So here we are with part two of Feedback Week, and everyone is looking a little worse for wear. Gia is visibly crumbling, Bec has seemingly reached the outer limits of what apologies can achieve, and Sam's eyes have been opened to certain imbalances in his relationship with Chris.

Alissa, meanwhile, has been paired with Sweet Steve for the Partner Swap task and wastes no time offering her expert guidance. "Take the fucking lead, Stevo!" she howls. "Hurry up and jump Rach!"

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"Argh," he says, quietly downing his sparkling water.

For his part, Steve has nothing but good things to say about Alissa and David. "He's got your back. You're strong. You're a match." 

Yes Steve, thank you. We have noticed.

Back at the apartment, however, things get a little tense when Alissa learns David discussed the infamous texts during his meeting with Bec – despite her explicitly asking him not to. To be fair, though, the poor man had no choice. Bec launched into the topic before she'd even sat down. And the texts were about him too. Surely he's allowed a small say?

Apparently not.

David is kind, Alissa explains, and Bec knows how to manipulate kind people. Besides, she wanted to address the issue herself – girl to girl.

The truth, though, is much simpler: she keeps getting kicked, and it's starting to hurt. After weeks of holding it together with relentless positivity, she finally cracks. "I don't know what to believe anymore," she says, bursting into tears.

And sure, sometimes Alissa and David come across as a bit performative. But this feels much less like drama and more like a genuine buckle under some fairly inhumane conditions.

Meanwhile, Danny returns home to Bec with news that Gia was a no-show.

"I started shagging birds when I was fourteen," he announces with questionable pride. "I'm thirty-four now. I've never been stood up once. Had to happen eventually."

The debrief of Bec's meeting with David is no more enlightening.

 "I'm just apologising over and over and over and over and over," she groans, admitting she can't even remember what the texts say. "And I get it, I've done the wrong thing. But it's just never-ending. I'm tired of it."

No, honey. It's not the apologies that never end. It's the mistakes. Please try to grasp that.

Fortunately, Danny says it plainly. "Imagine how David feels. He'd be sooooo sick of it. The reality is, if you didn't send them messages in the first place, she wouldn't have no screenshots to send. Just don't do no dumb shit like that in the future."

He may sound like Joey Essex, but he's one hundred percent correct – and the absolute crux of what Bec needs to hear. Stop doing dumb shit, love. That's the whole lesson. Then you won't have to keep saying sorry. Okay?

But no, it's not okay. Like Tom Cruise as seen through the eyes of Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men, Bec can't handle the truth. Or the weight of her regrets. Or the possibility that Danny might not want to be with her. Sobbing behind closed doors, she focuses not on how to change her behaviour, but on the far more urgent problem of making Danny love her.

Oh, Bec. Come on, girl! I'm rooting for your growth, babe, but you're not making it easy!

Fresh from his chat with Filip, Sam dives into a chat with Chris about the comments he made on the couch about their future. "I felt like you made a decision without me," says Sam, hoping hard that this will be a constructive, mutually respectful chat. 

"Um, actually, no," says Chris, instantly shutting the conversation down. "That's not true." When he himself summarises the moment, though, it's hard to see it any other way.

Sam tries again. It's not about the exact wording – it's about how the comment made him feel. Could they talk about that? 

Nope. 

"I think it's ridiculous," says Chris in an aside. "If I was in Sam's position, I'd think that was so cute."

He's also appalled by the suggestion he lacks empathy, people call him an empath all the time. 

Right. And just to confirm – is that the same flavour of empath claimed by Juliette and Gia? It is? Huh. Interesting.

"I was just looking to be heard," says Sam, quietly. But Chris is fixated on defending the technical accuracy of what he said rather than acknowledging the feeling behind it – a manoeuvre we've seen plenty of this season. Never concede. Never reflect. Just double down and retreat.

Chris wakes up the next morning feeling no less defensive. "You said I have no empathy. And that hurt me. Because people say I'm an empath. I am empathetic. That's so hurtful." 

Yeah, totally. Given that empathy is literally defined as the ability to understand what others feel and imagine yourself in their place, you are really nailing it.

"You need more empathy about the moving situation?" he says with a stony expression. "Okaaay. Um. I feel like my comments were misconstrued. I'm happy to move on."

Again, beautiful demonstration.

Sam manages the impressive feat of acknowledging Chris's perspective while still standing his own emotional ground. Chris, meanwhile, tells producers he's sad, disappointed and confused – because his behaviour was objectively "cute" and "admirable". According to Chris, Sam is wrong to feel the way he feels. Which makes resolution somewhat tricky.

And my stomach is sinking, you guys. Because even though I'm still tired from my FREE FARMER LUKE campaign, it's looking increasingly likely that I will now have to extract Sam, too. Get making those placards, people, the fight is not yet over. 

Moving on, the experts introduce a brand-new task – except it's not new at all, it's just the bloody honesty box again. Grrr.

This time the questions are about future alignment: long distance, family plans, the L-word, and so on. Which, for some couples, is fairly routine territory. They've already addressed most of these issues on their own steam. For Bec and Danny, however, no good can come from revisiting the Cards of Destruction.

"I'd rather take a kick to the bollocks," Danny admits.

Bec's excited though because maybe, just maybe, there might be an opportunity to coax Danny into some words of affirmation?

Nup, not if Danny has anything to do with it. His strategy involves avoiding all sincerity and hard truths by cracking shit jokes and guffawing his way through the whole thing. Which personally I would much rather watch than Bec's constant whining. 

"It makes me feel like he's not serious about this relationship," she says, her chin wobble rivalling that of Claire Danes. 

No way. You think? Surely not.

The box lands its most brutal blow when Bec reads a card asking Danny whether he thinks he'll fall in love with her. After a long pause, he offers the passionate, committed response every woman dreams of. "Probably. Maybe. I assume so."

Quite predictably, it triggers her dark side. "Who do you think you are?" she fumes to producers. "How do you not think you'll fall in love with me? I'm the best thing you'll ever get. The end."

Oh, sweetie, you are really losing me here.

Later, the self-styled King of Romance attempts damage control with a grand romantic gesture: tealights, supermarket flowers, a bottle of Shiraz, and Post-it notes scattered around the apartment. The messages include such poetic sentiments as: "I love your cooking" and "you looked good in the French Maid's outfit."

"It's nice, innit," he says proudly.

"I need to hear these things," she says, marvels at his (definitely not) love notes.

"I know," Danny replies in the smug tone of someone who just dodged yet another bullet.

It's pretty bleak. But credit where it's due: the man is a master deflector.

Another task has each couple writing anonymous feedback letters to another pair – which leads to possibly the funniest moment of the entire season.

Alissa and David's letter arrives at Steve and Rachel's apartment, accompanied by what Steve cautiously describes as "an interesting looking instrument."

He eyes the small black cylinder with suspicion.

"I've been around the block," he says gravely. "And I believe I've seen these things before. Why do they make them look like lipsticks?"

Rachel stares at him.

Suddenly doubtful, Steve hesitates. "Is this what I think it is?"

"That," Rachel says patiently, "is an actual lipstick."

The man thought he'd been mailed a vibrator.

And I will never recover.

Over at Gia and Scott's apartment, they're writing their letter to Alissa and David.

Unfortunately, Gia is still sulking, so the feedback is minimal. Their biggest insight? David might not be able to handle Alissa long term. And the best task they can muster is… write another letter. Great job guys, so helpful.

Then they read the anonymous letter sent to them – clearly from Stella – suggesting two things: One, Gia detox from drama. And two, they should pause sex for ten days and focus on emotional connection. Neither of which Gia is prepared to do. So she rips up the letter. "No, thanks. Don't care."

Serious question – do they need help packing? Can I drive them to the airport? Because at this point I would literally do anything to free myself from Mr and Mrs Brain Rot. 

Oh but wait – it looks like I won't have to. Because Gia is on the balcony, fully crashing out. "I want to get the fuck out of here, babe," she says to Scott. "I don't want to talk on mic, man, everyone listens to everything." Apparently, they've always said they'd leave together… so they do. They pack up all by themselves and get an Uber to the airport. 

YES! On your feet everyone, sing it with me: Ceeeee-lebrate good times, COME ON!

At last. My MAFS dreams have come true. And I didn't even have to lift a finger. Winning. 

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Join me next time when the group rallies around the last Mean Girl standing and stages an intervention. Bec gets the help she needs, then returns for a really lovely dinner where the whole cast gets happy drunk, the chamber of secrets becomes a dancefloor, and Alissa breaks out The Worm again. 

Or.

Production wrings the absolute last drops out of Textgate, tries to reframe Alissa as the new villain, and the growing wedge between Chris and Sam is hammered in as hard as humanly possible.

It could go either way, right?

Feature image: Nine.