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For 14 years, Maria Jose Nolasco Ramírez has lived in Delaware with her children, quietly navigating everyday life with a growing fear behind the wheel.

For undocumented immigrants like Nolasco Ramírez, driving without a license is often not a choice — it’s a necessity. In many parts of Delaware, especially in rural and suburban areas, public transportation is limited or nonexistent. Parents still need to take their children to school, get to work or attend medical appointments. For years, she took that risk every day.

Nolasco Ramírez came to the U.S from Guatemala after fleeing abuse and seeking safety. She made the journey through the desert, determined to find peace and opportunity for herself and her American children. But in Delaware, like many undocumented immigrants, her lack of legal status limited nearly every part of life: employment, healthcare, homeownership and transportation.

“Con todo eso que se escucha que migración, tienes miedo de salir… más que todo tengo tres hijos … tal vez por un tiempo estén solos. Pero el país de ellos es aquí. Entonces, las oportunidades de ellos están aquí, y para que ellos tengan esas oportunidades, necesitan un apoyo”, ella dijo.

“With all this stuff you hear about immigration, you’re afraid to leave … more than anything, I have three children … maybe they’ll be alone for a while. But their home country is here. Their opportunities are here, and for them to have those opportunities, they need support,” she said.

Her anxiety followed her everywhere, bracing every time she saw flashing lights. Then in 2015, Delaware introduced the Driving Privilege Card, a limited-use driver’s license for undocumented immigrants.

“Antes de que dieran esta licencia para nosotros las personas sin documentos, era bien difícil porque yo tenía ticket atrás ticket atrás ticket, por no tener licencia”, ella dijo. “Estuve en riesgo de terminar presa.”

“Before they gave us undocumented people this license, it was very difficult because I had ticket after ticket after ticket, for not having a license,” she said. “I was at risk of ending up in jail.”

When she finally earned her card, it changed everything.

“Yo me puse con mucho empeño a estudiar, estudiar, estudiar para aprender el examen porque [yo] no tenía mucha idea de todas las reglas de aquí. Cuando yo fui y pasé el examen, fue el día más feliz de mi vida … yo lloré como una niña chiquita”, ella dijo. “[Lo que] pasa por tu mente [son] todos esos años que estuviste manejando con miedo … que siempre que te paraba el policía te decepcionas más. Eran momentos que pensabas que si valía la pena estar aquí.”

“I worked really hard to study, study, study to learn the exam because I didn’t have much of an idea of ​​all the rules here. When I went and passed the exam, it was the happiest day of my life … I cried like a little girl,” she said. “What goes through your mind are all those years you were driving in fear … that every time the police stopped you, you became more disappointed. Those were moments when you wondered if it was worth it to be here.”