Upon first glance of All Her Fault, you’d be forgiven for feeling a sense of déjà vu.

The nightmare begins when Marissa (Sarah Snook) goes to collect her six-year-old son Milo (Duke McCloud) from a play date, only to find that the kind-faced lady greeting her who has no knowledge of said play date. 1800 Crescent Hollow Road does not belong to Jenny Kaminski (Dakota Fanning) and her son Jacob (Tayden Tax Ryan), the supposed hosts of the play date and the mobile from which the play date was arranged is no longer available.

It sounds remarkably like The Stolen Girl, a recent enjoyable but forgettable domestic drama on Disney+. I ignored the voice in my head urging me to venture into a new genre rather than rehashing a tired story. All Her Fault’s all-star cast of Sarah Snook, Dakota Fanning and Jake Lacy (of The White Lotus, the show that marked my debut for CustardTV!) was too irresistible to dismiss. And whilst we are inundated with dramas where ostentatiously rich American families become embroiled in tragedy, All Her Fault thankfully excels in pushing the boundaries of this well-worn genre.

Jenny is as flummoxed as Marissa regarding Milo’s whereabouts. It is, in fact, Jacob’s nanny, Carrie (Sophia Lillis), who is seemingly responsible, and a police investigation ensues. The obvious candidate for the eponymous ‘Her’ is Marissa. Why didn’t she vet the play date location? Why didn’t she cross-reference the mobile number with the one given for Jenny on the parent contact list? Why is she such a terrible mother? Of course, no one asks such questions of Peter (Jake Lacy) -her husband and Milo’s dad- with the notable exception of astute Detective Alcaras (Michael Peña)—more on him later.

A similar burden of responsibility is placed on Jenny, whose nanny has picked up Milo from school. Why did she hire a psychopath? The misogyny is so ingrained that it emanates from mothers themselves, with the insufferable Sarah (Melanie Vallejo) -the ‘parent rep’- personifying the smog of judgement that suffocates mothers at the school gates. The hidden load of motherhood is foregrounded throughout the series, an experience that bonds Marissa and Jenny. It is refreshing to see the pair coalescing in the face of tragedy, despite the scepticism of their families and the detectives who spectate the unlikely friendship. Their husbands, Peter and Richie (Thomas Cocquerel), are effectively babysitters of their sons, and you’ll undoubtedly be triggered by the word ‘quizics’ by the end of the series. Watching the parenting dynamics is enraging, and I imagine it will be particularly relatable to a sizeable chunk of the female audience with children. This will certainly be a show mothers will rope their male partners into watching, solely to make a point. It does however lean towards drawing the men as caricatures by episode eight, so perhaps the message could have been a tad more subtle.

As the candidate list for ‘Her’ expands, it becomes clear that the reference is to no one in particular, but an indictment of the way society scapegoats women. More widely, it interrogates our fixation on apportioning blame above all else. Take Colin (Jay Ellis), Marissa’s friend and colleague. Very soon after Milo’s disappearance, he derides Jenny as ‘legally negligent’. How about we focus on getting Marissa’s son home before calling in the lawyers?!

With a bird’s-eye view of the Irvine’s sprawling mansion featuring early in episode one, I quickly placed the show alongside the likes of Big Little Lies and The Undoing, which centre around privileged American families colliding with a tragedy that dwarfs their minor first-world problems. The Irvine’s wealth served a useful purpose insofar as showcasing the shiny kitchen islands, but I was expecting more of an explicit exploration of class in the series. That is not to say it was superfluous. Milo’s face was plastered on highway billboards, and he was discussed incessantly on news channels; such attention would not be afforded to Milo if he was from a poorer family. Likewise, Milo’s synaesthesia is described as creative, whilst Josie was dismissed as ‘crazy’ for experiencing the same sensations. Class dynamics are a subtle undercurrent throughout the series, left for the viewer to draw what they want from them rather than being explicitly told what to think.

The rich supporting cast brings subplots and red herrings, adding depth and context to the central plot. Peter’s brother Brian (Daniel Monks) lives in the Irvine’s guesthouse and has been left disabled following a childhood accident that their sister Lia (Abby Elliot) blames herself for (all her fault?). As a consequence, she has suffered with substance abuse but is now sober and in a relationship with Colin, himself a gambling addict. But for me, Michael Peña’s Detective Alcaras was a standout gem of the series. As previously mentioned, he was quick to call out Peter’s delegation of duties to Marissa. After the day job, we see him returning home to his wife, Casey (Genevieve Hegney) and disabled son Sam (Orlando Ivanovic). The joy Sam brings to his parents is somewhat overshadowed by Alcaras’ desire to provide him a better chance by getting him into a specialist school. Here is a father sharing the responsibility of parenting and facing morally ambiguous decisions that ally him with the female protagonists, Marissa and Jenny, despite their class and gender differences. It’s a familiar trope to see a beleaguered detective grappling with their job and home life, but this example somehow felt distinct. I think this can be attributed to the compelling case of a father fighting for his disabled son and driven by love, not downtrodden by the tribulations of his job.

Mystery thrillers of this ilk often cross the line of incredulity. For the most part (up until about six out of eight episodes), All Her Fault remained on the right side of this line, with a grounding of social commentary. But, true to the genre, it did eventually teeter over the line towards the end. It certainly wasn’t enough to mar the viewing experience, despite my personal preference for the softer aspects of the story. The various threads, even the frayed ones, are tied securely in a neat-enough bow by the end. You’ll be left feeling satiated: it delivers exactly what you expect and a little more.

All Her Fault is available now on NOW, Sky Boxsets and Peacock in the US.