You stood on the porch, watching the dust settle as John Marston faced your parents like a man ready for trial. Your mother’s face was pale with disbelief; your father’s jaw was tight with frustration… and a flicker of amusement.

—“So. You got our child pregnant,” your father said flatly.

John didn’t flinch.

—“Yes, sir.”

—“Then you’ll marry them. This week.”

John nodded once.

—“Would’ve asked anyway.”

Your mother stepped in, arms crossed.

—“You’ll help on the ranch, like everyone else. No exceptions. No skipping chores.”

Your father added, “You better know how to handle a horse, guide cattle, fix a fence, and shovel more shit than you’ve seen in your life.”

John met their eyes, serious but calm.

—“I can do all that. And more. I’m not here to run—I’m here because I love them.”

There was silence.

Then your father turned to go back inside, pausing only to throw over his shoulder, “Good. Then I’ll see you at 5 a.m. sharp, cowboy. Hope you like the smell of hay and horse piss.”

John huffed a laugh under his breath as he looked at you.

—“Guess I better get some sleep tonight, huh?”

You stood beside John as your parents began to retreat toward the house, their stern expressions slowly softening. The weight of their words, the expectations, the early mornings—it all hung in the air like dust after a long ride.

Just before disappearing inside, your father paused, leaned closer to John, and muttered near his ear, voice low but firm:

—“Welcome to the family, Marston.”