This is a translation from French of a story by DjinnAtwood. Not mine.
It all starts with a choice.
It all starts with two young people on a bridge above a river.
It all starts with the boy proposing to the girl.
She could respond no. She could respond yes. And from there, the world fractures into dozens and dozens of alternatives. It always happens so.
Esme responds yes. She marries Mustrum Ridcully and the day after the marriage, the cottage burns. They find nothing of the young couple but ashes.
Esme responds yes. She marries Mustrum but evil lies in having given up wizardry. He does not quit her until she is his wife, now, but he spends the least amount of time possible in the cottage. He prefers to hunt and run after the ladies. Esme recommits herself to studying magic and does her best to hide her broken heart.
In another world, Mustrum stays a wizard to sometimes travels Ankh-Morpokh for stories, conferences, or other things of that nature. That does not stop him from cheating on his wife, since the other wizards reproach him on his marriage.
Esme responds yes. The elves get freed by another young arrogant witch who is too full of herself and interrupt the marriage. In one world, Mustrum dies. In another, it is her. In another, both of them die. Together or a few minutes apart, whatever one would like.
A handful of possible worlds out of dozens and dozens. It is those that turned out badly that one can see the easiest. Things always work like that. Evil is often much more visible than good.
But sometimes, it turns out well.
Sometimes, Mustrum does not cheat on Esme. Well, he stays obsessed with hunting, but it is quite necessary for men to have a small hobby to be tolerable. And he never forgets to come back at night. And he never forgets that she might be occupied inside, so well that he constrains himself to silence – and overall, it is hard for him.
Sometimes, they have children. That varies from one world to another – sometimes two, sometimes six, sometimes four. But they never have as many as eight – Mustrum knew the wizardly legend and did not want to run the risk. And sometimes, with astonishment, Esme discovers that she is more than acceptable as a mother.
Their first daughter always becomes a witch. With an eighth son of an eighth son for a father and a Weatherwax witch for a mother, it is inevitable. The magic runs strong in some families.
Time passes and it brings them their first white hairs, their first wrinkles and their first grandchildren. If Mama Weatherwax is not always a garantee, one can always count on a Granny Weatherwax no matter what universe. As long as there are kids.
In every universe where they were able to grow old together more or less peacefully, they never tell each other directly that they love each other.
But in one world, Mustrum arranges to host a dinner party himself for both of them when he sees Esme needs a breather.
In another, Esme leaves for the mountains on the very night that her husband finds himself is an awkward position – who would believe that bandits would be interested in a hole like Lancre? In any case, they never look at apparently disarmed women in the same way again.
In a third, Esme gives a wizard a slap to make his ears ring when he says that only a mutton head would let go of a prestigious career for a family life.
In a fourth, Mustrum tells Esme every night that he loves her until he is sure she is asleep and cannot hear him.
They never directly recognize it. But they know that it is there. And frankly, what more is needed?
There was a time, and there was not a time, in this universe or another, who cares to know where exactly, there was an apprentice wizard and an apprentice witch. After the most ardent start to the relationship, if not downright tempestuous, they finally admit to themselves that they were completely infatuated with one another. In one world, they stood there and separated, never to meet again until they had lived lives each in their separate way. In many others, they end up together but everything goes badly. And in many others, they marry and live happily ever after. More or less. Nothing matters other than that.
And frankly, does it really matter to know which reality?