One Sunday afternoon the author smells something strange and notices smoke pouring in through the seams of the ceiling. The smoke begins to fill the room so quickly that one could barely see. Examining the way to the front door, they all ran out into the front yard.
By the time they came outside, the whole roof was engulfed in flames and it was spreading quickly. The author ran to the neighbours to call the fire department, while his mother ran back into the house. She returned carrying a small metal box full of important documents. She dropped the case on the lawn and, in a crazed state, ran back into the house. She ran back into the house to collect the pictures and letters of her dead husband. She did so because she did not want to let them go up in flames. They were the only things that she had to remember him by.
