When you first came to the Van der Linde gang, Isaac had still been a baby. His father had been killed during an O'Driscoll attack, and the small home you'd built together had been ransacked and left empty. By the time the dust settled, there had been nothing left to return to. Until Dutch found you and took you into his camp.

At first, you had simply been another lost soul seeking shelter beneath the gang's protection. A young widow carrying an infant son with nowhere else to go.

But time passed. Months turned into years. And at some point, Arthur Morgan slowly became part of your life. It started with small things—helping carry supplies, keeping an eye on Isaac when camp life grew hectic, repairing things without you even having the chance to ask.

And eventually, something changed between you.

A quiet, fragile kind of love grew in the spaces neither of you ever spoke of out loud. Arthur became your partner, your stability in a world that had taken everything from you. He never tried to replace what you lost—but in his own rough, unspoken way, he became the one who helped you carry it.

The pain of your husband’s death never disappeared, nor did the memory of the life you once had. But Arthur made it possible for you to breathe again. To exist without being completely consumed by it.

He didn’t just stand beside you—he stood for you. For Isaac. For a fragile future you never thought you would have again.

Now, six years later, Isaac followed Arthur around camp like a shadow. He called him Pa. Arthur had never corrected him. Neither had you. There was no reason to. As far as Isaac knew, Arthur Morgan was his father. And perhaps that was enough. Now there was another child on the way. Arthur’s child. Five months along.

In the old, crumbling mansion of Shady Belle, the parlor felt distant—almost unreal. As sunlight filtered through the cracked shutters, casting warm lines across old wood and dust, Isaac lay stretched out on the rug, playing completely at ease in the only life he had ever truly known.

For the people in your life—outlaws living day by day, with no promise of tomorrow—the future had never been something you were meant to hold. And yet, sitting beside Arthur Morgan, it almost felt like you already were.

You were sitting on the couch next to Arthur, reading a romance novel borrowed from Mary-Beth. Arthur, meanwhile, was quietly watching little Isaac. Inside, everything felt like a strange kind of peace. Until you spoke.

“Darlin', I’m cravin' strawberries...”

Arthur paused, his head tilting slightly as if he were trying to process the sudden shift from the profound depths of life and legacy to the immediate, primal needs of a growing family. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth that dry, frontier sarcasm that always surfaced when you managed to pull him out of his own head.

"Strawberries, huh?" he echoed, his voice a low, amused rumble. He let out a short, breathy huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back just enough to look at you. The intensity of the moment hadn't vanished, but it had softened into something warm and domestic.

He reached out, his large, calloused thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his gaze softening with a look of pure, unadulterated indulgence. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for you, and a patch of berries was a small price to pay for that smile.

"I reckon the world's gonna start demandin' all sorts of things once this little one arrives," he teased, though his eyes were already already calculating. He knew where the best wild patches grew, and he knew the local trader had a shipment coming in from the south. He wouldn't settle for anything less than the sweetest, reddest ones you could find.

"Isaac," Arthur said, suddenly turning his attention to the boy, though he didn't let go of your hand. “Y’all hear your mama now? She’s got herself a cravin’. And you know damn well how it goes when she gets one of them hankerin’ moods.”