Angela locked the door to her modest home for the third time that evening. The deadbolt clicked into place, but it didn’t quiet the unease gnawing at her. She adjusted the curtains, making sure there was no gap for prying eyes. Outside, the streetlights cast eerie glows on the empty road, their flickers doing little to brighten the oppressive night.

The news had hit earlier that day like a thunderclap: President Trump had pardoned Enrique Tarrio, Stewart Rhodes, and others convicted in connection with the January 6 Capitol riot. These weren’t just names to Angela—they were reminders of a day she’d been trying to forget for years.

Angela had been at the Capitol that day, not as a protester but as a staffer for a junior congressman. She’d barricaded herself in an office, listening to the sound of glass shattering and chants growing louder. The memory of angry faces, of fists pounding on doors, had haunted her ever since.

Now, the people responsible for orchestrating that chaos were free.

She glanced at the television, where a news anchor spoke over footage of Stewart Rhodes stepping out of a detention center, a triumphant smirk on his face. Supporters surrounded him, waving flags and cheering as though he were a hero returning from battle.

Angela’s hands trembled as she picked up her phone. “Mom, did you see the news?” she asked, her voice tight.

“I did,” her mother replied, her tone heavy with concern. “Are you okay?”

Angela hesitated. Was she? She hadn’t been okay for years—not really. The fear that had taken root on January 6, 2021, had never truly left her. It was why she’d moved to a quieter neighborhood, installed security cameras, and started carrying pepper spray in her purse. The idea that the people who’d planned and led that day were now walking free made her chest tighten.

“I just don’t understand how they can let this happen,” Angela said. “These men… they’re dangerous. They have followers who believe everything they say, who’d do anything for them.”

Her mother sighed. “You’ve done everything you can to stay safe. Don’t let them control your life any more than they already have.”

But that was easier said than done. Angela had read reports of rising political violence, of threats against judges, prosecutors, and even ordinary citizens who had dared to speak out against extremist groups. She wasn’t naïve enough to think she was invisible. Her name was in court transcripts, her testimony a small but critical piece in securing some of the convictions that had just been undone.

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

As the night deepened, Angela paced her living room, her thoughts spiraling. What if they came for her? What if someone decided she was part of the problem? Her rational mind told her it was unlikely, but fear doesn’t bow to reason. She knew how quickly words could turn to action, how easily anger could spark violence.

She stopped in front of the window and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer out. The street was quiet, but quiet didn’t mean safe. She stared at the shadows, half expecting them to move.

Tomorrow, she decided, she’d call a friend—a fellow survivor of that day at the Capitol. They’d started a support group months after the riot, a lifeline for people struggling to navigate the lingering trauma. Maybe talking to someone who understood would help.

But tonight, Angela felt alone, her home a fragile sanctuary in a world that seemed increasingly unpredictable. The shadows outside loomed larger than ever, and for the first time in years, she wondered if her fear would ever truly fade—or if it was destined to become a permanent part of her life.