The Lunch Tin

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Esther Mensah was sitting on the edge of her bed when Leah entered, wearing a faded wrapper and the kind of expression mothers keep for truths they hoped would die before their children needed them. The upstairs rooms smelled of menthol balm, old wood, and boiled ginger. A fan turned in the corner with a clicking sound that had become part of the family's weather. Leah placed the blue lunch tin on her mother's lap..