Netflix’s His and Hers ends exactly how the show began. Loud. Sharp. Uncomfortable. It keeps pushing you to trust the wrong person until the very last moment.
By the middle of the finale, most viewers were sure they had it figured out. Lexy Jones felt like the obvious killer. Everything pointed at her. Her past was painful. She was bullied. She came back angry. The victims were tied to old cruelty. Even her behaviour felt suspicious. It all looked too perfect. Too clean. Like the show was done playing games.
But that was the trick.
The story was never about the loud suspect. It was about the quiet one. The one no one was watching. The one who loved deeply and broke silently.
The town of Dahlonega feels peaceful on the surface. Small. Calm. Safe. The kind of place where people think nothing bad can happen. The finale leans into that feeling. It makes you believe the case is solved early. It lets you relax. Lexy looks like someone shaped by anger and pain. Someone who would snap. Someone believable as a killer.
Evidence seems to line up. Things are found at her lake house. Footprints appear in the woods. Her past actions already showed she could be cruel when pushed. So when Anna becomes the next target, viewers stop questioning it. Online, people even called it poetic justice. Revenge that made sense.
Then the letter appears.
One year after Lexy’s death, Anna reads a letter written by her mother, Alice. In that moment, everything collapses. The real killer was never Lexy. It was Alice. Quiet. Older. Grieving. A woman everyone assumed was fragile or confused.
Alice killed Rachel, Helen, and Zoe. And she also killed the theory everyone believed. She destroyed the idea that killers must look angry or unstable. She proved that danger can look soft and familiar.
She chose locations that felt symbolic. The woods. The lake. Places tied to Anna’s past. Places that could point suspicion elsewhere. The twist hurts because the show made you trust Alice slowly. Like a family member. Like someone incapable of violence. It does not feel clever. It feels personal.
Alice learned the truth by watching Anna’s old home videos. Tapes filled with teenage memories. Laughing. Chaos. Friendship. But also the truth. On the night of Anna’s sixteenth birthday, she was assaulted. Rachel, Helen, and Zoe did not stop it. They planned it. They watched. They stayed silent.
Alice saw everything.
She chose a justice the law never offered. Revenge became louder than reason. She framed Lexy because Lexy fit the role perfectly. A bullied girl. A woman who changed her name. Her body. Her life. Alice planted evidence carefully. She made suspicion feel natural. Almost unavoidable.
Alice stayed invisible because the world helped her. People saw her as old. As weak. As harmless. She walked naked in public to seem confused. She acted forgetful. Police even mistook her bare footprints for boot marks. Bias did the rest. Age. Gender. Grief. All became her shield.
The clues were always there. They were just hidden behind assumptions people never question.
The story ends one year later. Anna and Jack are together again. They adopt Meg, Zoe’s daughter. They build a peaceful life. Anna is pregnant. She is back on TV. Back in control.
But the full truth stays buried.
Anna never tells Jack that her mother killed his sister. Jack never asks. Maybe he already knows it would destroy what they rebuilt. Maybe love did not win. Maybe love just chose silence.
They visit baby Charlotte’s grave together. No blame. Just shared grief. Trauma still exists. It is not gone. It is just quiet now. Covered. Dressed nicely.
The final moment is not explained. Just a look between Anna and Alice. No words. No closure. Just understanding
