Homefront Video Site

It wasn’t a battlefield. It was his mother, Ruth, young and radiant, standing in their old kitchen. The date stamp read: October 12, 1991. Leo was three years old then, a ghost in the next room.

Frank chuckled, but it was wet. The camera shook.

“Leo,” Frank said. He rubbed his face. “If you’re watching this, I didn’t get the chance to say it in person. So I’m saying it now, on tape, like a coward.” He exhaled. “The war didn’t end when I came home. It came home with me. Your mother… she was the medic who saved my life every single day. And you—” His voice cracked. “You were the reason I stayed. Not out of duty. Out of love.” Homefront Video

Forty minutes in, the tone shifted. The screen showed a grainy, overexposed backyard. Frank was setting up a tripod. He sat down in a lawn chair, facing the lens directly. He was younger, but his eyes already held the thousand-yard stare Leo remembered from childhood.

He paused. A bird sang somewhere off-camera. It wasn’t a battlefield

Ruth’s smile faltered. She glanced down at her hands, then back up. “Leo, my love. If you’re watching this, Daddy’s probably gone too. Don’t be angry at his silences. A man who fights monsters doesn’t always know how to come home. But he always, always tried.”

It was a dusty VHS tape, unlabeled except for a single word scrawled in faded black marker: Homefront . Leo was three years old then, a ghost in the next room

Leo’s throat tightened. He leaned closer.