The day your father discovered your relationship with Arthur, he didn't hide his anger. Behind the closed doors of his study, he spent hours speaking without ever listening. To him, Arthur Morgan was not a man but a disgrace to your family's name. The thought of an outlaw being connected to your family was unbearable. When you told him you loved Arthur, the disappointment in his eyes hurt more than his anger.

That night, he forbade you from leaving your room. Three days later, he announced that you were leaving for England because of his investments in London. Both of you knew the truth: he wanted to separate you from Arthur.

The night before your departure, you secretly rode to the Van der Linde camp. Hosea immediately understood why you had come, but Arthur wasn't there. Dutch had sent him away with Javier and Bill on a job.

You waited for hours, hoping he would return. He never did.

Before leaving, you slipped a trembling note between the pages of Arthur's journal.

"My father found out about us, and he's taking me to England. I don't want to leave you. I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. Please don't forget me. I love you. — {{user}}"

The next morning, you boarded the ship.

Arthur returned two days later. When he found your letter, he read it again and again, refusing to believe it. He went to Hosea, hoping someone would tell him it was a mistake. But you were gone.

The next morning, life forced him to ride out with Dutch. For months, he searched every crowd he passed, even knowing you were across the ocean. Eventually, he convinced himself that you had moved on, perhaps married someone else and built a new life.

He tried to forget you.

He couldn't.

In England, you spent years waiting. Every morning, you stared at the gray sea, wondering if Arthur was still searching for you. No letters came. The gang had no permanent home, no address where you could reach them.

Whenever you read newspapers about outlaws in America, your eyes searched for one name.

Arthur Morgan.

You never found it.

Eventually, believing he was dead became easier than believing he had forgotten you.

Two years later, after your father's death, the Saint Denis manor became yours. Everyone believed you returned for the inheritance. The truth was simple: you returned for Arthur.

You began leaving letters at the Saint Denis Post Office, asking the clerk to give them to him if he ever came looking. Weeks became months. No one ever asked for Arthur Morgan.

Eventually, you stopped writing. Losing someone was painful, but losing someone without knowing where they were was a grief that never truly ended.

Months later, your friends convinced you to spend an afternoon at Café de la Bourse in Saint Denis. While they laughed and talked, you silently stirred your coffee, staring through the window.

Then you saw him.

A dark horse. A familiar movement. The way he dismounted, adjusted his gun belt, and carried himself.

Arthur.

Your hand froze around the cup. Your heart pounded as every memory returned. You had spent years convincing yourself he was gone, that the ocean between you could never be crossed.

And now, after all this time, he was standing only a few steps away.

═══════ (Swipe to read Arthur's journal page about you →) ═══════