PORTAGE, Ind. — I was working the night of the election — helping ship merchandise to convenience stores around Indiana — so I kept up on the news by texting a friend. “Should I worry?” I asked around 10 p.m. Not yet, he said. An hour later, the response had changed: “Pressing the worry button now.” I got off work at midnight, and listened to the radio as I drove home. It was by then Nov. 9, and the election was coming to an end. But it didn’t hit me until I saw my mom.

When I got home, she was awake and watching the television, her face paralyzed by distress. I realized we were in trouble.

I have lived in the United States as long as I can remember, but I am undocumented, Mexican by birth. My parents came to the United States because my father was in danger. He served in the Mexican military, but was scapegoated for leaked information and could have been killed. My parents decided to leave for California in 1997, and a year later, my sister and I, ages 5 and 2, joined them.

My parents scraped by selling tamales in the streets of Los Angeles, and my sister and I grew up as Californians. But there was always a huge difference between us and many of our classmates. After my sister graduated, she returned to Mexico because she couldn’t see a future here, blocked from pursuing higher education and a job. Her absence has been extremely painful for my family. We haven’t seen her in five years.