I breathed in the wafting scents of garlic mixed with wildflowers, herbs, and lemon and appreciated the rolling hills and the vines surrounding the villa, listened to the complete silence other than the lazy buzz of a bee or the occasional birdsong. I was in paradise, with my family, and I seized the moment with the ferocity of a woman who knew how fleeting life really was.

“Let’s say grace,” I announced. We linked hands and bowed our heads. I recited the traditional grace, emotion lumped thick in my throat. “Thank you. I know it took a leap of faith to leave everything behind for a month, but I’ll never forget this trip. I love you both.”

“Love you too, Nonni,” Allegra said, squeezing my hand.

“Love you, Mom.”

I blinked back tears and got hold of myself. “Let’s do justice to this beautiful food.”

We did. I watched with pride as my two girls stuffed themselves like true Italians, appreciating every flavorful morsel. Darkness fell and crickets serenaded us. The wine bottle emptied, and Allegra yawned, stretching at the table. “I’m so tired,” she moaned.

“Go to bed,” Frannie ordered. “You cooked; I’ll do the dishes.”

Being the bright young woman she was, Allegra jumped up from the table. “Thanks, Mom! Night, Nonni!”

She disappeared.

I looked at Frannie and we both laughed. “Hmm, that went well. There wasn’t even a hesitation,” she said.

I raised my brow. “Like mother, like daughter. You hated cleaning. And dishes. And dusting. And making your bed. And—”

“I get it. I was never the domestic type. But I didn’t have to be—you always took care of everything.”

I nodded, thinking back over the years to the number of hours I spent cooking and tending the house and the garden. I’d made Frannie and Jack my life. I’d prepared for so much more, and it took me a long time to accept I wasn’t meant to have it. “Chores were part of my identity,” I said simply. “I had nothing else.”

My daughter shifted in her chair and leaned over the table. Her gaze locked on mine, those golden brown eyes filled with questions. “Mom, do you have any regrets? Things you wish you could do over?”

I was tempted to wave my hand and say nothing, but it was a night to share truths. “I promised your great-grandmother I’d give your father a big family and take care of him.” My voice drifted away, chased by the wind. “I failed everyone, though. I accepted it but will always regret not being able to have more children.”

“How could you say that?” Outrage shimmered from her figure. “That’s not your fault! No one can blame you for not being able to have a child.”