Amid the overwhelming wave of true-crime series, very few manage to remain faithful to the facts, contextualize them, and avoid easy moral judgments the way Murdaugh: Death In The Family does. With so many lives devastated — some lost brutally, others corroded from within — it would have been simple to portray the Murdaughs as one-note villains. Yet the series never disrespects the victims, even when one of them, like Paul Murdaugh, was also an aggressor. Empathy for those who died prevails, as does the respect for those who survived and continue to suffer, especially Buster.

This is why reaching the final episode means acknowledging that the narrative stays anchored in official facts and only in its flashbacks — particularly the last one — does the series show, without hesitation, what truly happened. Everything is so deeply amoral that even granting a hint of tragic dignity to Alex Murdaugh’s collapse doesn’t answer the central question: how did he murder his wife and son and still believe he could frame others and walk away unscathed? When the downfall comes, it is swift and stark. And the real man is far less interesting than the elaborate structure of lies he built over decades.

The episode begins by reminding us that Alex never concealed his moral corruption. In a 2019 flashback, he offers questionable advice to his son Buster, then a first-year law student: the only truth that matters is “the one you can get others to believe.” A mantra inherited from a lifetime of privilege — a belief that he could do “anything.”

Back in the present, after months in rehab, Alex barely steps outside before he is arrested — not for the murders, but for stealing Gloria’s death-settlement funds. The uncomfortable feeling is immediate: for that crime, he would be caught, but for the murders, he might have gotten away with it. At least for a while.

As witnesses and victims recount Alex’s compulsive lying, evidence emerges that dismantles his version of the night Paul and Maggie died. When the video on Paul’s phone proves Alex was at the kennels, the castle finally collapses. The timestamps, GPS data, and car speed tell a near-mathematical story of guilt. The defense insists on family love, but facts are facts.

Still, Alex’s arrogance prevails. He believes that if he speaks, he can change everything. He trusts his own manipulative mantra, thinking he can reverse the irreversible, even after losing all connection with reality.

In the end, although the series mentions the suspicion surrounding Buster’s alleged involvement in Stephen Smith’s 2015 death, it chooses not to delve into a crime still under investigation. Instead, it positions Buster as another victim of the Murdaugh system: he mourns his mother and brother and must now live with a father serving life for killing them.

How do you look at a father after that? Buster tries to hold onto the happy memories — fishing trips, family celebrations, the warmth he once believed was real. But the contradictions pile up, and denial becomes impossible. By the end of the trial, devastated, he knows he has lost everything. Only after the guilty verdict do we finally see the full reconstruction of Paul and Maggie’s murders, based entirely on the investigation’s findings.

Alex had planned everything: he grabbed the guns, took the golf cart, met Maggie and Paul, shot his son when he least expected it — crying as he did it (a cry that now feels performative). Seconds later, he executed a terrified Maggie. The logistics are chilling: he took her phone and discarded it, changed clothes, disposed of the weapons, and even stopped for ice cream with his mother before returning to “discover” the bodies. He did it all — and yet the series resists portraying him as a cinematic monster, though the facts are monstrous enough. Alex knew exactly what he was doing, step by step, tear by calculated tear.

Resigned, Buster tries to hold onto the idea of Alex as “his father,” while the real Alex, behind bars, shows no remorse — still giving advice about Buster’s future, still trying to control him, still asking for commissary money. In that moment, we see Buster finally let go. But the trauma remains — forever. The family home is dismantled in an estate sale; nothing there has value anymore.

And in prison, there is no redemption arc for Alex. He remains what he always was: a manipulator. He tries to con fellow inmates and repeats, laughing, that “it’s only cheating if you get caught.” Not even being caught forces introspection. A man who has never understood the meaning of consequences.