Naseem Munir has been shot dead.
Brave, funny, feisty, clever, hard working and above all, determined.
Perhaps that was what brought her down, in the end. She could not be cowed.
Foreign Correspondent was filming in Karachi with Naseem just a few weeks ago, there to make a story about polio.
Although the wild virus has almost been eradicated throughout the world, it is on the rise in Pakistan.
In a society where it is often hard to persuade women to appear on camera, she was up for anything, articulate and passionate.
Naseem was one of Pakistan's Lady Health Workers. A person who was doing something to help solve a problem.
Lady Health Workers are the poorly paid, under-resourced and wonderfully courageous women who go out in their thousands to the corners of every city, town and village in the country, seeking out kids to ensure they have been vaccinated.
They earn just under $3 a day. Even in Pakistan, that is a pittance.
Fighting anti-vaccination rumours and extremists
The Lady Health Workers movement was started by former prime minister Benazir Bhutto in the 1990s as a way of bringing primary healthcare into the homes of people who otherwise would probably never see a doctor.
Naseem, who had three children of her own, was a founder of the Karachi branch of the All Pakistan Lady Health Workers Employees Association, fighting for better pay and conditions, including security for the vaccinators.
In the last few years the Lady Health Workers have been targeted by anti-government groups, including the Pakistani Taliban. More than 40 have been killed.
The militants target health workers as a way of discrediting the government and creating chaos. Some of the militant groups - although not all of them - oppose the polio vaccination campaign.
They spread propaganda about the drops being contaminated with urine and other unclean substances, and tell their followers they will make their children infertile.
There has always been a certain amount of suspicion about Western vaccination programs - not just about polio. A lot of it just comes down to a lack of education.
But since the mid-2000s, when extremists took over the Swat Valley and started broadcasting anti-vaccination messages over FM radio, the mistrust has grown.
"In the high risk areas where I work, people say the drops contain urine and other dirty substances from America," Naseem said.
"Or they say they're family planning drops used for the genocide of Muslims."
Naseem prided herself on her ability to change minds.
She would drink the drops in front of people, and talk about her own kids. She said another useful tool was leaflets and posters in the local languages, provided by leading religious figures who have issued fatwas in favour of the drops.
The polio workers have become the victims in the long-running war between extremist groups and the Pakistani state.
In January, three of Naseem's colleagues were killed as they gave out polio drops in Karachi. No security had been provided by the government.
On that same day, Naseem was shot at as she travelled to work, and she was nearby when her colleagues died.
"Every time we go to vaccinate, the sword of fear is hanging over us," Naseem told Foreign Correspondent.
"Anything can happen. We are being attacked on a regular basis. In these conditions, we can only go if we think of ourselves as soldiers, otherwise we can't do it."
When we met her, Naseem was waiting to hear the result of a long-running legal battle she was involved in. The union had taken the government to court for more job security.
Most of the workers are employed on a casual basis, and they often don't get paid for months. Naseem wanted to raise their status and win them recognition as fully fledged employees of the health department.
Local police and the health department gave us permission to film Naseem and her workers as they went door to door vaccinating in one of Karachi's dangerous areas. The Taliban is known to be active there.
Our presence created more security problems for the workers, so we could only spend a couple of hours filming, but what we saw in that time was incredibly impressive.
A large group of armed police, and a group of ambulances was on standby, in case of attack. To us it seemed bizarre, that all this security and effort was needed just to distribute a few polio drops.
But that is what it has come to in Pakistan.
We were happy when we left Naseem carrying on with her work. We now had a central element to our film, and could build the rest of the story around her.
A mother shot dead by her husband
Back in Australia, we were putting the finishing touches to Foreign Correspondent's story when I received an email from Amar, our Karachi researcher. The subject line read: Naseem is dead.
I felt like my heart had stopped. I couldn't believe it. I opened Amar's email to learn that Naseem had been shot, and died in hospital overnight.
But there was a twist.
She had not been killed by the Taliban, or any other group opposed to vaccines.
She had not been killed by a stranger at all.
She had been killed by her own husband. The same man who had greeted us when we went to film the family having breakfast, and sat near his wife while we interviewed her.
In the interview, Naseem told us that every time she went to vaccinate, she wondered whether she would come home to see her children again.
Could she have ever imagined that she would die at the hands of her own husband? The police have confirmed that he did it, although no-one knows why.
We have heard it may have been a property dispute. Naseem owned their house, and he wanted her to sign it over to him. She had refused.
She has become a statistic quoted by WHO, who say about 40 per cent of women killed in the world are murdered by their partners.
In a patriarchal society like Pakistan, it can be dangerous to be a feisty, independent woman.
And in a city awash with guns, and where the criminal justice system barely functions, it is even more dangerous.
There is a fair chance her murderer will not be brought to justice. According to the police, her husband ran away.
Last year there were 2,700 reported murders in Karachi. Most went unsolved, and unpunished. It is an easy place to buy people off.
Now three children are without a mother. And Pakistan has lost a wonderful woman, a fighter on the side of all that is good.
In our story, Naseem is positive about beating polio. Like many Pakistanis we spoke to, she told us she was embarrassed by the fact that India had recently been declared polio-free, while kids in her own country were still being paralysed.
But she also saw India's example as an inspiration.
Michael Edwards asked her: "Are you optimistic that you can win the war on polio here in Pakistan?"
She replied: "Yes, I say, we will win, if we live. It's up to the government to provide us with security, full security. If people like us live, it's not a difficult task, we can do it. We just have to work hard, and with sincerity."
Vale Naseem Munir. You will be missed.
- Australian Broadcasting Corporation
- © ABC