That's Not My Name

by Megan Lally

I still expect to see her name on my screen every time it rings. With every ping of a text message, I think it’s her. And every time it’s not, I feel it all over again—the suffocating loop of hope turned to dread.

She’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Max leans over from the driver’s seat. “Get in, losers, we’re going sleuthing.”

What if he’s not my dad? What if I’m not Mary? What if that’s not my name?

The closest I get is a couple days of numb before another memory comes out of nowhere and knocks me on my ass.