September 2030

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Helena's mother is washing the dishes they used for dinner. She says she likes to keep things like they used to be and refuses to use the dishwasher, stating that washing gives her peace. Her father is sitting in the red sofa reading a detective story with his glasses balancing on the nose tip. Edvin, her little brother, is playing with a colourful toy train he received as a Christmas present. Everything is just as usual.

"Edvin? Mother?" she asks trying.

No reaction. She walks over to her mother with her eyes glued to the hypnotizing foam bubbles swirling around in the air. They're caused by her mother's rhythmical rubbing on the last traces of food on the large white and green dishes they used. Helena remembers them. The white and green dishes. Her mother got them from her father on her birthday a few years ago.

The foam surrounds Helena as she get's closer and when she blinks, the home disappears and is replaced by a small cemetery. The leaves lie all over the ground and crackle under her bare feet as she walks over them. One step at a time. Her gaze runs over the surroundings, peacefully and quiet. Everything is the same. She follows the gravel-covered trail that winds its way through the graves. Time seems to stand still.

Finally she's standing there. In front of the grave. The small marble stone is covered with leaves and Helena gently brushes them off. A weak smile curves her lips. Her mother was a good person. The name becomes visible under the leaves. Elisabeth Willson, written with silver letters. The years are a disappointment, and Helena's smile fades away. 1998-2030. 32 years old. She looks away. Her eyes are flooded with tears which she stubbornly fights to hold back, but a lone tear escapes and runs down her cheek. She follows its path down to the ground until it lands on her bare, pale foot. Helena slowly sinks to her knees next to her mother's grave with a hand on her name.

"Mom I'll find him. " She mumbles beneath her breath.

"I'll find him."