Ann Widdecombe was not a personal friend of mine, but our paths crossed on a number of occasions, the first over a quarter of a century ago.I had just started dating a fellow journalist, one Michael Gove, and it was Valentine's Day, a fact that he had clearly overlooked, as he had a prior engagement: dinner at the home of the late Chief Rabbi, Jonathan Sacks.He apologised, somewhat sheepishly, said he realised it was probably not what I'd had in mind – but asked me nonetheless if I would like to accompany him.An evening of sombre rabbinical reflection is not necessarily every girl's idea of a romantic soiree, but nonetheless I accepted. And so it was that I found myself sitting opposite the guest of honour, Widdecombe – a situation that only added to the surreal nature of the event.Widdecombe was Shadow Home Secretary at the time, and terrifying on many levels. She was formidable, both physically and intellectually, and dominated the room and the discussion. But even though I was a complete nonentity, she still made an effort to chat to me and listened patiently as I waffled on. I left thinking she was much nicer – and saner – than people gave her credit for.Over the course of the next two decades, as politics came to dominate my life, my respect for Widdecombe and others like her only increased. I began to understand just how hard it is to stick to your principles in a world that mocks and vilifies anyone who dares sail against the prevailing winds of fashionable liberal consensus.I experienced first-hand how the constant and deliberate misrepresentation of a person's motives and character slowly but surely starts to twist people out of shape. I saw, unequivocably, the abyss that opens between the public persona and the private individual, and how the two can become very different, often conflicted, entities. Sarah Vine and her then husband Michael Gove in 2016. The pair had just started dating when she first crossed paths with Ann Widdecombe Over the course of the next two decades, as politics came to dominate my life, my respect for Widdecombe and others like her only increased, writes Sarah VineI realised how easy it is for opponents, whether on the opposite side of the political divide or theoretically inside the tent, to construct negative narratives that undermine and destabilise. I saw the world of politics through the looking glass, and I felt lost and confused.The extraordinary thing about Widdecombe was that she seemed entirely immune to all this, which was what I admired so much about her. I didn't really share many of her views, but I was impressed by her defence of them. It takes a core of steel to be so resilient in the face of so much vitriol and mockery over the course of several decades. And yet she somehow managed it.She was unfailingly true to her principles and courageous in her convictions, which is why it is so tragic that, having withstood the brickbats of public life, she appears to have been struck down brutally in her own home.It's also why some of the reactions to her death shocked and angered me profoundly.Peter Tatchell, the veteran gay rights activist, called her a 'bigot' in a vicious post on X. Adam Boulton, the presenter, delivered a eulogy on her life which characterised her as a 'spinster' and an 'old maid', as though that was the only notable thing about her.A trans woman by the name of Heather Herbert expressed a desire that Widdecombe suffered 'an extremely painful death' and that she 'was handcuffed to the bed as she screamed in agony'.All these people have since apologised and deleted their posts, but not before similar sentiments were echoed across social media from Left-leaning groups or individuals.In death, as in life, she was dangerously misrepresented by people operating under the banner of so-called tolerance, but whose behaviour marks them out as anything but.It's an all-too-familiar scenario. Whether it's some clever-clogs 'comedian' on the BBC or a cowardly keyboard warrior hiding behind a made-up identity, it makes no difference: the effect is the same.It only takes one nutter, as a senior police officer from the Parliamentary security team once said to me. One nutter, someone unhinged enough or wicked enough to take matters into their own hands. Reform leader Nigel Farage lays flowers at Dartmoor National Park near Ann Widdecombe's home I never had Widdecombe's courage in the face of so much vitriol. She handled it so well. Indeed, in her very last broadcast, she talks about politics as a 'game of destruction', says VineOf course, legitimate criticism of a person's politics or views is perfectly acceptable. But increasingly that's not what we see on social media and beyond, on all kinds of issues, from vaccines to Gaza.People aren't content to simply disagree; they have no desire for debate; they seem to want the other person to die. Ideally as unpleasantly as possible.I never had Widdecombe's courage in the face of so much vitriol. She handled it so well. Indeed, in her very last broadcast, released yesterday by her family, she talks about politics as a 'game of destruction', a game she understood and knew how to play.I did not. I let it get to me, to the point where I became anxious and fearful, and not at all well for a while. The moment that finally broke me was when, following the horrific murder of David Amess in 2021 by an Islamist extremist called Ali Harbi Ali (now serving a whole life sentence, which means he will never be released), we were informed that his original target had actually been my ex, Michael.It turned out Ali had made six separate trips to scout out our family home in west London. In 2019 a note on his phone marked 'plans', he had outlined strategies for the attack, including targeting Michael on his regular morning run, or creating a commotion in the street outside to lure him out.In my darkest moments, I have imagined the scene: a normal busy morning, everyone rushing, Michael distracted on the phone, the school run. And then, out of nowhere, this devil, his heart full of hate. What if one of the children had got in the way?I shudder to think how close my family came to being his prey, while at the same time feeling a terrible sense of guilt that this man went on to target Amess.Obviously, mine was not the first politician's family to live under the shadow of such threats, but this was close to the bone. And it came after many others, including one particularly sinister one that arrived in the guise of an 18th birthday card for our daughter, Beatrice.It was not long after someone had painted our home address on a wall in Belfast. It was one of those big special occasion cards, with a badge attached to it that read '18 today! Yay!'Inside, in letters cut from a magazine or newspaper, the following message: 'Tell your dad that if he doesn't [and here I won't specify what he had to do, for security reasons] he won't live to see you turn 19. Do not make this public.'I feel sad every time I think about that. The trouble with things like that is they get under your skin. Knowing that someone with such hateful intentions not only knew where we lived but had also gone to the trouble of looking up the date of our daughter's 18th just chilled me to the bone.I felt completely helpless. No number of locks or alarms or bulletproof windows can guard against the fear in your mind.By all accounts, Widdecombe's home was well protected by cameras and alarms. But like the vast majority of former MPs and MPs, she had no full-time surveillance or close protection. Even if she had managed to get to a panic button of some kind, would help have even got there in time?And while I have no doubt that she would have stood up to her attacker, fearless to the end, she must have felt such abject fear in her final moments.Politics has never been an entirely risk-free business. But it feels especially perilous at the moment. The rise of social media platforms such as X, whose algorithms actively stir up dissent, amplifying content that deliberately winds people up in pursuit of ever greater profits (known as the 'rage economy'), has created a toxic atmosphere the like of which we have never seen before.And it spills out into the real world, onto our streets and into society, where it strikes at the heart of democracy and claims good men and women like Jo Cox and David Amess as its victims. And now Ann Widdecombe too.It's not more security our politicians need. It's an end to this market in hate. May she rest in peace.