Henry blinks at them. “Mom. Mom…Mom,” he says, eyes flickering from Emma to Regina to his future mothers, who are still holding hands. “Mom. Something you want to tell me?”
“They’re from the future,” Regina says.
“They’re married,” Emma says. “To each other.” She’s still standing in the middle of the room, utterly discombobulated.
Henry rolls his eyes. “Duh. Can I go get my Playstation?”