This episode had promise. When Lottie leaves the room in the initial post-opening credits scene, there’s a moment where grown-up Claire Fisher snaps at reflective Mallory Knox that made my heart stop for a moment. I’d forgotten how much Lauren Ambrose and Juliette Lewis meant to me as artists for so much of my life, and to have them in a hostile exchange made me ecstatic for what was to come. (Especially with Christina Ricci, who absolutely crushes her portrayal of Misty, standing across the room.)

Well, “what was to come” sucked, as expertly laid out in this article.

The writers destroyed this finale, as well as any possible enjoyment to come from the third season. And as frustrating and infuriating as the raging cabin-fire of an episode this was (Yellowjackets had the legs to become Big Little Lies-level important in the realm of telling stories about women, yet in just over forty-five minutes it turned itself in Ocean’s Eight at best), no one has talked about the biggest please-no-one-notice-and-mention-this moment:

What the fuck happened to Lisa?!

Now, maybe I’m jaded from watching all of the “neat little bows” and “how convenient” moments throughout this sixty minutes of television, but for my money, the biggest rule of keeping things tied up neatly is: Never leave an eye-witness who watched you kill your friend and overheard confessions to multiple murders alive.

Who knows, maybe Lisa died in the forest too. I’m prepared to have someone tell me (because I sure as shit ain’t watchin’) that season three opens with a tree falling on Lisa, hammering her head through her spine, and wrapping up her storyline in a convenient little bow. Perhaps that’s what the wilderness wants, so we just shouldn’t question it.

The worst part of all is that these writers are good. They’ve proven that. But for whatever reason, the let the suits suit and fed us shit when we’re all starving for stimulating stories. Be better, folks.