally affecting work on screen.
What Made It Different
Previous Coben adaptations leaned into their pulpy pleasures. Twists upon twists, reveals that made you gasp even as you rolled your eyes at their improbability. Run Away had those too—but it grounded them in something real.
The addiction storyline was handled with devastating accuracy. Paige wasn't just a missing person; she was a daughter lost to substances, manipulation, and the crushing weight of secrets she'd discovered about her own family. The show refused to simplify this into villainy or victimhood.
Ash, Paige's manipulative boyfriend, could have been a one-dimensional monster. Instead, the show gave us glimpses of how he operated—the way predators exploit vulnerability, offer belonging, create dependency. It was hard to watch because it was true.
And Simon's obsession, his willingness to destroy everything to find Paige, raised uncomfortable questions. At what point does parental love become its own kind of control?
That Ending, Revisited
The ending divided viewers when it aired. A year later, I think the divisiveness was the point.
Run Away didn't give us a triumphant rescue. It gave us the messy reality of addiction recovery, of family reconciliation, of secrets that can never be fully undone. Paige was found—but "found" didn't mean "fixed." Simon got answers—but answers didn't mean peace.
Some viewers wanted catharsis. They wanted Paige home, safe, the family restored. Coben and the showrunners understood that real life doesn't work that way. Recovery is ongoing. Trust takes years to rebuild. Some wounds never fully heal.
The ending was honest. That's why it still resonates.
A Year Later
Run Away didn't break streaming records like some of Coben's flashier adaptations. It didn't spawn memes or viral moments. What it did was tell a story that stuck with people—the kind of show you think about months later when you see a news story about addiction, or missing persons, or family secrets.
If you haven't watched it since last January, it's worth revisiting. Knowing the twists doesn't diminish the emotional impact. If anything, watching Simon's journey when you already know where it leads makes it more affecting.
Run Away proved that Coben adaptations could be more than plot delivery systems. They could be stories about people we recognize, making impossible choices we hope we never face. It set a new bar for what these adaptations can achieve.
Here's hoping future Coben projects take note.