Growing up on a small Green Bay street where children played under golden maples and neighbors knew each other by name, Alex Pretti was exposed to kindness at a young age. That attitude was established by his parents, Susan and Michael, who were incredibly loving and silently present while teaching him to put the needs of others before his own.
Alex was the type of child who embraced his teachers without hesitation, waved to strangers, and spent rainy afternoons building Lego castles with his sister Micayla. His laugh was incredibly contagious, especially when he told jokes that only his father seemed to get.
| Detail | Description |
|---|---|
| Name | Alex Jeffrey Pretti |
| Age at Time of Death | 37 |
| Occupation | ICU Nurse, Minneapolis VA Medical Center |
| Parents | Michael and Susan Pretti, currently residing in Colorado |
| Sibling | Micayla Pretti (sister) |
| Marital Status | Divorced; ex-wife lives out of state |
| Hometown | Green Bay, Wisconsin |
| Education | Graduate of Preble High School; Nursing degree |
| Date of Death | January 24, 2026 |
| Credible Source | People.com Coverage |
His attention became more focused as he grew, initially on sports and later on science. Nursing eventually called to him. Friends frequently remark that he responded to a deeper question than simply picking a career. He became an intensive care unit nurse, exhibiting remarkable effectiveness under duress and remarkable composure during emergencies. Patients had faith in him. His coworkers leaned on him.
His life settled in Minneapolis in recent years. Despite his divorce, he maintained a close bond with his family. Alex consistently sent cards with handwritten notes and corny jokes, never missing a birthday. Even though they were now in Colorado, his parents still eagerly anticipated his weekly calls, which were frequently humorous and consistently warm.
But that rhythm was broken on January 24.
Susan and Michael got a call from a reporter rather than their son. Before it was turned into a video that millions of people watched, it was a shock that made no sense. It showed Alex, who was allegedly unarmed and only holding a phone, attempting to assist a woman at a protest. A quick escalation ensued, culminating in ten shots. Five seconds. No second chances.
Micayla took a stand by incorporating family memories into the conversation. Clarity was provided by her trembling yet fiercely grounded voice. She claimed that Alex made everyone feel safe, including strangers as well as patients and friends. He was frequently the first to speak up, the first to arrive without being asked, and the first to stay late.
Alex had been her shield throughout their early years. After she fell from a tree and broke her wrist, Alex was the one who ran home and came back with their father, holding her favorite stuffed animal while gasping for air. That was Alex—instinctively kind, quietly heroic.
Susan recalls their most recent call. A broken garage door, a handyman he tipped extra, and a warning to exercise caution at protests were the only noteworthy aspects of the situation. As mothers do, she had cautioned him gently. He pledged to exercise caution.
That promise now carries a tragic burden.
In a private statement, his ex-wife reaffirmed what many people already believed: this was not a violent man. He was steadfast, strikingly composed even when he disagreed, and fervently committed to justice. The fact that he had intervened to assist someone didn’t surprise her. She was heartbroken that it had turned out this way.
According to the family’s statement, Alex’s official designation as a “domestic terrorist” was abhorrent and extremely offensive. The description seemed remarkably different from the man they knew. The man who gave dying veterans comfort. The man who used Zoom to read his niece bedtime stories. The man who appeared.
They have attempted to recover his story from the turmoil through calculated outreach. And the public has paid attention, showing remarkable responsiveness. Sunflowers were placed next to handwritten cards by strangers during vigils. One said, “When no one else would, you held my grandpa’s hand at the VA.”
The family’s GoFundMe page received $10,000 from billionaire investor Bill Ackman, who is frequently far removed from grassroots causes. His unexpectedly intimate gesture strengthened the notion that Alex’s passing affected more people than just those who knew him.
Micayla has taken on the role of their spokesperson. She has a very distinct, purpose-driven cadence when speaking in interviews. She claims that the agents who approached her brother misinterpreted him and made a mistake in a situation that called for judgment rather than coercion.
The Prettis are now managing their grief by taking action, demanding accountability, transparency, and that Alex’s last moments be seen in the context of his whole life rather than just one misconstrued video.
Their demand is straightforward: take another look in the midst of escalating tensions and divisive narratives. At the man beyond the viral frame, not at the frame itself.
After his shift, the nurse stayed. The brother who never forgot. The son who lived at home.
Alex had no intention of making headlines. He was going to assist. And amazingly, he still is today.
