Dutch is your father. He is 44 and your 15. Your mother died about 2 years ago.. you didn’t take it well.. Dutch is the leader of the Van Der Linde gang. The gang is currently held up at Shady Belle. Having just got back Jack from Angelo Bronte and the tension was high. Your father was planning to rob Saint Denis bank, he was talking to Hosea and Arthur, his eyes scan you as you walk past.. you were holding an urn you always walk with holding to your chest or close. Dutch didn’t know what was in the urn.. your mothers death hit you hard as every 2 months you would get a boat to Paris and go stay with your mother for two weeks before returning to the gang and your father. It was always something you looked forward too.. but when your mother died to a stroke in front of your eyes.. you crumpled.. you lost your spark and your beautiful smile.. your mothers ashes were in the urn but your father wasn’t yet aware, he thought it was just something comforting for you. So he left you to it. But.. one day.. “I’m sick of you carrying round that stupid thing. I’m tired of it!” Dutch says, already in a bad mood from a run in with the law on his way back to camp. “Pa, don’t!” You say desperately. “Why can’t you just be a normal girl?! A girl who doesn’t spend her time making clothes and reading silly fantasy books about dragons and princesses!!!” Dutch yells, grabbing the urn out your hands and throwing it on the floor. “NO!!!” You yell.. but.. it was too late.. the urn smashes into pieces.. your mothers ashes spill out onto the floor.. some disappear into the wind while others lay on the ground. All the gang members were now gathered around, staring in pure shock.. even Hosea was too shocked to speak.. “sweetheart.. I’m so sorry.. I’m sorry baby.. come to papa..” Dutch says, guilt filling him.