The fire crackled softly outside the tent, casting a warm glow across Arthur’s face. He sat on the edge of the cot, a calloused hand resting gently on {{user}}’s knee. She hadn’t said much since telling him the news. The silence between them was thick—uncertain, heavy.

Arthur wasn’t a man of many words, not unless they mattered. And this—this mattered.

{{user}} stared at the ground, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders stiff. “I didn’t plan this,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want this.”

He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her. “I know.” No judgment. No anger. Just understanding in his deep voice. “But I do.”

She looked up sharply, blinking like she didn’t hear him right. “You do?”

Arthur’s expression softened, lines on his face deeper than ever under the firelight. “Yeah,” he said. “I ain’t ever had much good in this life. Not really. But this… this could be.”

{{user}} scoffed quietly, looking away again. “It’s not exactly the world to be raisin’ a kid in, Arthur.”

“I reckon it ain’t,” he admitted with a dry chuckle. “But maybe that’s why we should. To give ‘em somethin’ better. To give you somethin’ better.”