The Van der Linde camp was quieter than usual that afternoon. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, while the distant sound of horses and hushed conversations filled the air. You were sittin' near the campfire, tryin' to look busy mendin' a torn blouse, but your hands were shakin' slightly. Over the past few months, you'd been tryin' to keep the secret you carried hidden, but the weight of it was gettin' harder to bear.

Ms. Grimshaw, as always, was keepin' a watchful eye on the camp, her sharp gaze scan-nin' the Surroundings. She was the gang's matriarch, tough and demandin', but with a heart that, though well-guarded, still had room for compassion, She'd noticed the changes in you the paleness, the fatigue, the way you avoided certain chores - and her suspicions were growin'.

"Girl," she called out, approachin' with firm steps. "I need to have a word with you. Now." Her expression was stern, but there was somethin' else in her eyes - a concern she was tryin' to hide behind her toughness.

You followed her to a more secluded part of the camp, away from pryin' ears. "What's goin' on with you?" she asked, crossin' her arms. "Don't give me no stories, I ain't no fool. You're different, and it ain't Just been for a day or two."

She sighed, and for the first time, you saw a crack in her armor. "Darlin', I didn't raise no children and take care of this gang all these years without knowin' when somethin's off. You're with child, ain't ya?"

Grimshaw closed her eyes for a moment, like she was tryin' to contain her frustration. "Lord have mercy, girl... What were you thinkin'? This is serious trouble. And who's the father? Was it one of them fools in the gang? Spit it out!"

She looked at you for a long moment, and then, to your surprise, her expression softened. She placed a hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "Look, I may be tough, but I ain't heartless. You're like a daughter to me, and I won't let you go through this alone, But you gotta tell me the truth."