I never met my great-grandmother, Concetta. But somehow, she keeps showing up—in my mirror, in my kitchen, and in the quiet rituals passed down through generations. This is a story about memory, family recipes, and the invisible ways we’re shaped by the women who came before us.

Somewhere between 26 and 32, I started shrinking my desires, believing I was too old, too late, too much. But I’m learning that wanting isn’t dangerous—and naming what we want is its own quiet rebellion.