She entered the house and immediately let herself fall wide and flat into her armchair. She didn't even take off her shoes, something she always used to do. The pain in her back didn't allow her to breathe properly. Instinctively, she placed her hands on her huge belly, searching for the movement of her baby. It was there, safe and sound, she heard it, she felt it. But why was she in so much pain? The midwife had assured her that she still had at least another month before the birth. Of course, she herself had told her to stop working, but Clara paid her no attention. With her previous two children, she had worked until the last moment and everything had gone just fine. She washed, swept, ironed, did everything. Maybe a little slower than usual, but she was still effective. The ladies who employed her would not trade her for anyone.
It wasn't just her family's need for money, which was clearly urgent. Her husband Patrick worked at the Zurich railway station, issuing tickets, and although his salary was considered decent for the time, it was certainly not enough to feed four mouths and cover all the family's other needs. Clara enjoyed her work, she didn't complain about it, she didn't do it just for the money. Her friends never understood how someone could like being a servant. Because Clara was a servant. She served rich people, life's favored ones, the lucky ones who lived on the other side of the lake.