What GPGS does so brilliantly here is stretch the tension across multiple fronts without losing sight of its characters’ inner lives. Catherine and Birdie, tasked with moving Keith’s body, end up in a bizarre road trip moment that turns revealing when Birdie makes a detour to help out her son, Ford, leading her to confess to Catherine that Ford is her son. The reveal, nestled amid a grave crime, lands with surprising tenderness. Birdie’s maternal instincts kick in, not just in protecting her son, but in finally acknowledging their bond, and Catherine’s response, quietly affirming and without judgment, is one of the episode’s most human moments.

Meanwhile, Alice and Brett are deep in a different kind of crisis, one that blends moral collapse with emotional awakening. Their chemistry, previously buried beneath marital guilt and social pretenses, finally combusts into a stolen kiss when a police officer nearly catches them at the garden center. The kiss isn’t just a cover. It is charged, real, and confirms what we’ve all known: Alice is in love with Brett. But this isn’t a love story, it’s a guilt story, and Alice is drowning in it. Her scene with Patty, where she tries to delete the incriminating texts while enduring a long, meandering monologue about marriage, is masterclass television. Patty, blissfully unaware, waxes poetic about how much she loves Keith while Alice, barely holding it together, fights back tears and shame. It’s tragic. It’s twisted. It’s exactly why this show works.

Brett’s own emotional tether snaps when Melissa and the kids arrive at his house. He hugs them too tightly, wears the same suit from the gala, and can barely form a sentence when Melissa asks if he still wants to try to rekindle things again. He can’t tell her what happened, so he tells her nothing. And she walks away, heartbroken. The episode is full of these moments—missed chances, lies left hanging, truths too sharp to say aloud.

Then there’s Joel. Poor, bitter, wronged Joel. Birdie’s plan to confess to him as a form of damage control takes a turn when she drops the “I’m pregnant with your kid” bomb. The confession leads to a very ethically murky cleanup operation and, naturally, a kiss. Because of course you make out with the homicide detective helping you cover up a murder you just confessed to. Honestly, Birdie might be the show’s MVP: chaotic, unapologetic, and wildly compelling.

And if you thought that was the extent of the fallout, oh no. There’s also Marilyn spotting the infamous quilt sticking out of Keith’s car, the private investigator snapping photos of the burial (then gleefully plotting to blackmail the group to pay for his daughter’s tuition), and, most chilling of all, Joel texting Patty from Keith’s phone, pretending he’s still alive. Every lie requires another lie. Every secret adds another layer of risk. And someone, somewhere, is always watching.

One of the final scenes, a beautifully haunting moment with Catherine tucking in her daughter, mirrors the episode’s opening. Her daughter is scared of monsters. Catherine reassures her, but the weight of her words hangs heavy: “Just because you do a bad thing, doesn’t make you a bad person.” She’s not just speaking to her daughter. She’s speaking to herself. To Alice. To Brett. To all of them. They’ve done a bad thing. And maybe they’re still good people. But the line is blurring fast.

“The Fallow Period” is perfection in tone, equal parts suspense, confession, and quiet devastation. It’s a reminder that even the best intentions rot when buried. Every character is circling a reckoning, and with just one episode left, we’re not wondering if the garden will burn, we’re just waiting to see who sets the match.