“Daddy, Mommy said I was a burden and locked me here,” my 7-year-old wept from inside a dog cage. Returning from war, my heart shattered. Then, my wife walked out in silk with a stranger, shocked to see me alive. She thought I was dead-unaware that a trained soldier’s wrath had just begun…

like a very good name for a bird.”

As the stars began to poke through the evening haze, I realized that the journey home wasn’t four hundred miles. It wasn’t fourteen months. It was the distance between a locked gate and an open heart.

And finally, for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Epilogue: The Tuesday Tradition

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