Sam and Anna returned to Port Charles together – everyone was stunned ABC General Hospital Spoilers

The Farcical Return and the Curse of Caesar Faison: Port Charles’s Perpetual Nightmare

The alleged “daring escape” of Anna Devane and the shocking resurrection of Sam McCall are being hailed as a pivotal moment in Port Charles history. In reality, it is nothing more than a spectacular regurgitation of old, tired soap opera tropes, confirming that the town’s greatest threat is not a villain, but its own writers’ inability to let a plotline die.

The sheer audacity of expecting viewers to believe that Caesar Faison, a villain who has been “dead” more times than a zombie extra, has been alive this whole time and is running a secret lab is insulting. This isn’t a shocking revelation; it’s narrative fatigue. Anna, the seasoned WSB agent, falls victim to the oldest trick in the book—the chloroform-soaked cloth—and wakes up in a high-tech dungeon, a scene ripped directly from a B-grade spy movie. Her “expertise” apparently only extends to tactical escapes, not basic situational awareness.

Then there is Sam McCall, the woman mourned for a year, whose return is supposed to be heartwarming. Instead, it exposes the emotional poverty of everyone around her. Jason Morgan’s shock is less about reunion and more about having to dismantle the careful structure of grief he had built. He processed the loss, started to move forward, and now his comfortable emotional stasis has been violently interrupted by reality. His tears are less about love and more about the crushing inconvenience of an unwanted resurrection.

Faison’s supposed survival, connecting the seemingly dead Britt and Nathan to his “mysterious experiments,” simply reveals the utter lack of stakes in Port Charles. Every tragedy is temporary, every death is a hiatus, and every evil threat is merely waiting in a secret lair with sophisticated equipment for the opportune moment to return. The investigation that “immediately launched” by the police and Jason’s “extensive network” is a predictable dance, delaying the inevitable moment when Faison will capture someone else, only to be “killed” again, pending his next reappearance. Port Charles isn’t a community under threat; it’s a revolving door for cartoonishly persistent villains.

Ava Jerome: The Self-Sabotage Archetype

The transition from this high-stakes, low-substance drama to the discussion of Ava Jerome’s romantic future perfectly encapsulates the show’s chaotic priorities. The claim that Ava “deserves genuine love” is an exercise in misplaced pity. Ava doesn’t deserve love; she is addicted to the drama, danger, and self-destruction of her appalling romantic choices.

Her history with Rick Lansing confirms that she views relationships as battlegrounds. Her attraction was not love, but a competitive compulsion fueled by her desire to “win” him over the “flawless nurse,” Elizabeth Baldwin. This is not genuine affection; it is a desperate need for validation over a perceived rival. The moment Rick stopped being a prize to be won and her money dried up, the arrangement predictably degraded into blackmail—a transactional failure that exposes her inability to maintain anything built on a foundation other than ethical quicksand.

Her pattern—bouncing between confirmed villains (like the psychotic Ryan Chamberlain, who she mistook for Kevin) and men who represent a virtue she can never attain (like Griffin Monroe, who chose her daughter over her)—is not a tragedy, but a choice. She seeks the intensity of the “bad boy” because a man of genuine goodness exposes the ugliness of her own internal landscape, which is why she alienates them.

The current prospects are merely variations on her theme of self-sabotage:

Jen Sidwell: A transparent womanizer whose interest is clearly tied to Sonny Corinthos and Avery. Ava engaging with him is not romance; it’s a predictable move guaranteed to provoke Sonny and risk her access to her daughter. This is willful self-harm disguised as flirtation.

The Phantom Nathan West: The writers, in their poverty of imagination, suggest a reprise of the Ryan/Kevin trauma, with Faison’s son, Peter August, wearing Nathan’s face. If Ava falls for the same “psychotic twin” trick twice, she should be institutionalized, not pitied.

The Sonny Possibility: The most compelling, yet most repulsive, possibility. Their chemistry, forged in mutual darkness and betrayal, is undeniable, but it is a toxic connection. The fact that their daughter, Avery, was conceived in a mausoleum remains the perfect, grim metaphor for their union: beautiful, passionate, and fundamentally dead in its origins. Any attempt to turn this into a genuine romance would rightly be met with audience outrage, confirming the writers’ willingness to sacrifice all moral history for a cheap ratings spike.

Ava Jerome’s romantic fate is sealed by her own rotten choices. She is forever chasing a destructive intensity, ensuring that her life remains a continuous spectacle of unfulfilled, chaotic desire. She is a woman who actively chooses the snake pit, and then complains about the venom. She will never find love, because she mistakes conflict for passion.