Randy pushed an envelope across the table toward me, sliding it past the salt and pepper shakers.

“It’s the buyout,” he explained quietly, making sure the people at the next table couldn’t hear. “Everything’s been arranged with the bank. We wanted to get it settled so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

We were in the basement of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Blue Hill, Nebraska. Long folding tables were covered with white paper cloths, and the room smelled of ham sandwiches, scalloped potatoes, and homemade desserts. It was the same kind of funeral gathering the church ladies had organized for as long as I could remember.

Someone had filled a plate for me, but I hadn’t touched a thing.

My husband had been gone for only six days.

With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope.

Inside was a cashier’s check from a bank in Hastings, payable to Melissa Engel.

The amount was $500,000.

Beside Randy sat my other brother-in-law, Scott. He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed on the table rather than looking at me.

“The house is part of the partnership, Melissa,” he said. “You understand how that works. We’d need you to move out before planting season. That should give you enough time to find somewhere in town.”

Enough time.

It was already the middle of March. Planting usually began toward the end of April, or during the first week of May if the weather stayed cold.

That left me roughly seven weeks to pack up and walk away from twenty years of memories.

I glanced toward the table where my twelve-year-old daughter, Abby, was sitting with my sister, Pam. She slowly pushed a lemon bar around her paper plate with a plastic fork, unaware of the conversation taking place just a few tables away.

I looked back at the check in my hands, trying to understand how my husband’s brothers could discuss buying me out of our home while we were still gathered to mourn him.