WW-II

EXT. BATTLEFIELD - FRANCE - DAY

Smoke drifts through the air like clamoring fingers. The gunfire crackles in the distance, echoed by the roar of the artillery. Soldiers crowd next to a deteriorating stone wall, their faces covered in mud and terror.THOMAS HAYES, a fatigued corporal in his late twenties, raises his head over the edge, trying to see the distance.

His eyes are clever but haunted — eyes of a man who saw too much and yet was obligated to survive. He leans his back against the cold, rough wall, and reaches toward his uniform. From an interior pocket, he pulls out a creased photograph.

His thumb smudges over the moment in time: MARGARET, his wife with that determined smile, EMMA, his daughter grasping the skirt of her mother, and baby CHARLIE, whose first steps he had yet to see. The firefight disappears from Thomas's mind as he becomes absorbed into the photograph.

He meanders thousands of miles away -- to a woman's cluttered, modest kitchen in Boston where the light of the morning sun overtakes the dust particle dancing about. MARGARET hums pleasantly stirring the oatmeal, EMMA tugs at her apron asking enough questions for an adult, and CHARLIE's tiny shoes trip over each other against the wooden floors of their parent's home.

WHAM! An explosion interrupts everything. Dust flows downward. A soldier lurches by, a trickle of blood on his face, terror in his eyes. Thomas snaps back to reality. The photo shakes in his hand. He acts quickly then, pulling a wrinkled slip of paper from his bag, a stub of a pencil.

He presses the paper against the wall, his handwriting hasty but firm. "My dearest Margaret, The days stretch, the nights colder than I ever thought possible. But the thought of you, of Emma's laughter and Charlie's first steps is enough to keep me standing.

I dread what comes next, but I will fight with everything I have within me; not just for this war, but with the hope of returning to you. If fate denies me that, you will tell our children their father loved them beyond anything he could describe.

You will tell Emma to keep questioning the world and Charlie to run out into the world without fear. You will tell them their father dreamed of making their world, as yours, more beautiful than he found.” And you, my love, know you are my strength.

You are my hope. Forever yours, Thomas." He looks at the words, unsteady and naked. The paper feels so fragile in his callused hands — an identifiable connection to a world he wonders seems unfathomable so far away.

A voice barks instructions — time to get moving. Soldiers prepare themselves for the task. Thomas folds the letter carefully and places it next to the photograph, a last look and a whispered promise.

CUT TO: EXT. BOSTON - FRONT PORCH - DAY

Margaret stands on the porch, scanning the empty street. Laughter emanates from Emma inside, while Charlie babbles in the doorway vying for her attention. She holds a stack of unopened letters, however, they embody both hope and dread.

BACK TO THE BATTLEFIELD

Thomas, breathing slowly, tries to steady himself and the order is given. He rises from behind the wall and presses forward — a soldier with a heart split between duty and home.

EXT. BOSTON - FRONT PORCH - DAY

The sun is going down, throwing long shadows in the street. Margaret is standing on the porch with her hands clasped together anxiously. Emma and Charlie are playing on the steps, oblivious to their mother's worried face.

Down the road an object appears, dressed in the familiar uniform, a little weary, but unmistakable. Thomas walks toward them slowly, still holding the weight of war on his shoulder. He finds Margaret with his eyes, and for just a moment, everything comes to a stand-still.

Margaret finds herself catching her breath. The letters she had saved — all the fear, anxiety, as well as hope — float out of her hands, and in a split second, she is running — across the lawn and beyond the gate and into his arms.

Thomas kneels, wrapping Emma and Charlie in tightly as they also whirl around him. Emma's questions burst out between sobs, while Charlie's tiny hands grab big handfuls of his father's worn uniform. Margaret threads her fingers through Thomas’s messy unkempt hair, reassuring him — he is home.

Thomas begins to pull a worn photograph out of his pocket and passes it to Margaret, a tender gesture, and as Margaret glances at it and back, she understood all that had been fought for, all that had been risked.

FADE TO BLACK