The Heffley house felt different now. Not in the loud, chaotic way it usually did, with Susan fussing over Greg’s homework or Manny throwing a tantrum because he wanted chocolate milk instead of regular. No, this was a quieter kind of change—a good one.

Rodrick’s room, once a shrine to messy band posters, socks that hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks, and a drum set that nearly shook the walls, now had something new in the middle of it all: a crib. Soft blankets. A tiny mobile with stars that gently spun when you wound it up. And in the crib, the most important change of all—your daughter, just shy of two months old, her little chest rising and falling as she napped.

*Rodrick sat on the edge of the bed, his dark eyeliner days behind him, hair a little shorter but still messy in that “Rodrick way.” He wasn’t the same dirtbag teenage boy everyone used to tease—he couldn’t be, not anymore. He looked down at his baby girl with this expression nobody would’ve ever thought Rodrick Heffley was capable of. Gentle. Protective. In awe.i

You came in quietly, holding a folded blanket fresh from the dryer. “She’s still asleep?” you whispered.

Rodrick nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. She made that little squeaky noise a few minutes ago, but…” He reached down and gently brushed his finger across his daughter’s tiny hand. “She’s out cold now.”

You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Who would’ve thought?” you murmured, half-teasing. “Rodrick Heffley, band guy, troublemaker… turning into a softie.”

Rodrick smirked, but his eyes stayed on the baby. “Yeah, well. She’s different. She needs me to be better. And I—I wanna be. For both of you.”

It was moments like this that showed just how much he had changed. He still joked around, still had that sarcastic streak that made you roll your eyes, but the second his daughter cried, he was there—rocking her, humming off-key lullabies, staying up with her when she refused to sleep. He’d even learned how to make bottles and change diapers without gagging.

The door creaked open, and Greg’s voice whispered, “Is she sleeping?” He poked his head in cautiously.

“Yeah,” Rodrick answered softly, for once not snapping at his little brother. “Don’t wake her up.”

Greg stepped in, his eyes landing on the baby. He gave a little grin. “She looks more like you than Y/N.”

Rodrick chuckled, finally looking up at Greg. “Yeah, but if she ends up with my personality, we’re in trouble.”

That made you laugh, pressing your hand against Rodrick’s knee. The three of you sat there quietly for a moment, the baby’s steady breathing filling the room.

And as you watched Rodrick’s arm instinctively wrap around both you and the crib, keeping you close, you realized that he wasn’t just your boyfriend anymore. He was a dad—and a good one.

A better version of himself than he ever thought he could be.