The demonstrations bothered me. They bothered many of us in Roanoke, so much so that a couple of months earlier a local lawyer had decided to do something about them. His plan was to petition Roanoke’s city council to ask the state legislature, which ultimately controls gun laws, to introduce some common-sense restrictions: that no one could carry a rifle or handgun in Roanoke loaded with more than 20 rounds, that there should be no guns at all in city buildings. These were minor limitations, but they enraged the man in question. He came to the hearing I attended with a Glock on his hip, shaking the loaded clip at the councilmen.

The City Council was firmly on our side but the Republican-led state legislature never took up the matter. We drew critical support from our state senator, who had previously voted only with the NRA, but ultimately the measure failed.

I wonder if I showed up in a Trump hat with a sidearm . . . . I took a screenshot of the man’s comment and shared it with friends on Facebook, pointing out that his place of employment was listed alongside his name for anyone to see. He was a chef at a popular restaurant in town. I didn’t call the restaurant, but several others did. Did the owner want someone on his staff making such comments on the internet? He was fired the next day.

Of course the man blamed me—me and another local woman who also advocates for gun control. Women are so often the target of retaliation from the gun-rights crowd. He called her home and left a message saying he would never hurt her but warned that he had lots of “Second Amendment friends” and did she live alone? Meanwhile he sent my husband and me pictures of our house via social media. Of course I was afraid. And I regretted my posting on Facebook. This is what happens when you speak out against those who feel entitled to guns, no matter the circumstances. They get agitated. They become angry. And because they walk around armed, you put yourself at risk.

The next evening there was a knock on my door. It was this man’s girlfriend, asking for me. My husband said I was not available and please go away and closed our door. I was upstairs at the time, and coming down I saw a dark-bearded face peering through our dining-room windows. My children were in the front hall, and here was this man on my porch who almost certainly had a gun. I sent my kids into the basement and called 911 as my husband charged outside. He has an ability to puff himself up and make the most of his six-foot frame. “Get off my property,” he said. “Get off my property!” I was screaming at him from our doorway to come inside. The man backed down our front walk, insisting he hadn’t come to start anything. I was still imploring my husband: It’s not worth confronting this guy. Come inside. His girlfriend had retreated to the car. The man squared his shoulders with my husband’s, and I thought with piercing certainty, This is when he pulls out a gun and shoots. This is the moment where that happens.