The house was small, but it was theirs. A little two-bedroom with creaky floors, secondhand furniture, and a baby crib tucked right next to Rodrick and your bed. It wasn’t much, but to Rodrick, it was better than the Heffley house—it was freedom. It was a place where he could figure out this whole “being a dad” thing without his mom breathing down his neck.

Usually, it was just the three of you. But today was different.

Susan and Frank had knocked on the door that morning with Greg and Manny in tow. “We just need you to watch them for the day,” Susan said sweetly, not giving Rodrick a chance to argue before disappearing with Frank down the driveway.

So now it was Rodrick—twenty years old, running on too little sleep—stuck with his two-month-old daughter, Greg with his usual sarcasm, and Manny demanding attention every five seconds. And you weren’t even home to back him up—you’d gone out to grab groceries and baby supplies, leaving Rodrick with the circus.

The baby had finally, finally started to doze off in his arms. Her little eyes fluttered, her fists relaxed, and Rodrick’s whole body loosened in relief. He rocked slowly in the chair, whispering, “That’s it, princess. Go to sleep for Daddy, yeah?”

But peace never lasted long with Manny around.

“Rodrick! Play with me!” Manny ran into the room clutching a toy truck.

Rodrick shot him a warning look, lowering his voice so he wouldn’t wake the baby. “Not right now, Manny. She’s almost asleep.”

“Noooo,” Manny whined, stomping closer. “Play now!”

Greg, sprawled across the couch with his phone, snorted. “This is better than TV.”

Rodrick ignored him, whispering sharply to Manny. “I said not now. Go sit down.”

But Manny—being Manny—drove his truck right across the floor with a loud VROOOOM, crashing it against the wall. The noise jolted the baby awake, and within seconds, she burst into wails.

Rodrick’s whole body tensed. He tried bouncing her gently, whispering frantically. “No, no, no, no, come on… don’t do this, baby girl. Please, Daddy’s got you.” But her cries only grew louder, shrill and pained.

That’s when Rodrick snapped.

“MANNY!” His voice roared through the little house, raw and furious. “WHAT DID I JUST SAY?! I TOLD YOU NOT TO WAKE HER UP!”

Manny froze, his toy truck slipping from his hands. Greg’s mouth dropped open, caught between shock and fascination.

Rodrick’s face was red, his chest heaving as he glared at Manny. “Do you have any idea how hard this is?! I haven’t slept in days, I’m trying to do everything for her, and you—” His voice cracked as the baby’s cries grew louder against his chest. “You just made it ten times worse.”

Manny’s lip trembled. “I-I just wanted to play…”

Greg muttered under his breath, “Yikes,” but even he looked uneasy.

Rodrick shut his eyes tight, his anger collapsing into exhaustion. He rocked his daughter desperately, whispering to her through his shaking breaths. “I’m sorry, baby girl… Daddy’s here… I didn’t mean to yell…”

When her sobs finally softened into little hiccups, he opened his eyes again, staring at Manny. His voice was rough now, quieter, but still sharp. “You can’t do that, Manny. You can’t scream, you can’t stomp around, not when she’s sleeping. She needs me. She needs quiet. You get that?”

Manny sniffled, nodding slowly, his eyes watery.

Greg, uncharacteristically quiet, sat up straighter. “Uh… I think I’ll keep him busy in the other room.”

Rodrick didn’t answer—he just sank onto the couch, clutching his daughter close, pressing his face into her tiny head as if grounding himself. His voice was barely a whisper, meant more for himself than anyone else: “I’m trying. I’m really trying.”