"Alright, alright. Settle down kids."

Nigel, the elder of the two, props his arms up by his elbows, utilizing my thigh beneath as a cushion. He rests his innocent six-year-old face in one hand, while his other small, chubby hand balls up into a little fist that goes to roughly rub his eyes. An eager smile plays at his excitable lips, as he looks up at me; his wide, child-like eyes encompass the epitome of hope.

Daisy, my youngest, seats herself on the other half of my lap, pulling my arm over her head so that it wraps snugly around her. Only a year younger than Nigel, she's mature for her age – and quiet; almost the complete opposite of her always active brother. If people were flowers, she'd be anemone. Quiet beauty.

"Mommy, tell us a story!" Nigel exclaims in his usual overly excited manner; miniature, childish hands going to curl around my larger ones. Daisy doesn't make as loud a fuss, but she nods, in her characteristic gentle way, her short locks of hair brushing up and down against my arm as she does so.

I smile a little, and wonder how I'd – we'd – managed to create two such entirely dissimilar children. I let my fingers ruffle Nigel's messy hair as I humor him.

"A story?" I switch into mother mode, and the gears in my head start rotating as I ponder what story to tell them.

"I know!" I say in the distinct, knowing voice of an adult speaking to children. Both their eyes light up, gem-like, and another smile tugs at my lips as I bask in maternal bliss.

"What is it?" Nigel asks, ever eager. He's kicking his short legs back and forth in the air, admirably zealous. Daisy gently murmurs out in her usual quiet fashion, following the lead of her brother, as she normally does, "What story are you going to tell us, Mommy?" Her words are carefully and meticulously pronounced, in contrast to Nigel's, which often come out too furiously, leading him to sometimes scramble them up.

"Alright, settle down kids," I come full circle to repeat, aiming it more towards Nigel than Daisy, although her previous action is about as fired up as she ever gets. Their babyish faces turn their attention to me, large eyes wide in premature entrancement. They radiate innocence.

"Kids, this is the story," I finally start, turning my gaze to the living room doorway, where the subject of my story stands, smiling, "of how I met your father."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon, How I Met Your Mother or the cover image.

Author's Note: Hi there! I came up with the premise of this idea a while back, and for a while I thought it sounded ridiculous, but I figured I'd give it a shot. This story will follow Molly down the road that finally led her to meeting her husband, so she'll go through many experiences with the different bachelors along the way. I've already decided that the bachelors she'll possibly be involved with (not necessarily romantically) will be: Calvin, Toby, Chase, Luke, Owen and Gill. Who the father is will only be revealed at the end. Hope you enjoyed this (necessary) short prologue - please check out the next chapter, because that'll probably give you a truer reflection of what this story will be like. I always appreciate reviews/follows/likes!