As a disclaimer, this post is split in two: the first half addresses the narrative’s shortcomings as I see them, while the second takes a more glass-half-full view. I believe both perspectives can coexist, harmlessly even. I can criticize and still love something, and I am not forced to choose one or the other. Without further ado, let's address the cons and pros.
1. Marta and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Retcon
Let me say this plainly: Marta used to be my favorite character. And that is why this hurts. When representation is forced rather than felt, it rings hollow. When a character is redrawn to suit the convenient, something essential is stripped away. What is contrived does not deepen the meaning—it drains it, leaving behind the outline of what once felt organic, lived and breathed. I will never excuse Marta’s belief that she searched for Fina—because she didn’t. That lie she tells herself stands. But the deeper wound? The real tragedy, the one that lingers, is the introduction and handling of one Cloe Dubois.
The reason? Because Marta’s choice cuts against everything she was shown to be: a woman who sought permanence and depth, who valued gravity over novelty, who sought meaning over the fleeting and the frivolous. To compare Marta with Cloe does her no favors. It doesn’t add depth. It doesn’t challenge her. It diminishes her by collapsing a carefully built, iconic character into something lackluster, something smaller. Out of nowhere, Marta chooses a performative woman. A harasser. Someone who openly belittled and mocked her ideals and choices. Someone who contradicts Marta's narrative arc and undermines every pillar upon which it stood. Someone who mirrors Pelayo: where no is treated as yes, where persistence replaces consent, and where constant harassment is rewarded as if dogged insistence makes it worthy.
The lesson is corrosive. If you wear your prey down long enough, the story will call it romance. If you refuse to respect boundaries, the narrative will eventually justify you. Marta’s choice does not honor her. It diminishes her. It exposes a profound collapse in judgment. It strips Marta of credibility and drains her vows of meaning, leaving them nothing but empty sound. This is character betrayal. There is no erasing it, no softening the blow—only the brute force of impact. Only the consequences of narrative fallacies left unchallenged.
Let me make something crystal clear. Despite my better judgment, I still love Marta de la Reina. Nostalgically, she remains a favorite character on the show, probably the most nuanced and captivating. However, loving her does not blind me to her flaws. In fact, love means acknowledging her failures instead of ignoring them. It doesn’t require me to rationalize her actions, show her undue kindness, or make excuses for her behavior. That responsibility lies with the writers, who have failed to show Marta kindness for over a hundred episodes and counting. They continue to fail her by denying her access to anger and never allowing her to save herself. They torture the character, they torture the audience, and then they deny the harm, calling it complexity.
The result is gaslighting at its most refined, its most shameless. Denying it won’t make it less true. Absolving them won’t undo the damage. This is what happens when a character is sacrificed to convenience—and everyone is expected to applaud and ask for even more suffering.
The lesson should have been unmistakable: settling for mediocrity is not something Marta would ever choose. Not after having known greatness, not after having touched the everlasting. Marta could have stood as a modern Penelope, proof that endurance is not antiquated. Proof that vows—especially her marriage vows to Fina—are binding, deliberate, and powerful enough to rival any challenge thrown their way. Marta could have stood tall, a Titan, powerful enough to rival any of the great classics. Instead, her cup is filled with water from the river Lethe, as if Fina left on a whim and is currently on a pleasure cruise somewhere.
2. The Lord of the Script: The Desolation of Marta
As I see it, for the story to redeem Marta at this point, the only viable path forward is one of self-loathing and self-flagellation. Only through a genuine reckoning can this endless stagnation be broken and actual growth occur. Anything less risks repeating the same cycles under a different emotional guise.
I also wonder if the writers will genuinely take the time to allow Marta's character to grow, enabling her to take significant actions rather than just delivering flowery dialogue. For example, I can envision a powerful moment where Marta falls on her own sword for Fina by claiming responsibility for Santiago's death, all to protect the woman she loves. However, I’m uncertain if the show will truly rise to the occasion and deliver a satisfying resolution because, let's face it—conflict resolution isn't their strong suit. I must admit that my trust in the writing has been significantly eroded over the past hundred episodes and counting.
But in the interest of fairness—of impartiality—it’s worth attempting the glass-half-full perspective as well, if only to see whether something remains that justifies continued attention.
If one is generous, Marta’s inertia could be read as a character held in emotional stasis because she herself cannot yet articulate a way forward. The repetition, then, is not redundancy but entrapment—a portrait of someone circling the same truths without the courage to confront them. In that reading, the absence of decisive action is the point, not the oversight. Whether this patience will be rewarded is another matter. The risk, of course, is that prolonged ambiguity has already calcified into inertia, and what is meant to feel unresolved simply begins to feel empty.
That being said, Marta’s failures can also be regarded as neither intentional nor malicious. They are formative. Unlike Fina, Marta's emotional intelligence has never been her forte and is still being developed. But with Fina's violent departure, this development has been stunted, hollowed out by a cruel absence. Marta's own sense of self feels like a vessel waiting to learn its own weight. Early on, she learned to drift, to follow. And Fina became direction itself —the compass that guided her out of the darkness, her true North. When Fina left, the map folded, and orientation vanished. But the hunger remained. The hunger to be seen without performance. To be understood without translation. A hunger for that which Fina has brought to life, has nurtured and made real: genuine, unfiltered, unconditional care and love unbargained. Therefore, Fina’s leaving shattered more than a relationship. More than a shared dream.
The loss of Fina cut deeper than absence, bruising Marta's self-worth to the marrow, leaving behind a quiet, persistent accusation: I was never enough, did not give enough, I couldn't be what Fina needed. Enter Cloe, diffused light on broken glass, a mirror that returns fragments of Marta, but never the whole. For better or worse, and I firmly believe it is for the worse, Cloe's presence is meant to give Marta something back—not salvation, not ruin, but a sort of reflection, even if it is distorted. Driftwood recognizing driftwood. Without a sense of self, Marta spirals, plummets, and fades into an unnamed, unending darkness. Growth is the only escape from this abyss, but growth, once more, meets resistance.
Cloe now represents the main impediment for Marta. She provides the illusion of rest without facilitating any real progress. Conformity is disguised as safety, while stagnation is mistaken for peace. To relinquish control is to absolve responsibility, but it also means surrendering one's identity. Thus, Cloe becomes a crossroads and never a destination—a passage between another toxic cycle of dependence and full autonomy.
Speaking of toxic dynamics. If Marta were genuinely as principled as Fina claimed, she would have stopped everything the moment Cloe confessed her feelings for her. If someone feels compelled to override their own “no” and dismiss their common sense just to arrive at a conclusion they already anticipated, that is a deliberate choice. However, let’s not mislabel it as growth, maturity or evolution. It is concerning to suggest that overcoming grief requires detachment and emotional pantomime or involves using someone emotionally invested without proper consideration. Losing integrity is not evolution, and respect—for oneself and for others—should never be optional. On that note, while I expect little of value from someone as superficial as Cloe and believe she will ultimately face consequences for her actions, I have always expected far better from Marta. While Marta used to command respect, Cloe never did. In fact, she is merely another version of Pelayo, albeit one in a skirt, and adding an unnecessary sexual component.
In reality, Pelayo and Cloe are opposed yet similar; they are like two puppet masters vying to dictate Marta's life, each cloaking control in gentler terms. Both hold the same strings, convinced they know what’s best while underestimating Marta's resilience. However, the key problem remains unaddressed. Marta continues to spiral into the same destructive cycles since Season One, showing little to no progress. It takes a unique talent to keep a character stagnant for hundreds of episodes. What makes this situation even sadder is that, regardless of the outcome, Pelayo will have emerged victorious to some degree. The damage he has inflicted and its consequences cannot be erased, nor can Marta's tendencies of delegation, inaction, and immediate defeatism. The stain of this narrative quandary won't wash away.
That being said? Ultimately, Marta’s task is brutally simple: she must sever the ties. She needs to reclaim her agency, end the conflict with and within herself, stand alone long enough to hear her own voice, to breathe, to exist, and to discern her true desires. She must advocate for herself and, by extension, for Fina. To finally choose herself, she first needs to confront her self-loathing, allowing it to deepen, so that when freedom arrives, it holds weight, meaning, and wisdom. When the moment comes for her to make a choice, it should be a reckoning, not a gift—a complete triumph rather than merely a ceasefire.
These are the aspects I turn over in my mind as I circle this storyline, trying to make sense of something that, overwhelmingly, feels less like a narrative triumph and more like a collapse—painfully incoherent, and difficult to reconcile.
Contrary to popular belief I am always trying to give Marta the benefit of the doubt, even though more than sixty episodes of this endless quagmire await, and do little to inspire generosity. Quite the opposite, actually. Episode after episode, the relentless massacre of Marta's character is on full display. As I’ve said before, as a viewer, it is not my job to justify a character or extend them grace by default; that responsibility lies squarely with the writers.
More so, it’s essential to recognize that many people defend Marta’s character primarily based on her striking appearance rather than her actions. You wouldn’t accept inaction and defeatism if it were happening to you or your partner. In fact, many wouldn’t defend Marta if she were portrayed by an actress who wasn’t as undeniably attractive. We need to acknowledge that physical beauty is often used to overlook the inexplicable and excuse unacceptable behavior. Additionally, the common justification of “it’s a telenovela” doesn’t hold up to scrutiny; telenovelas have ample time to develop their plots, contrary to that claim. Therefore, it’s crucial to be honest and admit that constructive criticism is always necessary.
It’s also remarkable how fiercely some people try to police opinions, as if watching in silence, or clapping on command, were a virtue. The script may be written, but the audience is not voiceless. Viewers have every right to express their thoughts about what unfolds before them. Without this exchange, there can be no evolution—no stories that are logical, emotionally honest, or worthy of their audience. When writers present narratives that are inconsistent, contrived, or internally flawed, they must be prepared to receive the audience’s full response—not just praise, but also disappointment, dissent, and critique.
In conclusion, I will continue to embrace the things I love—such as Marta's scenes today with Julia and Maria, which felt like a breath of fresh air and reminded me of the Marta we used to know and love, unlike the version who plays charades with MEHdame. I will also sporadically express critiques about what doesn't resonate with me. These two impulses are not mutually exclusive; they can—and should—coexist.
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