Disclaimer: I still don't own Harvest Moon. Ah well. :)

Note: Hello! Here's my entry for the Village Square Contest – the theme being Fate/Destiny. Hope you like it! Reviews are always appreciated!

To Each Their Own

"Fate?"

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For Ann, fate was bittersweet. Had she always been destined to lose her mother? A happy, five year old child rocked from her sunny life by the death of woman she would now never remember. That was fate? That was destiny? Life, then, was cruel.

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Mid winter, and the sun was sat low in the sky. It pierced the dusty window pane, overflowing into the almost empty room. Sunlight skipped over floorboards which shone like cut glass. Even then –aged four? Five? – she loved the smell of floor polish. Music blared then softened – the radio on the windowsill was ancient and the reception crackly. Ann giggled at the woman with the swishy dark red hair who was swaying across her vision - the woman who sang along, but out tune, into the end of the broom handle. Ann kept giggling, nearly toppling off the high counter as she swung her legs in time with the music. The floor was far, far below; her thin legs dangled.

She would always remember the smell of floor polish.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For Popuri, it was hopeful. It was the feeling – like a safety net – that everything would work out because it had to. Of course Daddy was coming home. He would come home and Rick would stop sighing and snapping. The cure would be found, her mother would be better and a fractured family mended. Because life couldn't be so cruel as not to make it right.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The first clue that something was wrong was the slam of her brother's bedroom door. She jolted awake. It was half-four, still dark. He yanked the door so hard that every floorboard tingled. Popuri, tucked beneath her daisy print quilt, was ten years old and alarmed. She lay still, staring at the gloomy ceiling. Then, she heard it – something softer this time. Something sadder. A strange cough, like a sob being held in. It was her mother, her mother was downstairs... realisation hit her all at once and she leaped out of bed, screaming.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Please don't be gone, please...

She was on the stairs, in the lounge and racing for the front door. Before she could reach it, surprisingly strong arms caught her around the waist. She smelled her mother's perfume and felt her soft hair against her cheek.

"Popuri, I'm sorry... Shush, now, shush..."

Popuri stopped struggling as all the fight left her. She allowed her mother to pull her onto her lap. "Dad's gone, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is, Poppy. But not for long. We talked about it, remember?"

What she remembered was other people talking about it while she watched in silence. "You – you didn't let me say goodbye to him," Popuri hiccoughed.

"No need for teary goodbyes, honey." Her mother's voice sounded thick. "There's no point getting upset."

She rubbed her eyes. "Feels like there is..."

"Don't worry, baby. Your dad'll be back in a heartbeat."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For Elli, it was hopeful too – a different kind of hopeful. It was butterflies in her stomach. She had learned of destiny in the fat romance novels she sped through while sat behind her desk on quiet afternoons in the clinic. She and Tim were meant to be. He was no Prince Charming; he was awkward and confusing and you had to work really hard just to make him laugh. But Elli knew that every high and low of her life so far had led her to this clinic. Somehow, that knowledge made the lows easier.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Stu was crying. He was a sickly baby, so it seemed as though he was always crying. Actually, screaming, shrieking or bawling were more accurate words.

Elli was stood by the fire in her grandmother's house swinging him back and forth in the desperate hope that he would stop. Ellen was sat in her wheelchair, watching the scene with heavy eyes. "If my damn legs would just work, darling," she said, "I'd have him in my arms for you."

"I know, Nana..."

Elli was still in her funeral clothes. The urge to tear the morbid things off clawed at her. One saving grace, she supposed, was that Stu was crying because he had colic, and not because his parents were dead. He would never fully know the pain that she did. He wouldn't remember; he was spared that, at least.

As for Elli, if she wasn't preoccupied with her baby brother, she wasn't sure what she would have done. It was only the cooing and soothing and rocking that was stopping her from sinking to the floor and staying there.

But she couldn't fall to pieces as she wanted. Ellen was too old and too ill, and Stu was too young. They needed her. She was the only one capable of holding the family together. "Nana," she started, once Stu had been settled, "now that mom – " She stopped. "Well, there's a space at the clinic. I was thinking I might offer to help out."

Ellen smiled at her. "You know I'll never push you."

"But we need the money," Elli finished for her. She would go tomorrow. Some might call it too early, but what was the point in waiting? Mom and Dad weren't ever coming back and it hurt. But her life needed to go on because Stu's would. The clinic was her lifeline; she knew, somehow, that it would save them.

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For Karen, it was bullshit. Plain and simple. She and Rick weren't pre-destined or any of that nonsense. No, it had been damn hard work convincing him that they were more than just childhood friends. If she hadn't bothered, would fate have brought her and Rick together? No way. She loved him and all, but she didn't buy into any of that meant-to-be, fairytale nonsense.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was all over very quickly – a snarl that rent the air and a bright white flash of teeth. Karen shrieked as the wild dog pounced at her, but not as hard as she shrieked when Rick, out of nowhere, flung his arms around the dog and dragged it down. He yelled. There was a furious scramble – he must've grabbed a branch or something – because suddenly he swung back his arm, the snarls became whines and the dog had fled.

Karen was not a melodramatic girl, but she definitely couldn't catch her breath. Rick slowly stood up, his legs wobbly. She snapped back to life. "Goddess, you're bleeding..." Karen was at his side in half a second. "Damn, Rick!" A dark red streak coloured his arm.

"No, it's fine. Really Karen, it's fine. Look, it's only a little cut – it's just smeared." Rick re-arranged his lopsided glasses and attempted a smile. "Doesn't matter, anyway. As long as you're fine."

Karen wasn't sure whether to kiss him or hit him. She settled for the latter despite a strong pull towards the former.

"Hey! What was that for?" Rick demanded. He looked utterly bemused.

"You shouldn't have done that for me," Karen burst out. "Stupid, lovely, idiot – could've been killed – ugh!" She barged past him, avoiding his eyes.

Rick's chalk white face was rapidly turning pink. "Karen, where are you going?"

She stopped impatiently. "Clinic. Are we getting that cut sorted or what?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Fate?" Mary said again. She turned her fountain pen over in her hands. She didn't know whether or not she believed in it. Everyone else had their own opinions, but she couldn't settle on one.

A tap on the library door jogged her from her musings. It was Gray, the surly blacksmith. He was quite sweet to her, though. More shy than surly. "Afternoon, Gray," she said.

He could only nod, ducking beneath his baseball cap and hurrying to his usual corner. Mary caught his eyes from across the room and felt, with horror, her cheeks burn.

Maybe it was fate that she moved to Mineral Town when she was twelve. Maybe not.

Maybe, she thought, daring to return Gray's nervous smile, it didn't matter either way.