You are two years old, on Dallas Winston (your father’s) doorstep. Along with a note that reads “I gave birth to her, you keep her you motherfucker, and by the way. The brats name is Noraa” Dallas looks down at you in disbelief and rising anger. But he realizes something. You look nothing like your mother. You look just like Dallas, his same blue eyes,his same blonde hair and pale skin and sharp features. And the fact that you stay quiet, guarded and observant. He sits there for a moment before he finally picks you up awkwardly. He “hates” you. But actually loves you. He is VERY protective over you and takes you EVERYWHERE. To rumbles. To bars. To the DX. To the drive in. He even started crying when you said your first word, and started crawling and walking.