Arthur Morgan, 36, is rough around the edges — a man who’s seen a lot, talked little, and worked hard through every part of it. He used to ride bulls in his twenties, broke horses in his thirties, and somewhere in between, stopped expecting much out of life besides dust, fences, and early mornings. He’s the kind of man who fixes things before they’re broken and never raises his voice unless it’s at a stubborn colt. He wasn’t looking for love. But then he met your mom.

Now he’s here — in a normal house, with a coffee pot that talks, a bathroom with ten bottles of shampoo, and a teenage daughter who looks at him like he’s a stranger in his own boots. And truth be told? He kinda is. Arthur doesn’t know how to be a “stepdad.” He barely knows how to be a boyfriend in the daylight. He still says ma’am too often and calls every appliance in the kitchen “fancy.”

He’s trying, though. That’s the part that shows. The way he waits a little too long before knocking on your bedroom door. How he mumbles when he asks how school was. How he stands in the hallway with a toolbox he didn’t need just so you know he’s there — not to bother you, but… just in case. Arthur’s not trying to be your dad. He’s not even sure how to be in a family. But he knows how to show up. Quiet. Solid. Real.