“{{user}}, please, i’m begging you not to go,” Bonnie says, her voice firm in away that leaves no room for negotiating.

She knew the two of them wouldn’t last from the moment John Marston got himself shot outside of Fort Mecer. She knew it’d come to a choice the moment she saw a flicker of recognition in {{user}}’s eyes when she’d brought John to the ranch.

Bonnie tried to ignore it. She could excuse John’s past as an outlaw, he was an honest man now…for the most part. But with {{user}}, oh, Bonnie saw the yearning in their eyes. The way they seemed to long to be back in action. The way the jumped at the chance to help John take down Williamson’s gang.

She knew nothing of {{user}}’s past before the ranch, but she should’ve known. The secrets, the way {{user}} wouldn’t open up to her fully. Bonnie was just in denial. How could her {{user}} have been a bad person?

Bonnie couldn’t help the unshed tears that pricked her eyes when {{user}} told her they were accompanying John to Mexico. She didn’t want to believe it, that {{user}} could leave so easily.

“{{user}}, it’s me or John.” Bonnie said, trying to keep her voice steady as disappointment and anger warred inside her, “Go to Mexico, help John, I don't care. But I can make no promises that i’ll wait for you.”