Hugo came over to Mr. Thomeson and handed him a bundle of letters and said "These are addressed to Mr.Woodson's son. If I remember it correctly, it's you, right young boy? " To which Mr. Thomeson nodded gently and replied " Please call me Thomes, I came here to find you and ask you about the letter you gave to my father the other night, can you tell me any information related to the one who wrote the letter? Her age, her address, her eye colour, how she looked, about....how she... anything, just anything will do, please. I know I sound stupid but it's not because you are handsome, though it has a tiny bit of affect on me but it's because I really wanna know more about the person who wrote a letter to my father.... I don't know why stupid things keep coming out of my mouth right now but it's just.....so...um-" To which Hugo added, "Hold your horses and take a deep breath, Thomes. Your quite the chatty one,I see but I'm sorry Thomes, we cannot disclose any personal information about our clients, it's company policy. Even though I don't think we would have any files about their personal details. I'm sorry I can't help you any further." Thomes was preoccupied about finding any clue about Catherine, his mother, that he didn't think much about the letters handed over to him. He then thanked Hugo and walked away disappointed. Hugo was taken aback by how he become unusually quiet as he walked away and watched as Thomes slowly walked towards the exit with slumped sholders and a heavy heart.
On his way home Thomes had noticed that the letters in his hands were written by Catherine, the same person who he was searching for, the person who wrote a letter to his father, the person who his father didn't want to talk about, the person who his father didn't want to involve in Thomes's life and pronounced her dead when he was just three, his mother. Many questions circled in his mind but he first rushed to his home, his the letters underneath his shirt to hide it from his father in case he was in the hallway, he slowly went up the stairs, afraid of making any creaking noise that would alert his father and that he would find out about the letters and take them away from him. His imagination got the better of him. He then slowly shut the door to his room and began reading eighteen of his letters addressed to him, for what it took an eternity as he went over and over through the letters again and again, tears started rolling down his cheeks but a smile lingered around the corner of his lips as he read it again and again, for what it felt like an eternity to him.
From the letters, Thomes found out that his mother Catherine was a musician who travelled accross the world and that every letter had different countries postal stamps on it. She started writing to him four years ago and in the last letter, she had asked him if he wanted her to stop writing letters-" I'm know I'm quite selfish to ask you this but I wanted to see you with my eyes, give a nice tight hug and feel the warmth of my little son but I know I'm asking for too much, since the civil war had started five years ago, I was scared what might happen to me, how I might never get to meet you. This is our farewell my sweet little pen pal. I love you my son."
Thomes was sad that he never got to write to his mother because of the civil war, much more angry that the letters never reached him because of the war and that his father hid the fact that he had a mother all along, alive. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror and said out loud "I was loved." Then he wiped his tears and went up to his father burning with anger. But was shocked to see his father crying. His father then wipped hid tears and asked him to sit in the chair so that he could talk about his mother. Thomes nervously sat on the chair.