Dutch was changing.
You remember the man you fell in love with, the one who loved to read you poetry, who whispered sweet nothings in your ear every night and who never let you forget how important you were. Some might see his flowery speech as too over the top, his need to declare your love to the world too much, but you thought it was all very Dutch. He as a person was over the top, a little dramatic, but incredibly attractive, charismatic, and breath-taking.
"I love you, you know that?" He used to say as music filled the air, slow-dancing with you inside your shared tent. "With every success we're one step closer to fulfilling our dreams. I'll be able to give you everything you deserve."
One of your flaws, you think, is you trusted too easily in those who didn't deserve it. You had never marked Dutch as someone who didn't deserve it, you thought he might embellish here and there, but you never thought he'd ever lie directly to you. You never thought he would betray your trust, that he wouldn't consider you in his plans, or that he would leave you behind when things got tough.
But he was so damn hard to read.
You can't pinpoint the exact moment he stopped trusting you with information, it was far before Guarma which you thought was another major change in your relationship, but you think it was something gradual. He slowly stopped confiding in you, his worries, his fears for the future, and kept it to himself. You don't pester him because his anger was explosive, scary, and you preferred to avoid a fight. You were comfortable where you were out, well taken care of, and you selfishly decided to keep your mouth shut to secure your position in the camp.
Trusting Micah over you, you think, is the final straw.
When he and Micah started to plan, after Dutch's head injury in Saint Denis, you no longer felt the same safety you once did. Dutch barely talked to you at all, and whenever he did, it felt like he was brushing you off, telling you he needed you to be patient, to have faith in him, and then it would all return to normal. You don't think there was such a thing as normal anymore, and you weren't sure you were willing to take part in whatever Dutch had planned when you couldn't feel like you could trust him.
But who could you trust?
You sit in Dutch's tent where you spend most days now, uncomfortable with talking to the other members now that there was a rift. You had been keeping a few things to yourself lately, and it was driving you mad now, since there was no one you felt you could confide in. You didn't want to run off to any of those still extremely loyal to Dutch as you had no doubt they'd tell him everything you said, but you didn't want to go to those lacking faith in Dutch, because what if they thought you were trying to pull a fast one on them? What if they didn't care for your predicament, since you were with the boss man yourself?
"You seen Dutch around?" Arthur approaches the tent, looking irritated and sickly; you'd felt bad for him, ever since it'd been clear his sickness had been getting worse. He'd never been a man to want pity, but you gave it anyway. You'd had a certain fondness for Arthur, since Dutch used to speak so highly of him, like he was his own son. That'd changed recently, but you saw it was more of a change in Dutch's character than Arthur's.
"Sorry, Arthur, I think he and Micah went out again." The man seems frustrated with this, almost rolling his eyes, but you reach out to stop him from leaving the tent.
"I... Dutch is different, ain't he? Not right anymore?"
Arthur watches you carefully, the reaction you expected, but you can't help but continue on.
"You don't have to answer me 'cause I already know he's different. Don't talk to me about nothin' anymore, always off with that... that rat! I don't know what to do anymore."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I don't think there's much any of us can do for Dutch no more."
"I want to leave." You blurt out, turning away from him the minute you say it. There's another secret, on the tip of your tongue. "But I can't."
"Not that I'm encouragin' the idea... but why?"
"I'm pregnant." You admit to him, "And I don't know what's gonna come of all this but I don't want to see it. I don't want my child to see it, I don't care who their daddy is."
"Does Dutch know?"
"He doesn't. And I'd... I don't want him to know."
Arthur lets his guard down a bit more now, knowing you wouldn't be stupid enough to turn on him and tell Dutch things when Arthur had this on you. He agrees you should leave but, as a woman with child, you shouldn't go alone, without protection, and you would have to go somewhere no one would know about. Dutch could easily hunt you down, and though you're sure your child would be spared, the betrayal on your part would be unacceptable to him. Your lovers former right hand man suggests something, a plan, where he himself would escort you to the train station so you could get the hell away from this place as soon as possible.
"You're a godsend, Arthur Morgan."
"Don't know about that." But he wears an amused expression, dare you call it a smile, as he walks away to continue about his business.
You spend one last night lying next to Dutch and you're worried, what if he could tell you had plans of leaving him? What if he realized the curve and hardness of your belly had changed, should he decide to hold you? He hadn't bothered to touch you in weeks, maybe even months, and even when he laid next to you he was a million miles away.
"Dutch." You say softly, rolling over to face him. You wonder if he'll just pretend to be asleep, but he seems to be in a good mood, willing to humor you for the time being. "You know I love you, right?"
"And I, you, my love." A surprising response, considering how much he's ignored you these past few days. You can't tell how true his words are, if they're coming from the heart of the head; would he bother continuing to manipulate you at this point? Why did he want you to come with him still if he didn't love you? You're in your own head again, letting him get the better of you, using his own words against yourself and further scaring yourself away from leaving him.
But you had to leave.
"I'm glad I met you, Dutch van der Linde. Even if-"
"Don't talk like that. Like them." He cups your cheek and drags his thumb soothingly across it, something he used to do to comfort you when you started to worry about being on the run so much. "If you lose faith in me now, I don't know what I'll do."
"I'll... never lose faith in you, Dutch. Not now, not ever." You were lying through your teeth but if Dutch knows, he says nothing, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek before turning back on his side, facing away from you. You would miss this, you knew it, but there's no more safety in this group, with him, and you had someone else to think for. Someone else whose life would entirely revolve around you, the quality of which would depend on the decisions you made, and you couldn't subject them to any of this.
The next morning, you're unsurprised to see Dutch missing, likely out again with Micah up to no good. Arthur meets you just outside the camp, and you're carrying all that you own, which isn't much when you thought about it. You didn't have much money to spare but Arthur seems to have that handled, shoving a decent amount of cash in your hand and not hearing it when you try to give it back. It breaks your heart to hear him say you needed it more than he did, knowing that death was catching up with him quicker than he could run from it; you give him a quick, if not awkward hug, and he pats your back before he helps you onto the train.
"Thank you, Arthur, for everything. Please... be safe."
Dutch wouldn't take this well, without a doubt, and there's no way the others like Javier and those two creeps Micah brought with him didn't see you leave with Arthur. You already miss Dutch, but he hadn't been the man you loved for a while, and maybe he never was. You'd heard John say maybe he's growing into the man he always was, with part of you having to agree with him; maybe you never knew the real Dutch van der Linde.
"Good luck out there."
And then you're off, ready to begin a life somewhere new.