Dulce was the happiest Scott had ever seen her, which was something, because she was a glass-mostly-full kind of woman. In the United States on a Green Card, she had major problems with America’s president and his immigrant crackdown. But at the dawn of 2026, her country, Venezuela, was on the road to liberation. The politician/activist she admired most, Maria Corina Machado, had praised Donald Trump. Dulce was educated and ethical; intellectual honesty made it necessary for her to celebrate the late-night raid in Caracas that snatched dictator Nicolas Maduro and his despised wife just minutes from entering a safe room that wouldn’t have saved them from atonement.
Dulce was part of the great diaspora that had fled Communist ruination under Hugo Chavez and then Maduro. She fled not from poverty or “to seek a better life,” as her family—whom she regularly communicated with from her safe space in Eugene, Oregon—was upper crust, in possession of post-graduate degrees, comfortable wealth, professional jobs, and entrepreneurial successes. She’d become part of the exodus to escape the mess engendered by a tyrannical leftist regime that ruthlessly practiced confiscation, oppression, instances of “disappearing,” and torture.
The prisons in Venezuela were full of hopeless people who felt about Maduro exactly as she did. The government confiscated a healthy pension she’d earned from work as an oil company executive. Her upscale condo in the capital city had sat fully-furnished and quiet as a tomb for three years now.
Scott became educated about the country his friend had escaped. Mostly interested in domestic politics and an unapologetic backer of President Trump, Scott had nonetheless watched and waited with Dulce as the Venezuelan election of January 2024 unfolded and the former crown jewel of South America again fell illegitimately into the hands of the Communists.
He and Dulce partied into the night of January 2, a bottle of wine uncorked, her cell phone constantly ringing, text messages with clips of explosions over Caracas and expressions of joy from Venezuelans in the United States and those still in the homeland. An estimated seven to nine million people just like Dulce had said “Adios” since the 2015-2018 societal collapse fueled by hyperinflation, food and medicine shortages, lack of public services, rising violence, and political instability.
Saturday morning, January 3, there were more questions than answers about the future of Venezuela, but Scott sensed that for Dulce, an irreversible Rubicon was crossed. She thought it was smart that Trump had extracted Maduro and spared complicit Vice President Delcy Rodriguez on the grounds of “keeping friends close and enemies closer.” She and Scott watched as Venezuelan expatriates celebrated the military action in public gatherings across the United States. Such outpourings of joy were noticeably absent on the street of Caracas.
By Sunday, January 4, Scott had formulated his own question, and found the right moment to ask. “Will you go back?”
“We’ll see,” she said.