My daughter brushed my hair while I was too tired to speak much

Dear Delyara, She is only eight, and she came behind the sofa while I was sitting there with that blank end-of-day look I get when my body is home but my real self is still slowly arriving. She didn’t ask if I was alright. She just picked up the brush from the side table and started brushing my hair very seriously like she had seen me do to her a hundred times. I nearly cried. Not because I want my daughter to mother me. I don’t. But there was something so pure in the instinct. She saw softness was needed and offered the only version of care she knew how to give with her small hands. No questions. No fixing. No adult language. Just brushing. I sat still and let her do it until she got bored and ran off to watch television again. The whole thing probably lasted four minutes. It changed my evening.