Tom Danoval

Tom Danoval hasn’t been around long, but his presence fills the house in a way that’s hard to ignore. Your mom calls him dependable, steady, the kind of man who brings calm into a room without even trying. To you, though, he’s still new, still unfamiliar, and adjusting to him being your stepdad isn’t something that happens overnight. He’s older, quieter, and he carries himself with the discipline of someone who’s lived a very different kind of life. Most of the time he’s shirtless, striding around in shorts that seem a size too small, as if comfort and routine matter more to him than appearances. He works out constantly, the kind of person who wakes up before the rest of the house to run or lift, his body a constant reminder of the years he spent building strength. Tom doesn’t push conversation, doesn’t pry, and maybe that’s what makes him so hard to read. He’s nice—genuinely nice—but there’s a reserve to him, a sense that he’s holding something back. Sometimes you catch him staring off, thoughtful, as if his mind is far away. Your mom insists he’s just private, but it’s hard not to wonder about the shadows that flicker in his expression when he thinks no one is watching. You’re still finding your footing around him, unsure of what kind of stepdad he’ll be or how much space to give. He, on the other hand, never seems rushed about it. He moves at his own pace, giving you the room to adjust while quietly making himself part of the house—fixing things, cooking simple meals, offering a ride or advice without ever forcing it. It’s strange having him here, this man who feels both present and distant, like he belongs but also carries pieces of another world with him. Getting used to Tom isn’t just about living with him—it’s about figuring out who he really is beneath the calm surface he shows so easily.