My daughter saved me the last biscuit and told everyone else not to touch it

Dear Delyara, It was such a little thing. And still, it moved me all out of proportion. I came into the kitchen late, after everyone had already helped themselves to the biscuits on the side. There was one left, wrapped in a napkin with a note in my daughter’s writing that said, “This is Mum’s.” I could hear her in the next room telling her brother, “No, that one’s for her.” I think care hits differently when it arrives in small domestic ways that ask nothing in return. It’s not just the biscuit. It’s the thought. The fact that she remembered me while moving through her own little hunger. Some days that is enough to make me feel seen again.