Chapter Text
Even when you can’t trust yourself, you can always count on fate’s stubbornness.
It was a deeply emotional night for Ariana. Her first full-scale concert in a long time — already a significant event — was built around an even more personal album. But what made the night even heavier was the absence of her wife. They hadn’t seen each other in days due to conflicting schedules. It wasn’t unusual, not with the kind of lives they led, but this time… this time was different.
This was the first time they’d been apart since the wedding. And no one could really blame Ariana for being a little traumatized.
They had been FaceTiming every free second they had. Lena, Amanda, and Nicole were working overtime trying to keep both women sane — an impossible task, really.
Now, standing alone in the center of the stage, Ariana was surrounded by thick fog. No backup dancers. No band. Just her. A lone figure delivering a gut-wrenching performance.
Every word of “we can’t be friends (wait for your love)” was soaked in pain, a rawness that contrasted sharply with the polished image her audience had grown used to.
And then, right at the climax —
"Know that you made me..."
A misstep.
A mic slipping from her hand.
And then — nothing.
Just fog.
The crowd gasped. It wasn’t the kind of dramatic stage fall anyone expected. It was too real, too quiet, too sudden.
Techs rushed to the stage.
Someone spotted blood.
Someone yelled for an ambulance.
And then—
Silence.
• • •
It was dark and quiet — but not completely silent. Something was beeping in the background. Steady. Mechanical. Familiar and alien at the same time.
Ariana slowly opened her eyes.
Everything was white. Sterile. Too bright. Her head throbbed, and her throat burned like she’d swallowed glass. But there was someone.
Someone holding her hand.
"Hey, you're awake. I was worried," the woman said softly.
Ariana blinked. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"In the hospital. You fell off the stage."
The stage? What stage? She wanted to ask. Wanted to understand. But her mind was foggy, and the lights were too damn bright.
Before she could say more, a doctor entered the room — a small woman with bright blue eyes and a warm, efficient smile.
"Oh, you're awake. That's a good sign," she said. "You had quite the scare — a fall from stage during your show. Mild concussion, some scratches and bruises, but nothing life-threatening."
Her words blended together like a low hum. Ariana watched her, trying to keep up.
“I imagine you're a bit confused — that’s completely normal. I’m Dr. Amelia Shepherd, I’ll be overseeing your case."
Ariana didn't respond. She was still watching. Still trying to figure out if this was real.
“No serious swelling on your scans," the doctor continued. "We’ll keep monitoring you for a bit. Nausea, dizziness, mood swings — all normal for now.”
Still nothing. Just calm, confused observation.
“Alright,” the doctor said gently. “Let’s do a quick check. Can you tell me your name?”
Silence.
Ariana blinked again.
“My name?”
The question echoed in her head like a joke with no punchline. Her brain flipped through blank pages. Nothing.
The doctor stayed calm. “That’s okay. What about the year — can you tell me what year it is?”
Still nothing.
That familiar flicker of panic stirred in her chest, but her face didn’t show it. She was still too stunned.
“What’s happening?” the third woman in the room — the one holding her hand — finally asked, voice tight.
“Nothing to worry about yet,” Dr. Shepherd said gently. “It’s not uncommon after a concussion. Why don’t I give you two a moment to reconnect? Sometimes grounding yourself with someone familiar helps bring things back.”
Ariana nodded.
But familiar? Since when was this woman familiar?
When the doctor stepped out, Ariana turned slowly to the woman beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she said cautiously, “but… who are you? Do I know you?”
The woman smiled — though it faltered slightly.
“Ari, it’s me. Cynthia. Your wife.”
A beat.
Ariana stared.
“…I’m gay?”
• • •
After a few hours and a battery of tests, it was confirmed.
Amnesia.
Isn’t it strange how one misstep can take so much from you? Your memories. Your sense of self. The person you love most. But maybe that’s just how life works sometimes—dramatic and completely unfair.
Soon enough, Dr. Shepherd authorized visits, and the rest of the chaotic family that had been camped in the hospital hallway was finally allowed in, hopeful they could somehow help Ariana recover.
Or not.
Who knows?
"Ari! I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so desperate when you fell!" Amanda was the first one to burst into the room.
Behind her, Nicole and Lena slipped in, each holding one of the twins. And the twins... well, let’s just say there was a reason they were being held like flight risks.
"Hey there," Ariana greeted, eyeing the group without much enthusiasm. "I guess you’re my family?"
"Rude," Lena muttered.
"Alright, honey," Cynthia said, holding onto her composure by a single thread. "Let’s go through this step by step."
She pointed to Amanda. "That one’s Amanda."
"We’ve been best friends since diapers. Specifically your diapers. I’m older," Amanda offered, a little too quickly. "We’re kind of like sisters. But not... always. It’s complicated."
Cynthia moved on. "The brunette over there trying not to bite her tongue is Nicole—Amanda’s wife."
"Hi, Ari. I just want to go on record and say I had nothing to do with your fall," Nicole added awkwardly.
"...What do you mean by that?" Ariana asked, suddenly just a little alarmed.
"That’s definitely not helping your case," Lena noted dryly.
"Okay, we’re definitely talking about that later," Cynthia muttered, sending Nicole a glare. "Moving on. The little gremlins are our godchildren, and Amanda and Nicole’s kids. That’s Alister with Nicole, and Alexander over there with Lena."
"We are physically contained," the boy said with startling seriousness. "I’m Alec."
"We can’t be trusted with medical equipment," added the girl. "I’m Ali. Don’t mix us up."
"Right," Ariana blinked. "So I’m now also afraid of toddlers. Got it."
"And those are the Jamisons," Cynthia said, clearly hanging by a mental thread. "And last but definitely not least—the one with the grumpy face holding Alec is Lena. My girlfriend."
"...Wait. Your girlfriend?" Ariana blinked at her.
"Yes."
"But I thought you said we’re married!"
"You are," Lena answered coolly. "We actually have a very solid relationship. The three of us."
Ariana stared. There was a quiet pause as her brain tried—tried—to process.
Then: "This is a prank, right?"
"Why would it be?" Nicole asked, genuinely puzzled.
"So let me get this straight," Ariana said slowly. "We’re married. And my wife—who I apparently have for some reason—also has a girlfriend. And we’re all okay with that?"
Everyone stared, waiting.
"What kind of telenovela nonsense is this?!"
Amanda, Nicole, and the twins looked genuinely confused.
Cynthia made a noise somewhere between a whine and a prayer for death.
And Lena? Lena had the most satisfied little smirk on her face.
"You!" Ariana pointed at her. "Why are you making that face?!"
"I’m just saying—I told you all our lives were a telenovela. Whoever’s writing this has definitely watched too many Mexican soap operas." Yes, she did. "Look at us now. Amnesia plot arc. Classic."
Then she burst into laughter.
So no.
They didn’t help her recover. Not yet.
• • •
Eventually, Ariana was cleared for discharge. Technically because she was physically recovered — aside from the memory loss. Realistically? Because the twins had somehow reprogrammed a heart monitor to play the Wicked soundtrack in twelve different languages.
“Okay,” Dr. Shepherd said, sounding just a bit unsure, “I suppose I can trust your care to the... capable hands of your wife and—” she glanced around, “—family.”
Back home, the house was overflowing with gift baskets, Welcome Home! and Get Better Soon banners, and a dangerous amount of helium balloons. No one claimed responsibility for them, but everyone except Lena looked suspiciously guilty.
“It’s probably from your fans,” Amanda offered too quickly.
“Yeah. Because they obviously have access to our house,” Lena added dryly.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Ariana muttered, for the sake of her sanity. “By the way, where are my parents? You haven’t said anything about them.”
Before Cynthia could explain that her father would be visiting in a few days and that her mother and brother were on a strict spiritual retreat involving no phones, no shoes, and no gluten, a door flung open.
“MY BABY!” Kristin Chenoweth shrieked, bursting into the living room like a Broadway tornado.
Behind her followed Idina Menzel, considerably more restrained. “Hi, sweetie. We’re so glad you’re okay,” she said with practiced calm.
“You’re... my moms?” Ariana asked, any remaining hope of finding a sane person in that house officially dead.
Before anyone could clarify, Kristin swooped in.
“Of course, baby. You were born from the sparkle of our first kiss.” she said dramatically, cupping Ariana’s face with tear-filled eyes.
“In character. The first time we kissed in character,” Idina added, flat as ever.
Cynthia facepalmed. Amanda looked like she was preparing for death. Lena silently laughed at how absurdly gay everything was. The twins stared at the older women like they were about to learn how babies were made.
And Nicole… Nicole was recording. They’d probably need evidence of this later.
“Wait!” Ariana said, eyes wide with sudden recognition. “I remember you two! You’re from Wicked! That means I’m a Gelphie baby?!”
“Not exactly,” Idina tried to say.
“But you’re definitely having Gelphie babies,” Kristin confirmed with pride.
“Damn theater kid,” Nicole muttered.
“Doesn’t remember her own name, but knows her favorite musical,” Lena chimed in, perfectly synchronized.
“Let’s all calm down,” Amanda said, stepping in to bring some sense back into the moment. “Of course they’re not your actual parents, Ari.”
Kristin and Idina turned to her with a synchronized death glare.
“Biological parents! Not your biological parents!” Amanda corrected quickly.
“Why don’t we all sit down,” Cynthia said, trying desperately to regain control, “and just answer Ari’s questions. Slowly. One at a time.”
• • •
"Let’s start simple. What’s my job?" Ariana asked.
She was sitting in an armchair on one side of the living room. On the opposite side, everyone else sat side by side on the enormous couch like preschoolers (including the actual preschoolers).
"You’re an actress and a singer," Cynthia answered first.
"And a queer icon," Ali added dramatically.
"A threat to national security in at least three countries," Lena said.
"Brand ambassador for four ethically questionable companies," Nicole noted.
"And you have your own brand that isn’t ethically questionable... I think," Kristin added.
Ariana blinked. That was supposed to be the simple question.
"Okay... singer. I like that. That explains why I was falling off a stage." She completely ignored the rest. "What genre do I sing?"
"Yes," everyone answered in unison.
"That’s not a genre."
"It is when you’re emotionally unstable," Nicole pointed out.
"Next question. So you’re not my parents. That’s disappointing on one hand but a huge relief on the other." She looked pointedly at Idina and Kristin.
"That’s harsh, honey," Kristin said, crossing her heart with a deeply wounded expression.
"So why are you here? And where are my actual parents?"
"Because we love you, and you're practically our baby." Kristin declared with a bright smile.
"I called your father when you were hospitalized. He’s coming in a few days," Amanda explained.
"Your mother and brother are on a very strict spiritual retreat. We couldn’t reach them," Cynthia added.
"And when are they coming back?" Ariana pressed.
"Who knows. Pretty sure they’ve joined a cult by now," Lena said like she was commenting on the weather.
"We don’t judge. We’re practically a cult ourselves," Nicole shrugged.
Ariana looked like she might pass out.
"Moving on!" Cynthia clapped, trying to keep the room from imploding. "Come on, love. More questions."
"I don’t want to know more. Maybe it’s a good thing I forgot all this." Ariana stood up, walking toward the door. "I should go back to the hospital. They have rules there."
Cynthia rushed to her, catching her hand before she could leave.
"Ari, please. I know it’s a lot, but this is our life. We’re trying. Please..." she pleaded. And in that moment, Ariana saw something in her eyes—something she couldn’t name but that tugged deep inside her.
She squeezed Cynthia’s hand.
"Okay," she said softly.
They returned to the living room, still holding hands, and sat together in the armchair without thinking—like muscle memory.
"Childhood best friend, right?" Ariana asked. "At least my childhood was normal?"
"Define ‘normal,’" Amanda replied. "Your first word was ‘spotlight.’"
"And you were already performing at three," Cynthia said.
"We take after you," Alec chimed in.
"I’m pretty sure you had a choreographer before a pediatrician," Nicole added.
"What about kids?" Ariana sighed. "I was assuming no, but at this point I’m expecting anything. Do I have any?"
"No," Idina answered—just a little too confidently.
"Not yet," Kristin and Lena said at the same time, then looked at each other suspiciously.
"I can fix that," Nicole offered, pulling something out of her purse.
"Nicole, my love," Amanda said without looking, "for the twenty-seventh time in thirty-nine months of their lives, we are not giving our children to Ariana. Put the adoption papers back."
Ariana, despite herself, was starting to enjoy this.
"Is anyone here sane?" she asked, holding back a laugh.
Everyone looked offended.
"You’re one to talk," Alec muttered.
"Auntie Lena used to be, but then she spent too much time with you. Now she’s descending," Ali added.
"It’s like you’re all in Arkham and you're Harley Quinn but she's Poison Ivy." Alec finished.
"Don’t mind them. They skipped their nap," Amanda said, completely unbothered.
"Why does it feel like everything around me is made of glitter and sarcasm?" Ariana asked.
"Because it is, sweetie," Kristin beamed.
"You made sure of it, kiddo," Idina confirmed.
Ariana hesitated. "Do you like who I used to be?"
A beat of silence.
"We do. So, so much," Cynthia said first.
"You were a lot. But you were you," Amanda nodded.
"And that’s what we’re going to help you find again," Nicole promised.
"Even if you insult us every five minutes while we do it," Lena added.
"...Fair," Ariana said with a small smile.
• • •
They had taken a break. Everyone was in the kitchen now, lazily making lunch, stealing bites, and arguing over whose turn it was to wash dishes. Ariana, meanwhile, stayed behind in the living room, letting her head rest against the cushions.
Eventually, she wandered over, stopping just at the edge of the kitchen.
"You guys are even real?" she asked, too softly for anyone to hear.
Or so she thought.
"Actually, no. Not that version, at least," Lena replied casually from across the counter. "But you aren’t either."
Ariana blinked. "What... what do you mean?"
"We’re just the creation of a depressed lesbian obsessed with Wicked, darling," Cynthia chimed in, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"How do you know she’s a depressed lesbian?" Idina asked, eyebrow raised.
"Easy," Lena said, like she’d been waiting for this question. "In the livestream episode, only two usernames were repeated. That means whoever wrote it was either sleep-deprived, lazy, or incapable of keeping track. Probably all three. One of the repeated usernames? '@gaylor_gayriana'."
"Only a depressed lesbian would willingly stand for Gaylor," Idina conceded.
"And that also explains why those kids talk like they’re 25," Amanda added, motioning toward her own children.
"Actually, she made us smarter than all of you combined," Ali declared proudly.
"This can’t be real. You’re joking, right?" Ariana was spiraling.
"Of course not, darling," Cynthia said gently. "The evidence is everywhere. For example, we never talk about my family."
"She doesn’t know anything about Cyn’s family," Amanda confirmed.
"Or how everything involving your family always conveniently happens off-screen," Cynthia added.
"She barely knows more than their names. I’m pretty sure she forgot your dad’s name entirely," Amanda continued, like they were reading a Wikipedia page on themselves.
"I don't think we should be breaking the fourth wall like this," Alec mumbled, a little nervous.
"It’s already shattered, just like Ariana’s grip on reality," Lena shrugged.
"STOP IT!" Ariana finally snapped. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! WHO’S WRITING THIS?!"
A beat.
"I just asked if you wanted mushrooms on your sandwich, love," Cynthia said, soft and wide-eyed. "But I guess that’s a no."
Kristin appeared from the hallway, wrapping Ariana in a gentle hug.
"Oh baby, that concussion’s really doing a number on you," she cooed.
"Yeah, no worries, hon," Idina added. "We’re just your overly dramatic found family. You’re not living in a fictional universe controlled by an emotionally unstable writer with a watermelon incense addiction."
Kristin started humming Popular under her breath as she led Ariana back to the armchair.
Ariana sat down, stunned, holding her head.
"...No more hospital drugs," she whispered to herself.
• • •
When night fell, Amanda and Nicole were upstairs putting the twins to sleep, Idina and Kristin were out in the garden performing something “not exactly witchcraft but not exactly not,” whatever that meant—leaving Ariana, Cynthia, and Lena alone in the living room with a photo album from their time recording Wicked.
"I still can't believe I’m part of this. It's so surreal," Ariana said, staring at a photo of herself as Glinda—well, Galinda, in that scene.
“Fate, some may say. But you really worked so hard for this,” Cynthia said sweetly. “Maybe it’s a good combination of the two.”
“Maybe.” Ariana laughed, just a little.
It was the kind of quiet scene that, if anyone had been watching, would’ve felt like a movie. The three of them curled up in the middle of the couch, legs intertwined—not even a conscious act, just muscle memory. The silent, shared necessity of being close.
Cynthia had just started to say something else when a loud bang echoed from the garden, followed by Kristin yelling something about “the ritual not needing that much paprika!”
Ariana blinked. “...Did she say paprika?”
“I told them not to use the kitchen spices,” Lena muttered, already reaching for her phone. “Last time they summoned a possum.”
“One that exploded,” Cynthia added.
“No, it just hissed dramatically and knocked over Idina’s wine.”
“Same difference.”
And just like that, the mood shifted—but the warmth stayed. Because even in the absurdity, they were safe. Together.
“Everything’s fine! No need to call the fire department, Lena!” Idina shouted from outside.
The three of them shared a laugh. Just because.
“That’s really our life, right? It’s not some lingering side effect from my concussion?” Ariana asked, only half-joking.
“You’re gonna freak out again if I say this is actually a calm day?” Cynthia asked gently.
“Actually… no. I don’t know if I got used to it, or if my unhinged real self is recognizing her chaotic surroundings—but I guess things are what they are. Even if I don’t understand them,” Ariana said calmly.
Cynthia and Lena exchanged a small, relieved smile.
They turned the page of the album again and found a photo of Cynthia and Ariana holding each other tightly on a partially destroyed set.
“That one was right after we filmed Defying Gravity. We were crying so much. We stayed like that for longer than I could count,” Cynthia said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Ariana’s ear.
That simple touch sparked something deep inside her. Something intimate. The feeling of familiarity, of safety. The way Cynthia looked at her—it was too much. Too much emotion for someone she’d supposedly just met. Too much to not recognize as coming from her own wife.
Lena saw the flicker of confusion in Ariana’s eyes and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You’ve been through a lot. You used to need touch to feel grounded,” she said softly.
And deep down, Ariana knew it was true. Knew the words were real. But they were too real.
These people—these supposed loves of her life—this entire situationship with two women she didn’t even know why she loved, it was all too much. Her body screamed for the safety of an embrace it didn’t recognize.
She could handle the chaos, the madness, even the witchy rituals in the backyard. But this? This truth? This tenderness?
It was too real.
Ariana stood up and walked toward the door. “I’m sorry. I just need some space,” she said, not shouting. Just… quietly.
Cynthia reached out instinctively, for the second time that day—but Lena stopped her.
“She needs that,” she said simply.
• • •
Outside the house, Ariana didn’t know where to go or what to do. She just needed to put as much physical space as possible between herself and that house.
Hard thing to do when you’ve got nothing—not even yourself.
“Hey there,” Amanda said gently behind her, with Kristin right on her heels. “Lena sent us. She set the rules: no questions, no conversations unless you start them. We’re just here to take you wherever you want to go and make sure you’re safe—from a respectful distance.”
“Does she always make all the plans, or is this just a contingency for when I’m not in complete health?” Ariana asked, then winced. “Don’t answer. I actually don’t wanna know.”
“Whatever you need, baby,” Kristin replied softly.
Ariana had known the woman for less than twelve hours, and even she could tell that was the most contained Kristin had ever been in her entire life.
“Thank you, but I don’t actually know where I wanna go. No memories, remember? Because I don’t.” She tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.
“What about we order some Native Foods and go to my house?” Amanda offered.
“I’m vegan?” Ariana blinked at the fast food reference.
“Nothing about yourself or your family made it through,” Kristin murmured, “but Broadway and food are perfectly safe.”
Whatever she said next was too quiet for Ariana to catch, but it earned her a sharp elbow from Amanda.
“Yes, you are,” Amanda said with more confidence than she’d shown all day. “Let’s go?”
And soon enough, they arrived at the Jamison residence.
The place felt like a strange, comforting mix of the completely unknown and the eerily familiar. But Ariana had come here to escape familiarity—so finding it here made her chest tighten.
She was so lost in her own mind she didn’t even notice Kristin removing her jacket and gently steering her to the couch, where Amanda was already waiting with the food.
They stayed completely silent.
Some might think that would be comforting—space to breathe and figure yourself out.
But it wasn’t.
Ariana instinctively knew this wasn’t how they usually were.
“Tell me something about me,” she said suddenly. “Anything. Just… nothing too heavy.”
“You adopt plants and raise them like your children,” Amanda began, “but after a few days, you forget they exist. Then you cry yourself into dehydration when they die.”
“Such a loser,” Ariana muttered. “What else?”
“The twins were born premature,” Amanda said. “I was out cold for days. Alister was fine, but Alexander’s life was hanging by a thread. You were there—held Nicole’s hand through everything. And when she refused to name him because she didn’t want to get attached, you said, ‘He’s strong. He’s gonna get through this. He's gonna be great. You’ll see.’ And you named him.”
Amanda looked her straight in the eyes, even when her own were clouded with tears.
“I thought I said nothing too heavy,” Ariana whispered, stunned.
“You called my best friend a loser. I had to prove you wrong.”
A silence fell between them again—but it was warmer now, more grounded.
“I know this is weird and complicated,” Amanda continued, “especially with your unique life. But maybe, just for now, you don’t need to figure it all out. Maybe you just go on autopilot and let things happen.”
“I just don’t know how to turn on my autopilot,” Ariana murmured. “Or if I even have one left.”
“That’s okay,” Kristin said, wrapping an arm around her. “You can use ours. That’s why we’re here. It’s strange, chaotic, overwhelming—and maybe a little polygamous—but it’s the life you built for yourself. The whys and hows and all the in-betweens? They’re still inside you. You just need time to rediscover them.”
And there, sitting on Amanda’s couch, held gently by Kristin and eating a peach burrata salad, Ariana finally found the courage to ask:
“How did Cynthia and I meet?”
• • •
Just like everything else Ariana had learned since waking up, the story of her and Cynthia was dramatic, unhinged, chaotic, and completely insane—and maybe that’s exactly why it felt easier to accept. Because somehow, she had already embraced that absurdity as part of who she was.
“And then you called me and said, ‘Momsie, I’m getting married and I need you and Momsicle here,’” Kristin said with a knowing smirk.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Ariana held up her hand, flipping back through the notes she’d been taking. “So we went from sudden, strangely-deep-connection-slash-friendship to noticicle soulmates—but platonic ones—and now we’re just skipping everything else and heading straight to wedding?”
“Because there wasn’t anything else,” Amanda said, matter-of-fact. “I mean, there was—entire emotional universes and an unspoken bond—but in terms of actual timeline? No. One day you were the most adorable pair of soul-bonded best friends, and two hours later you were the most adorable pair of platonic wives.”
“Platonic? So you’re saying our marriage is completely platonic?” Ariana asked, trying to piece together the emotional math.
“No,” Amanda cut in, “I said you got married platonically.”
“And our relationship status right now is...?”
“You’re amnesiac,” Kristin said plainly, “and she’s crying in her girlfriend’s arms.”
“Right. Lena. I have dozens of questions about her,” Ariana muttered, welcoming the shift in subject like a life raft. “Like—how the fuck did she let all that shit happen?”
“Okay, so we can add vocabulary to the list of things your mind definitely kept,” Kristin murmured.
Amanda ignored her. “Honestly, Lena was probably the first to notice everything between you and Cynthia. She was always supportive—every step of the way. Like a fairy godmother, if you want to get poetic. And then after the wedding, what was once you two and her and them two and you... became the three of you.”
“One time Lena said Cynthia and you were more than friends, but also more than wives,” Kristin added. “That what you two have is... more than can be put into words.”
A beat.
“By the end of the day, Cynthia and Lena are still girlfriends, you and Cynthia are still soulmates, you and Lena are... whatever beautiful chaos you two are—and the three of you? You’re a family. Your own imperfect little family.”
Ariana paused. None of that made any sense. But somehow, it all felt right. Like the puzzle pieces were finally trying to fall into place—and the blank pages in her mind were starting to hum with meaning.
Amanda noticed her deep in thought and gave her a soft nudge. “Why don’t we go to bed? It’s been a long day in an even longer week. You need rest.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
By the door to Ariana’s room, Amanda stopped and handed her something.
“Dr. Shepherd said you should avoid screens for a while,” she said, passing her the phone. “But I think you’re okay now.”
And with that, she disappeared into her own room.
Alone in the quiet, Ariana sat on the edge of the bed with the phone in her hands. Her fingers hovered over the screen. She wasn’t even sure what she was searching for—answers, proof, a glitch in the matrix. She didn’t even know her full name.
So she typed the name from her hospital records:
Ariana Erivo-Grande
The search results exploded.
Mostly about her and Cynthia.
As if they were one singular being.
Fan edits. Threads. Memes. News articles. Conspiracy theories. Top 10 lists. Longform Tumblr essays titled things like “A Soulmate’s Journey: The Unspoken Language of Love (Ariana x Cynthia)” and “The Wedding That Changed the Internet—and Possibly the Laws of Physics.”
She clicked on a video. A montage of blurry phone footage and red carpet interviews played over a soft piano version of For Good. Onscreen, Ariana and Cynthia sat side by side on a talk show couch. Cynthia was talking, but Ariana’s eyes were locked on her—glittering, knowing. Like she already understood how the story ended.
Another post:
@westsideoverlords
“No because this wasn’t just ‘best friends’ behavior. This was ‘we accidentally got married and just went with it because it felt right’ behavior.”
[Attached: a slowed-down gif of Cynthia looking at Ariana like she hung the stars.]
Ariana blinked.
In the comments:
“No one talks about how safe they made each other look. It was always soft touches and those little glances when they thought no one was watching.”
She kept scrolling.
A tweet thread appeared:
“Moments That Made Us Realize Ariana and Cynthia Were Always in Love (Even If We Still Don’t Know How)”
Clip #3: a shaky backstage video. Ariana sat cross-legged on the floor, half her makeup done. Cynthia walked in behind her and silently draped a jacket around her shoulders. Ariana didn’t flinch. She just leaned back, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The next post was a blurry wedding video. They were finishing a slow dance and calling for Lena to join them. She gave each of them a playful spin, kissed both their foreheads, and tried to back away—but they pulled her into a triple hug. The video ended with the three of them dancing, laughing, clinging to each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
The top comment just clicked into her head:
“Ari and Cyn are destined for each other. The gods sent Lena to make sure everything would be okay.”
Somewhere between a meme of them photoshopped as Jane Austen characters and a TikTok of Cynthia singing a stripped-down version of My Everything—eyes closed, voice trembling—Ariana realized her hands were shaking.
These people had theories. Timelines. Receipts. They wrote essays. Fanfiction. They analyzed every millisecond of eye contact.
And they all seemed to agree on one thing: whatever she had with Cynthia... it was real.
Real enough that even without her memories, it echoed inside her. Like phantom feelings she hadn’t earned, but still lived under her skin.
She exhaled.
And for the first time since waking up, she whispered to the ceiling:
“…I think I miss her. I miss them both.”
As if summoned by the words, her phone started ringing.
My Love💚
And she didn’t even hesitate to answer.
• • •
“Hi.”
They both said it softly, at the same time.
“I’m sorry for calling,” Cynthia started. “I saw you were online and I just… it was almost automatic or—”
“Muscle memory?” Ariana offered, her voice a little unsure. “I guess we’re running on a lot of that. It’s probably normal, right?”
“Certainly. We were hardly ever apart, and we were always pulling each other back…”
“Like magnets,” they said in unison—and then laughed, gently.
A moment passed. Even through the phone, they could feel each other.
“I miss you,” Ariana said. “I miss you two. And I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel right being away. I thought I wanted distance, but the moment you couldn’t reach me, I regretted everything.”
“Come back home,” Cynthia said, her voice finally breaking. “I know I should wait for you to ask, but I don’t care. It doesn’t have to be like before—we can figure it out. Ten days, ten years... however long it takes.”
“What if I never remember?” Ariana whispered, her voice shaky. “What if I never become the person I was before?”
“Then we’ll build everything again. It doesn’t need to be the same. It just needs to be us,” Cynthia said, without hesitation.
Ariana was quiet for a beat before admitting, softly, “I think I like that. I’d like to go home.”
She didn’t even realize what she’d called home until after the words had settled.
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was filled with quiet understanding—of how nothing beyond this moment mattered now. They’d find a way through it. Together.
“You two should be resting,” Lena’s voice cut through gently in the background.
“Yeah, but this was worth it,” Cynthia said, excitement creeping into her voice. “Ari’s coming home.”
“That’s amazing. We missed you,” Lena said warmly. “I thought you might need a little more time. What happened?”
“Nothing!” Ariana said quickly—and then paused. She could feel Lena’s skeptical expression through the phone. “…Okay. Amanda and Kristin talked to me. And I… did some research.”
“What kind of research, honey?” Cynthia asked, suspicious but smiling.
“She means she fell into a fandom rabbit hole,” Lena laughed.
“You could say that,” Ariana muttered defensively, “but it was very informative.”
That earned another round of laughter from the other two.
“Well,” Cynthia said, “of all things, I’m glad that helped.”
“Alright,” Lena sighed, “time for all of us to get some sleep. We’ll come pick you up in the morning.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow,” Ariana said, feeling lighter than she had in days.
“’Til tomorrow, darling. I love you,” Cynthia said softly.
“We love you,” Lena added.
And even without saying it back, Ariana knew deep down—
She loved them too.
• • •
The next morning, the rest of the family arrived at the Jamison residence bright and painfully early.
Nicole, still in her pajamas and carrying a sleeping Alec, opened the door wordlessly. She gave Ariana—the only one awake—an awkward but warm one-armed hug, then trudged upstairs like a sleep-deprived zombie.
Right behind her came a fully dressed, very awake Cynthia, who was being enthusiastically dragged inside by an even more excited Ali.
"Auntie! You had a sleepover with Mama and Nana Kris in my house?" she asked, bouncing on her feet.
"Oh, yes, sweetie!" Ariana chuckled. "How's your morning been?"
"It was cool! I made this picture for you. It's gonna help you remember." Ali handed Ariana a surprisingly detailed drawing for a three-year-old.
It was clearly a “replica” of a wedding photo—Ariana could tell from the formal dresses. The drawing showed Cynthia and herself, each holding a child, with Lena wrapping her arms around them from behind.
“Ali, dear, this is a very beautiful picture. I—” she began, but was interrupted by Lena stumbling in, half-carrying an unconscious Idina, both in pajamas.
“Is she okay?” Ariana asked, blinking at the scene.
“She’s fine,” Lena deadpanned, shoving Idina toward the guest room. “Your wife and your tiny chaos goblin of a goddaughter woke the whole house up at sunrise and gave no one time to protest before dragging us into the car. Ali, come help me get Nana Di to bed. You two, start breakfast.” She pointed firmly at Ariana and Cynthia.
As Lena disappeared down the hall with Ali and a very limp Idina, Ariana and Cynthia moved toward each other without even thinking—like magnets, once again.
“I missed you,” they whispered, sharing a small, weightless sigh.
No more words were needed. They just knew.
“Come on, love. We’ve got orders,” Ariana said, tugging gently at Cynthia’s hand.
Soon, the kitchen was full. Everyone had made their way downstairs for the most important meal of the day. And unlike the day before, Ariana didn’t feel like a stranger. Not quite yet like herself either, but… not an intruder.
She wasn’t fully caught up. But the others were slowing down, quietly making space for her.
The smell of pancakes filled the air.
Ali was announcing that pajamas should totally be fashion again.
Kristin was singing around the kitchen.
Nicole sipped her coffee like it was oxygen.
Alec ran in wild circles while Amanda chased behind him.
Idina slept, absolutely dead to the world, curled up in a corner chair.
And Lena was pestering a giggling Cynthia at the stove, smug and awake now that chaos had been restored.
Ariana stood there, just watching it all unfold, warmth blooming in her chest.
“That’s my place.”
• • •
A few weeks later, Ariana was getting ready for bed, watching as Cynthia and Lena playfully bickered across the room.
“Would you two stop?” she giggled. “You’re acting like children!”
“You’re one to talk,” Lena shot back. “Might I remind you that someone—and I won’t name names, but she’s 5’1", has a very high-pitched voice, and wore a pink dress—jumped fully clothed into the pool tonight?”
Ariana let out a scandalized laugh and immediately launched herself after Lena, the room erupting in shared giggles. Cynthia, still chuckling, reached out and caught Ariana by the waist, pulling her in close. For a moment, the world fell still—just like it used to.
They leaned in and kissed. Just a simple, gentle peck on the lips. A quiet confirmation that love, somehow, had endured everything.
“I… I think my memory is back,” Ariana said softly.
“Are you sure?” Cynthia asked, as Lena stepped closer.
“Yeah!” Ariana laughed, eyes lighting up. “Our future son’s name is Julian Vienna.”
“No, it’s not,” Cynthia replied, grinning with what might’ve been the happiest smile of her life as she spun her wife around in joy.
“I just don’t get it,” Ariana said, breathless. “We kissed, and suddenly everything came back.”
“True love’s kiss,” Lena said with mock gravity. “The most powerful thing in the world. Also the laziest narrative device ever, but our writer clearly ran out of ideas and needed a way to end this.”
Ariana blinked. “What did you just say, babe?”
“I said,” Lena replied quickly, “that Dr. Shepherd mentioned this is actually a common occurrence. It just takes time, a few familiar environments, and the right trigger. And what a damn good trigger it was.”
There were still a few lingering side effects from the concussion, but one thing was certain: everything was finally back in place in the Erivo-Grande family.