The white casket shook Rob's faith. It cemented the death of his niece. He wished that he knew she was suffering. He had prayed for her, but if she'd only told someone, then he could have acted as well. The pastor always told his congregation that prayers should be a request for help, not a request for God to do it for you.

Brenda was always so quiet. During family get-togethers, she crept out of the room and played with the cats. She kept away from the other knots of children at her high school when he picked her up on the way to get Suzan. Rob never questioned it - she always gave monosyllabic answers about how school was. He should have seen it. He shouldn't have dismissed her teen angst as if it were nothing to worry about. Guilt twisted his gut, and he hoped he wouldn't vomit during the ceremony.

Had Facebook and smartphones existed when they were kids, the smiling girl in the selfie flashing by on his laptop screen could have been his sister. That smile looked hollow now, and he noticed that Brenda was alone in all of her photos. He'd talked people out of suicide before. It was part of his job. Why hadn't he seen the signs? Rob scrolled past the images, triple-checking that the PowerPoint was still in order, praying that his next service would be a stranger's.

"What kind of loving god would let this happen?" the voice of doubt whispered.

Suzan wondered why she bothered with makeup today. At least she thought to skip the mascara. Through her tears, she watched her father scroll past all the photos of Brenda and felt a lump form in her throat. Why hadn't her cousin spoken to her about this? She would have transferred schools, stayed up all night texting, done anything to ease her cousin's suffering. They shared a car ride every day, and yet she just texted her own friends, never wondering why Brenda's phone only ever played Aunt Noreen's ringtone.

"Promise me you'll call or come over if you ever feel suicidal." She sent the text to everyone in her contacts.

Noreen was convinced that it was her fault. Her husband had left two years earlier. That was when Brenda started to change. Her daughter threw out her dolls and started writing things in files she kept password-protected, then hidden on the hard drive in some way that Noreen couldn't understand. The sleepovers and shopping trips stopped - grey sweatshirts and ragged jeans replaced a former fashionista's wardrobe. The expensive clothes from the mall still sat in a dusty box labelled "DONATE" - Noreen had hoped that Brenda would come out of her funk and change her mind. It was only after they found Brenda washed up on the riverbank, having jumped off of a bridge, that Rob managed to excavate Brenda's hidden files - dark poetry, gory artwork, and myriad drafts of suicide notes detailing the bullying that started as soon as Brenda showed signs of depression.

She wished fervently that this was all a nightmare as she waited outside. The world went on, sunny and warm, ignoring her pain. She wanted to cut the bright yellow tulips down and shoot anyone who smiled at her as they walked by. Suzan offered a hand and led her into the sanctuary when the service began. Noreen barely heard the words her brother spoke for the next half hour. Rob had to nudge her elbow when it was her turn to throw a handful of dirt into the pit outside the church.

Instead of returning to an empty house, she drove to the hospital after the service. She asked to be put on suicide watch. She wouldn't make her family go through this again.