Everyone Knows

The day it happened, I was working on one of our excavation sites out of the country. It was a normal survey, nothing dangerous, nothing unusual. Just dirt, stone, and long hours in the sun. I knelt down to check some markings, leaning in a little closer, and then the ground just gave way. Before I could move, everything went black. I woke up in the hospital. The doctor said I was lucky. Bruised ribs, a concussion, but nothing that wouldn't heal. I stayed a couple of days, then I was discharged. Told to rest. I went home and tried to get back to normal. Small chores. Reading, folding laundry, making coffee. One night, I woke from what felt like a bad dream. After that, everything changed. My name is Nora Reed. I'm 33. I was born and raised in Millfield, in the state of Owensburg, where everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. My parents still live there with my two sisters, Liliana and Astrid. I studied hard in school and earned a degree in archaeology. After university, I accepted a position with the National Heritage Survey. Most of my work involves surveying historical sites, documenting artifacts, and preserving pieces of history before they're lost. Imagine standing in the shadow of the Parthenon, where generations once gathered to honor Athena. Walking the same stone paths philosophers, warriors, and ordinary people crossed thousands of years ago. Imagine holding an artifact that hasn't been touched in centuries, realizing you're the first person to see it since the civilization that created it disappeared. Every temple has a story. Every artifact a history. That's what I fell in love with. The stories, the people, the lives they lived. The feeling that no matter how much time passes, the past never truly disappears.It waits, patiently, for someone willing to uncover it. Looking back now, I should have known that. Because the past came looking for me.It's been a year since the accident happened. I just moved to Weston into a two-bedroom home about three weeks ago. I've made the place as cozy as I could, considering I'm the only one living here. I get out of bed and go through my morning the same way I always have. I make a cup of coffee and sit on the couch, scrolling through the TV until I eventually land on the news. I finish the last of my coffee, then head into the kitchen to make breakfast. I open the fridge and realize it's almost empty, so I do what any normal person would. I grab my bag, my keys, and head out to my car. I drive a black Mustang. When I first got it, I remember my mother telling me she didn't think it suited me. Then again, she'd never really met the side of me I've always preferred to keep locked away. I've always lived by this: if I can't control it, lock it away. It doesn't deserve the light of day. That only applies to me, though. With everyone else, I've always been more passive, calm, naturally caring, deeply passionate about the things I hold close to my heart. I arrive at the market, It's a decent-sized building, with a few local shops nearby. The market sells mostly local produce. Since moving here, the locals seem nice enough. I haven't really talked to anyone yet, but the atmosphere feels welcoming. I grab my usuals: bagels, eggs, bacon, and of course, another bag of coffee. As I'm nearing the checkout, I see a woman in the distance. She seems to be waving at me, but I'm not completely sure, so I keep my head down and wait in line. Then I hear my name. My chest tightens. How could this woman know me? I just moved here. I haven't even been out of the house until now. I glance over. She's walking toward me fast. All I can do is stand there, frozen. How does she know my name? "Nora!" she says, smiling like we're old friends. Oh my God, it's been forever. She stops in front of me, a little out of breath. Wow. How've you been? You look good. I stare at her, trying not to let the panic show. "I'm sorry," I say carefully. "Do I know you?" Her smile falters. "Very funny," she says with a nervous little laugh. When I don't smile back, her expression changes. "Wait," she says quietly. "You're serious?" "I'm sorry," I say again. "I really don't..." She studies my face for a long moment before speaking again. "Nora, it's Jackie. We've been best friends since high school. Best friends for years." I blink, completely lost. "I'm sorry. I really don't remember you." For a long moment, neither of us says a word. Carts rattle past, a register beeps behind me. I glance at my watch, wiping sweat from my brow. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I really must be going." I step away and move to self-checkout. My hands tremble as I scan my groceries. I can feel her eyes on me. As I leave, I hear her calling my name again. That same uneasy feeling settles in my gut. Panic. I walk faster, nearly running through the parking lot. I toss the bags into the back, slide into the driver's seat, throw it in drive, and pull out. Barely noticing the stop sign on my way. My thoughts race. Why would a woman I'd never met say those things to me? Why did she seem so convincing? Did she mistake me for someone else? I cling to that thought, repeating it to myself until it almost feels true. She must have mistaken me for someone else. I get home, and it's already past breakfast. After everything that happened at the store, eating is the last thing on my mind. For the rest of the day, I try to focus on a little much-needed TLC. I tidy up, trying to keep my mind occupied. Later, I settle onto the couch to watch my favorite show before bed. Just as I'm about to relax, my phone starts ringing. A name flashes across the screen. I don't recognize it. I stare at the screen, confused, letting it ring until it finally stops. I press decline and open my contacts. None of the names look familiar. I sit there, stunned. Did I somehow switch phones with someone? Maybe at the office? Honestly, I don't know. I can't make sense of it. I remember picking up my phone on the way back inside the house, so how could that have happened? Then an absurd thought crosses my mind. Maybe that crazy woman from the store, the one who claimed to know me, put a different phone in my car? My window was down, after all. Still, I can't figure out why she would do something like that. I sit on the couch, unable to collect myself. Replaying everything that happened today, realizing how everyone at the store seemed to speak to me as if they knew who I was. That seems impossible. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I get up, turn off the TV, lock the door, and peek through the window one last time before switching off the porch light. After changing into my night clothes, I climb into bed. For what feels like two hours, I scroll through the phone. There are dozens of text messages from people I don't know, along with replies I have no memory of sending. Eventually, I set the phone down and convince myself there has to be a simple explanation. At some point in the last few weeks, I must have accidentally picked up the wrong phone. But no matter how hard I try, I can't remember when, or where that could have happened.