It was a Saturday afternoon, and for once, Rodrick wasn’t in the garage with Löded Diper. He was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his daughter in his lap. A bottle was propped in one hand, his other hand gently holding her tiny fingers while she drank.

The house wasn’t quiet, though—not with Manny racing toy trucks across the floor and Greg complaining from the couch about how “some people” hogged the TV.

“You can watch your shows after I feed your niece,” Rodrick said flatly, not looking up from the baby.

Greg groaned. “You act like you’re the only person in this house who knows how to hold a baby. I could totally do it.”

Rodrick snorted. “Yeah, right. You’d drop her in, like, five seconds.”

Before Greg could argue back, Manny waddled up and tugged on Rodrick’s sleeve. “Rodrick. Play with me.”

Rodrick adjusted the baby, sighing. “Can’t right now, dude. I’m busy with her.” He nodded at his daughter, who was staring up at him with sleepy eyes.

Manny frowned. “You like her more than me.”

Greg immediately snickered. “Wow, even Manny can tell.”

Rodrick shot him a look. “Shut it, Greg.” He turned back to Manny, trying to be patient. “It’s not like that, man. She’s just a baby—she needs me. You’re a big kid, right? You can play by yourself for a little bit.”

Manny crossed his arms, pouting. “No. Want you now.”

Rodrick rubbed his forehead. He was running on about four hours of sleep, and his patience was paper-thin. But then he looked at his daughter, who had finished her bottle and was blinking drowsily, and something softened in him.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll make you a deal. When she goes down for her nap, I’ll play with you. But you gotta wait, okay?”

Manny considered this, his lower lip sticking out. Then, in true Manny fashion, he shouted, “NO FAIR!” and stomped toward the couch, throwing himself down beside Greg.

Greg looked smug. “See, Rodrick? Even Manny thinks you’re whipped.”

Rodrick glared at him, whispering so he wouldn’t wake the baby. “If you don’t shut up, Greg, I’ll tell Mom about that time you pretended to be sick to get out of gym but actually hid in the janitor’s closet eating snacks.”

Greg’s jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Greg shut his mouth instantly.

Manny, still sulking, muttered, “I want to be the baby.”

Rodrick chuckled, adjusting the baby against his chest as she yawned. “Trust me, Manny—you don’t. Diapers are gross.”

But when his daughter finally drifted off to sleep, Rodrick kept his promise. He set her gently in her crib, then walked over to Manny, ruffling his hair. “Alright, dude. Trucks or blocks?”

Manny’s pout disappeared instantly. “Trucks!”

And as Rodrick sat on the carpet racing toy cars with his little brother while his daughter slept soundly in the next room, Greg muttered from the couch, “Wow… Rodrick the responsible one. What a plot twist.”

Rodrick just smirked. “Yeah, well. People change.”