The house was quieter now, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It was the kind that pressed against their ears, filling the space where laughter and music used to be. A week had passed since the funeral, and the reality of their parents being gone was starting to settle into their bones like a cold they couldn’t shake.

Darry sat at the kitchen table, staring at the pile of bills he could barely understand. His hands, rough from the roofing work he’d taken on, rested on either side of his head. He was supposed to have been in college right now, his football scholarship waiting for him. Instead, he was 20 years old and the head of a broken household.

“Darry?” Ponyboy’s voice was small as he hovered in the doorway, clutching a worn copy of Great Expectations. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on a single page since the accident. “Do we… have to sell the house?”

Darry looked up, his heart breaking at the fear in his youngest brother’s eyes. “No,” he said firmly, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. “We’re gonna make it work, Pony. I promise.”

Sodapop came bounding in from the living room, trying to keep the mood light as always. “Come on, Ponyboy, don’t bug Darry about stuff like that. Why don’t we watch a movie or somethin’? You love the movies.” He gave his little brother a playful shove and grinned, but even his usually sparkling eyes looked a little dimmer.

“I’m not in the mood,” Ponyboy muttered, sitting down at the table.

Sodapop ruffled his hair and took the seat beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “It’s okay, kid. You don’t have to be.”

Darry set the bills aside and looked at his brothers. The weight on his shoulders felt impossible to carry, but seeing them like this—so lost, so fragile—reminded him why he couldn’t give up. “We’re still a family,” he said after a moment. “Mom and Dad would want us to stick together, no matter how hard it gets.”

Because they were Curtis brothers. And no matter what, they would survive—together.