Accidental artificial insemination is not exactly your average TV premise, but that is the narrative device underpinning satirical romcom Jane the Virgin. Debuting in 2014, the tale of aspirational young Latina writer Jane Gloriana Villanueva (the formidable Gina Rodriguez) becoming pregnant despite saving her virginity is the stuff of over-the-top telenovelas. Unsurprisingly, it is loosely based on an actual Venezuelan telenovela, Juana la Virgen.

With family secrets, murders, affairs, kidnapping and a villain who can wear any face they want, Jane the Virgin revels in the ridiculous. Despite these often outlandish scenarios, it is the passionately drawn relationships between the show’s core characters – most notably, between the Villanueva women – that have ensured its continued success.

One of the most engaging plotlines was undoubtedly the juicy love triangle between Jane, babydaddy Rafael Solano (extreme hunk Justin Baldoni) and long-term partner, policeman Michael Cordero, Jr (Brett Dier at his goofy best). For two seasons, Jane flitted between love interests, teasing us with snogging and proposals, and causing speculation that she could pop her cherry before she married. Sparking a civil war of Twilight proportions, fans of the show were passionately either Team Rafael or Team Michael.

(L-R): Rafael, Jane, Michael, Reglio and Xo. Photograph: CBS Paramount/Patrick Wymore/The CW

Finally, Jane picked Michael. They got married during the season two finale and Michael’s vows, recited in broken Spanish, became some of the most poignant moments in the show’s history. But as any telenovela connoisseur will tell you, for every monumental high, there’s a devastating low. On their wedding night, Michael was shot.

Although Michael initially survived, this proved to be the beginning of the end. Just as we were getting comfortable with the white-picket-fence reality of their married life, we were sucker-punched – Game of Thrones Red Wedding-style – with his sudden death. The killing of a main character isn’t in itself a reason to abandon a show, but the way the writers dealt with the aftermath was really where Jane the Virgin wrecked us beyond repair.

Abandoning any semblance of slow burn, the show jumped three years into the future. While Jane the Virgin isn’t really equipped for harrowing explorations of grief, the mourning period was all but nonexistent. Michael’s death was essentially shrugged off in favour of frivolous plotlines surrounding son Mateo’s behaviour at school, the fate of Jane’s dad Rogelio’s reality show, and an uninteresting new hotel owner. For a show that invests so much in relationships, the time jump was a clunky disservice to the very nature of Jane the Virgin. How can we be expected to truly understand our protagonist when her recent experiences have been swept under the carpet?

Granted, happily-ever-afters can be extremely boring, but after building up Michael as Jane’s knight in shining armour for so long, the decision to kill him off and then gloss over the aftermath felt like a sloppy shock tactic disguised as a necessary shake-up.