In the photo, Elsie stands in front of a wall painted with numbers for measuring height. Her hair, which Henrietta once spent hours combing and braiding, is frizzy, with thick mats that stop just below the five-foot mark behind her. Her once-beautiful eyes bulge from her head, slightly bruised and almost swollen shut. She stares somewhere just below the camera, crying, her face misshapen and barely recognizable, her nostrils inflamed and ringed with mucus; her lips—swollen to nearly twice their normal size—are surrounded by a deep, dark ring of chapped skin; her tongue is
