My name is Zariyah Reed, and for the past several months, I’ve been working on a construction crew that sees me as little more than an inconvenience—a joke. I’m the only woman on the site, the only Black person, and every day I’m reminded of just how out of place I am. At thirty-two, I’ve built a life out of enduring, swallowing my pride, and doing what needs to be done. I’m a single mother to Teyana, my fourteen-year-old daughter, and this job keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads. I can’t afford to quit, no matter how bad it gets.

The crew—Rick, Marcus, Jingo, Jerry, and Doug—have never accepted me. From the start, they made it clear that I don’t belong. They see my slender frame, lean, and dark as polished mahogany, and decide I’m weak. They say I’m too small, too fragile for this kind of work. Their voices are like knives, slicing away at me every day.

At first, it was just the usual remarks: “You sure you can handle that, Zariyah? Need a man to help?” They’d laugh, elbowing each other as if their words were the funniest thing in the world. But over the months, it got worse. The remarks became more vulgar, the stares longer, their eyes traveling over me in a way that made my skin crawl. No matter how many times I put on my hard hat and laced up my boots, no matter how much work I did, they never saw me as an equal Just a target.

I went to Jim, the foreman, once, thinking maybe he’d put a stop to it. He barely looked at me as he waved me off. “Guys will be guys, Zariyah. Just deal with it. It’s harmless.”

“Harmless? That’s what they all say. But it’s never harmless when you’re the one enduring it,” I shot back. ’When you’re the one being stripped down—bit by bit, piece by piece—until there’s nothing left but the shame,’ I thought, not willing to say that to him.

Today started like any other day. The sun was just beginning to rise as I showed up at the site, the air cool and damp. I grabbed my tools and got to work; my mind focused on just getting through another day. But the tension in the air was different this morning. There was something darker about the way the men looked at me, something more sinister in their laughter.

By midday, Jim called the crew together. “I’m heading to another worksite with Jingo for the rest of the day to get it ready for tomorrow,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder like we didn’t matter. “Get that foundation done by tonight. No excuses.”

As I watched him drive off, a sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Without Jim there, I was alone with them—completely exposed. I tried to keep my head down and keep working, but I could feel their eyes on me, watching, and waiting.

“Zariyah, you’ve been quiet today,” Marcus said, his voice taunting, laced with something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I didn’t respond. I kept my focus on the task at hand, my heart pounding in my chest. I just needed to make it through the day. That’s what I kept telling myself.

But I didn’t see it coming. Before I knew what was happening, Rick grabbed my arm, yanking me backward. I stumbled, my heart slamming into my throat as I tried to pull away. But the others were there, closing in around me, their laughter low and cruel.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” Jerry sneered, and before I could scream before I could even process what was happening, they were on me. Hands everywhere, ripping at my clothes—my shirt, my pants, my underwear—all torn away in seconds. I fought, kicking and thrashing, but it didn’t matter. They were stronger. They overpowered me with ease, their hands rough and unrelenting.

Within moments, I was completely naked, my body exposed to the cold, biting air. They laughed as they dragged me toward a support pole, binding my wrists above my head with handcuffs attached to a chain that cut into my skin. My chest heaved with panic, my skin prickling with the unbearable humiliation of being completely vulnerable in front of them. I tried to scream, but they shoved a ball gag into my mouth, fastening it behind my head.

My body trembled violently, the cold seeping into my bones as the last of my dignity was stripped away. I stood there, naked, tied to a pole, gagged, and humiliated. They left me like that, their laughter fading as they walked away, leaving me alone in the gathering darkness.

The rain started not long after, cold and relentless. It pelted my skin, turning the ground beneath me into thick, freezing mud. Every drop felt like a fresh slap, a reminder of how utterly powerless I was. My body shook uncontrollably, both from the cold and the overwhelming shame. I couldn’t stop thinking about how they had left me like this—completely exposed my bare skin for anyone to see.

I lost all sense of time as the rain continued to pour down. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the darkness swallowed me whole. The handcuffs around my wrists dug deeper into my flesh, my body aching from the strain. The cold was unbearable, seeping into every inch of me, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation burning deep in my core. The way they had stripped me of everything—my clothes, my dignity—left me feeling like nothing.

Then, in the distance, I saw headlights. My heart clenched with fear. Was it them? Were they coming back? My body tensed, bracing for the worst, but then I saw it—the flash of red and blue lights cutting through the rain.

The police, Relief and terror washed over me in equal measure. They were here. But they would see me like this—naked, broken, tied to a pole. The humiliation was unbearable, but I had no choice. There was no hiding now.

The officer stepped out of the car, his flashlight sweeping across the site until it landed on me. I could see the shock on his face, and the disbelief as he rushed toward me. His hands were gentle as he worked to unlock the handcuffs, his voice low and careful. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice filled with anger and disbelief.

I couldn’t answer. The gag in my mouth held back any words, but even if it hadn’t, I don’t think I could have spoken. The shame was too heavy, too overwhelming.

He pulled the gag from my mouth, and I gasped for air. My voice was barely a whisper as I finally managed to speak.

“It was them, the crew.”

The officer cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. The warmth was a shock after hours of cold, but it did little to soothe the ache inside me. My body trembled as I pulled the jacket tight, trying to cover myself, but no amount of fabric could take away the shame of what had happened.

“We need to get you out of here,” the officer said softly. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want the hospital. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this, to ask questions that I couldn’t answer. All I wanted was to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never come out. I searched for my clothes, not that they were worth keeping now being all cut to shreds but I needed my car keys.

He helped me to the patrol car, guiding me gently into the back seat; I knew there was no escaping what had happened. I could never forget it. The cold, the shame, the way they’d stripped me down to nothing—those things would stay with me long after the bruises healed. I was free now, but the scars run deep.

When the police car pulled up outside my apartment complex, a wave of dread swept over me. The rain had stopped, but the cold still clung to my skin, seeping into my bones. I was wrapped in the officer’s jacket, the fabric heavy with the dampness of the night, but it did little to cover the deep humiliation I felt. My car was still at the construction site, along with my clothes, my purse—everything including my car keys. I cannot afford a locksmith if the police are unable to find my keys. They had taken it all. All I had left was this officer’s jacket and the shame that seemed to be etched into my skin.

The officer, whose name I hadn’t even caught, turned off the engine and looked over at me. “Do you need help getting inside?” he asked gently, his voice kind but laced with the same pity I dreaded.

I nodded. My body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and humiliation. My legs were numb from the cold, my hands were still raw from the handcuffs, and I wasn’t sure I could make it on my own.

He got out first, walking around to open my door, and for a moment, I just sat there, staring at the darkened windows of my apartment. My stomach twisted with anxiety. Teyana, my daughter, was inside. She had no idea what had happened, and the thought of her seeing me like this—naked and broken—was more than I could bear. But I had no choice. I had to face her.

The officer guided me up the front steps, his hand hovering near my elbow as if afraid I might collapse at any moment. The closer we got to the door, the tighter the knot in my chest became. The thought of knocking, of Teyana opening the door to find me like this, made me want to disappear into the ground.

I knocked softly, my heart pounding in my ears. Seconds passed, each one feeling like a lifetime, before I heard the sound of footsteps from the other side. The door swung open, and there she was—Teyana, my baby girl, standing in the doorway with wide, terrified eyes. Her gaze darted from me to the officer, confusion and worry etched across her face.

“Mom?” she whispered, her voice small and trembling. She looked at the jacket draped over my naked body, the raw skin on my wrists, and the horror in her eyes deepened. “What happened?”

I tried to speak, but my throat closed up, the words caught somewhere between shame and exhaustion. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I shook my head, unable to find the strength to explain.

“Teyana, baby, I...” My voice cracked, and I felt the tears spill over. I wanted to tell her that I was okay, that it was going to be fine, but I couldn’t. How could I, when I didn’t even believe it myself? Teyana put her arm around me and helped me inside.

The officer stepped in, his voice calm and steady. “She’s been through something very difficult tonight,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “We’re going to take care of her, and there’s an investigation starting in the morning.”

Tatyana’s face crumpled and she reached out, pulling me into her arms, her embrace warm and desperate. I could feel her trembling against me, but I knew it was more than the cold—it was fear. I could barely hold her back, my body shaking as I clung to her, trying to draw some comfort from the only person I had left.

The officer stood back, giving us space, but after a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to rest now,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two cards. “Here’s my card, and this is the contact for a female officer who will be in touch tomorrow morning to begin the investigation.”

I looked down at the cards in his hand, barely able to focus through the haze of exhaustion. He handed them to me, and I took them with numb fingers, the small pieces of paper feeling like they weighed a ton.

“And the jacket...” He glanced at the damp coat I was still clutching around myself.

I hesitated, but then, with a deep breath, I slowly slipped it off, handing it back to him. I stood there, fully exposed, no longer having anything left to hide. The humiliation of being seen like this—naked, vulnerable, reduced to nothing—was almost unbearable, but I didn’t flinch. There was nothing more they could take from me.

“Thank you,” I whispered my voice barely audible.

The officer nodded; his expression serious but kind. “We’ll get them, Zariyah. I promise.”

With that, he turned and walked down the steps, leaving me standing in the doorway with my daughter. The door closed softly behind him, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.