CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MONDAY, AUGUST 16, 2027 4:11pm
(02:23:16:37)
Mike heard his mother crying when he entered the house. Her sobs drifted through the lavish rooms, coming from the kitchen, the place most comfortable in the house her husband built her. The rooms and glitz came alive for parties, but day to day she stayed in the kitchen. She felt safest there.
Mike wandered in, trying not to surprise her. She sat in the old wooden chair she kept at the small desk in a corner where she looked at bills and made up shopping lists. The chair stood out against the modern space where granite and steel and deep cherry cabinetry ruled. The chair was worn and stained, made of some unknown wood no longer obvious. It creaked beneath her weight and Mike was always sure he would find her splayed out on
