[ Claire—Widow Fraser—has been at the mercy of the fertility of Yancai for what feels like weeks. Her lower back hurts, her feet, but with each successful delivery, all of that fades away in a rush. She's been the midwife here for as long as she can remember, but never have there been so many full-term women at once.

She's just left two new proud but exhausted parents and is dreaming of a bath when she's approached by a young man who looks like he might fall over...and she's off again.

It's obvious as soon as she's finished with her exam there's an issue. She needs to try fixing it, this breeched baby, but she needs help because she can't knock the woman out or give her drugs that might harm the child. Claire looks at her young apprentice and tells her to flag down the first decently strong person they come across who isn't the father. To tell them that the midwife needs help and to come along if they have a strong constitution.

Once that person steps in the door, Claire pokes her head out of the room and gestures. ]

I need you to hold her down very tightly by the shoulders. If you pass out, we'll have a very serious problem. Understood?

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐼𝐼 - 𝐴𝑝𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑦
[ Before she can drag herself home she has to replenish her medicine box, and Claire makes her way to the apothecary a good half hour before closing. After a brief chat with the proprietor, she seems to know exactly where she's going and what she needs. But as she passes someone browsing she has to double back when they pick up a jar containing a dark, opaque liquid. ]

Pardon me, I don't mean to interrupt. I only wondered what you might be doing with horse urine.

[ It's difficult for her not to laugh, wondering if they even knew what they were holding. This isn't a store that cares much for labels the deeper into the depths one goes. ]

[ When Claire wakes, it's a full ten seconds before she loses her memories again, and she can hardly drag herself out of bed. There's a hollow feeling in her gut followed by surprise; it seems late in the morning and no one's knocked on her door or contacted her over her device to alert her of a person in labor.

It's why she's still in a robe when she makes her way to the kitchen. The expected knock comes and she detours to answer after a quick wave in the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet, Claire's voice raises and by the time she's finished, she's shouting. ]

Perhaps you didn't hear the first time: get the fuck off of my doorstep before I call someone who can relocate you.

[ Before whoever it is can reply, she's slamming the door in disgust and locking it, then tromps off to the kitchen. ]

This hasn't been a brothel in years, and quite frankly, I'm getting sick and fucking tired of this.

[ She's not a morning person. Or as it turns out, a 'just awake' person, but she's always been this way, nothing new. Someone usually hands over a cup of coffee and suddenly all's well in Claire's world again. ]

[ The day has been a somber one, though it doesn't mean babies don't need to come into the world. It only means that she knows this isn't her world now. She isn't a widow, and she has no one here, no one who knows her, not really. The comradery she felt was a lie.

It's late, hours after supper when she's woken from a restless sleep by the sound of a baby crying. Not so unusual given the boom, but this seems to be coming from inside the house. It's been a long time since that noise woke Claire, and she rubs her face, sitting up.

The crying gets louder when she opens her door and steps into the hall at the same time someone else does. Offering a quizzical look, she leads the way in her nightgown and then stops abruptly. There's a baby on the floor of the living room, wailing her head off, the swaddle around her having fallen away. She's moonlight pale, and that makes the red wisps of hair on her head seem to stand out.

Color draining from Claire's face, she takes a step forward, and then another, hurrying, and soon she has the baby cradled carefully in her arms. ]

Faith.

[ She breathes out the name not in question, but in knowing, then looks up helplessly at her flatmate, unsure what to do or how to do it. ]