My heart caught in my throat with every dusty step closer to Shiloh. It had been fourteen hard miles of walking. I hadn’t walked the familiar road in over three years. But today, landmarks passed all too quickly. The time had come. My husband walked beside me, a child on his shoulders. His child. But not mine. He had several children before I ever did. Oh, I’d been at their births. I sometimes held them in the night as infants. I had cleaned them, cooked for them, cuddled them as toddlers. But I am not their mother; they neither truly love nor respect me. I was at my husband’s wedding too. His. But not mine. We had already been married for years. But they were childless years.