Featured: Friday at 4:45 PM

Despite it being her 67th birthday, my mom stopped by my apartment—with ceviche, of course.
She always wonders if I’ve eaten enough, if I’m okay—if I’m taking care of myself.

That’s her love language—acts of service.

She doesn’t say “I love you” often—she comes from a generation of women who held families together, worked, led, and survived—but I’ve never needed her to say it.

I’ve always known.

Her birthday is on Valentine’s Day, so I’ve never had a bad one—because I learned early on that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a plate of ceviche at the end of a long day.