Darlington's first touch

Have a safe trip and be careful out there,” said the stranger to Raleigh as she dragged her battered body into the cab.

It was a quarter past 9:00 PM. The streets were nearly deserted, the last shops closing their shutters, only a few cars gliding by like shadows.

“How did this happen so fast?” Raleigh whispered, hugging her arms tightly around herself. Just a moment ago I was hugging Darlington and we were jolly. A faint smile crossed her face at the memory, but it quickly faded. Her extensions hung limp against her shoulders, her lashes clung awkwardly to her forehead, and she couldn’t comprehend what had just happened to her.

It all began when she kissed Darlington goodbye and hopped into a cab. She called her best friend and chatted halfheartedly in Spanglish. The driver suddenly halted, and before she realized what was happening, a rough hand covered her head and an elbow locked around her throat.

Is this a dream? Somebody wake me up! I can’t breathe!

She remembered George Floyd’s words, “I can’t breathe,” and thought, peace to his ashes. But there was no peace for her—only a fist slamming into her right eye, followed by blow after blow until darkness claimed her.

“What do you want from me?” she gasped when she regained consciousness.

“Shut up,” one thief growled. “We’re not here to rape you. We want money. Give us $500 and everything you have!”

Another, a fat man who reminded her of Rasputia, hissed, “I’ll kill you if you don’t shut your mouth.”

Raleigh forced herself to stay calm. “Let me breathe,” she pleaded. “I’m a caregiver. I’ve helped people from your country. Why are you hurting me?”

The men only laughed, their voices harsh and cruel. One of them reeked of alcohol and unwashed clothes; his laugh made her skin crawl. Another smelled as if he hadn’t showered in years.

Am I bleeding? she asked aloud. One of them roughly wiped her nose and shoved water into her hands. For a moment she thought they were showing mercy—but the next punch left her numb and drifting, longing only for her bed, her pillow, her child.

They demanded her credit card passwords. She gave them—truthfully, knowing two accounts were empty and the third held only a little.

Raleigh was smart. She’d grown up during Liberia’s civil war and had survived worse. At eight years old she fled Monrovia under gunpoint. At eighteen, her former boyfriend, a general, had once pressed an RPG to her face, his red eyes blazing as he demanded the truth. She lied, swore to it, and survived because of her wit. That soldier’s instinct never left her.

Now, trapped again, she thought: This is the second time I’ve had a gun to my head. A different war, the same game. If I give them everything, I lose. If I resist, I may die. But I won’t let them win.

They searched her. She warned them her ring was worthless, that she had little to offer. They took $280 from her purse, but when she boldly demanded her ID back, they returned it—along with some of her cash and even water. She laughed nervously. Was this kindness or mockery?

Still, she waited, watched, and looked for her chance.

Finally, the driver hissed, “Get out. Don’t scream, don’t look back, or we’ll shoot.” A cold metal pressed into her hand. Was it real or fake? She didn’t dare find out.

Raleigh slid out, sat on the sidewalk, her body trembling but her eyes dry. Tears, where are you when I need you? She felt abandoned under the night sky, the lunar eclipse hanging heavy above.

Two hours from home, lost in an unknown neighborhood, she banged on a stranger’s door. A cautious woman cracked it open, then another neighbor stepped out and called the patrol. Police arrived quickly but found no trace of the thieves. They stayed with her, helping her find safety.

If only I had taken the metro. If only I had seen the signs—the plate with 555, the warnings from the universe. She sighed. I lost everything but my life. But maybe that’s enough.

The next day she blocked her cards, changed her passwords, and faced down rude doctors at a clinic until one finally treated her injuries. She was bruised but unbroken.

Darlington called, furious and protective. “Are you able to sketch their faces? I wish I could beat them up!”

She smiled through her pain. “Calm down. I’m recovering. And you made me laugh.”

Darlington had always been sweet, always there. She’d dreamed of him long before she met him, vivid visions that blurred with reality. He had a girlfriend, yes, but destiny seemed to tie them together with invisible strings.

When they finally reconnected after years apart, the chemistry was undeniable. Everyone at work noticed. Neither could resist for long.

But Raleigh couldn’t ignore the strange timing: the night she planned to give herself to him was the same night she was beaten and robbed. Was destiny warning us? she wondered. Does the universe want us apart?

Yet even as she questioned, her heart ached for him.

“Thanks a lot! May God bless you! Raleigh thank the good samaritan who helped her when she was kidnapped by the taxi driver and his complicits. a night that started so sweet and calm turned into a nightmare. Broken smile, black tears,ripped clothes and every belongings stolen. she was left with only her chip and swollen face.

Lessons Learned

Never jump into a random cab.

Never travel with too much cash.

Carry copies of documents, not originals.

Protect your accounts and passwords.

We live in a world of violence with little regard for humans.

Most of all, Raleigh learned that survival was not luck—it was instinct, courage, and faith. She had stared into the eyes of violence before and lived and though the universe sent her warnings, she chose to believe she was still alive for a reason.

This is not the way I die, she whispered to herself. Tonight, I live to tell the story.