"I can put away Mary's things so you don't have to look at them." Anna said. She watched him as he picked up the stuffed dog from the bureau. He was holding it together, it appeared on the surface, but Anna saw him, when ever he looked at something of Mary's, he looked as if he was going to fall apart.

"No. That's alright Anna. I'll be sleeping in my dressing room, tonight." Maybe forever. Her things could be packed away out of sight, but he would still think of them. Everything in this house was a reminder of her, the devastating grief is like a phantom, sticking to him like a shadow, haunting him.

It takes a toll on everyone, especially, Cora and Robert. They had lost another daughter. They fail to notice his own grief.

"Could you leave me alone for a moment, Anna?"

Anna nods and goes.

The crumpled duvet bore the marks of two bodies that lay side by side that last afternoon at home. He was numb; stunned. He crawled under the covers and lay there without tears.

I need to get up, take a bath, shave and get ready. I'll pop in on George before I go over today's duties.

He got out of bed, undressed, turned on the water and stepped in.

He went to the closet and remembers, his clothes are no longer there, only Mary's clothes still hung. He runs his fingers over them. They stop at the familiar wine colored dress. A favorite of his. She had broken his heart in it. He had proposed to her while she'd been wearing it, twice.

Taking it off the hanger, rather forcefully as the hanger refused to let go,as if it too wanted to stop the passage of time. A day without her was far too long. George and Downton had to be his first priorities. That's what Mary would have wanted. It's what he had to do, or he'd lose his mind. His son needed him. George who looked nothing like Mary. He was only a few months old, and his looks could change.

After wrestling with the hanger for a while, the dress dropped to the floor, as the hanger broke.

He picked up the dress, dusting it off quickly, although there was no dust. Anna must still clean this room, even though no one occupied it. It had become somewhat of a sealed time capsule, and untouched shrine. Her way of coping with the loss. Anna. She would lose her job. He was sure if he spoke to Robert, he could convince him to let her stay on, they could find something for her. Anna had been Mary's friend. She would know more about Mary, things she could never tell him. He felt guilty of the thought, that it would be taking advantage of her death to uncover her secrets and insecurities.

He sits on the bed and holds it up to his face. He inhales, inhaling her sent. He gives in, letting the dam break.

There was a knock on the door. He barley hears himself mutter, "come in." He places it on the bed next to him, partially hiding it underneath him.

He is relieved that it's only Edith. "I thought I would find you here." She notices that his eyes are puffy but she doesn't say anything.

He stares at the closet. His eyes fall on the suitcases. They had been planning to go on there second honeymoon to Gretna Green. They had planned out George's future, where he would get his schooling, maybe sending George to Eaton when he got older. Mary would buy George his first pony once he turned four. All just days ago.

It was their last conversation that haunted him, yesterday morning when she had gone out, never to return. Their last exchange hadn't been hateful words. He wished they had been meaningful words. Not just mindless jargon about nothing.

And the unanswered questions. Had he made her happy? Had be been a good husband? Did he make the most of loving her?

How he wished she would have written a letter, telling him that she was leaving. He'd have preferred it. At least she'd be alive. But his Mary would never do that, never leave their son, her family. Then why did you leave us? He tried to think of happier thoughts. He went back to their conversation two nights ago.

"Why four?" He had asked her, "you got your first pony when you were three."

"Boys take more time to mature." He had glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "You're the exception darling." She had kissed him on the cheek and turned over and went to sleep.

It made him want to smile and laugh, thinking of that now. But stopped himself. Laughing felt wrong. Mary couldn't laugh anymore. And smiling, it seemed forced. That beautiful smile. He always enjoyed it being the first thing he saw when he woke up in the mornings, what he looked forward to, to start his day. He simply started his day solely for George, it seemed, and his business with managing Downton. He has gone back to his old ways, a creature of habit, carrying out his duty, rather than a human being. Waking up was an accomplishment with in itself.

Just this morning when he had woken up, he had expected her to be there next to him, only to remember that he was in his dressing room. His first thoughts were, he and Mary must have had a row or disagreement, or he had stayed up to late and didn't want to wake her. Then he remembers. What a strange thing grief does.

"We had so many plans." There is a term used in bereavement literature for a young death: an "off-time" death. I find it graceful and apt. When your spouse dies an off-time death, you, too, fall out of time. You drop out of sync with your contemporaries. Even his thoughts were business like, he breathed it. George kept his heart beating. A part of her. I wish you could be here darling.

"Mary thought that death was fifty years away."

"I feel like I'm nothing with out her. I'm not even a husband anymore."

"You're a father." Edith squeezed his arm. He was tired of people doing that, as if they thought it would pull him back together, anchor him to the real word. "first and foremost." She added. "He's going to need you."

"He's my main focus. Tom said it would help."

"Have you picked out something for her to wear?" Edith changed the subject, turning her attention to the closet.

"Here." He takes the dress out from under him, and shows her. She goes to grab it from him but he doesn't relent his grip on the fabric, reluctant to let it go.

"It was her favorite dress." He lessons his hold and hands it to his sister in-law.

"Are you sure?" She wanted him to be sure that he didn't want to hold on to it for sentiment value.

He nods. "It'll be perfect. She'll look beautiful don't you think?"

"I was never one for Mary's sense of high fashion."

He smiled and made a small laugh, even though it felt wrong. He found, shockingly, that it wasn't false nor forced. He thought of how Edith and Mary would fight. What Mary would be saying now. She wouldn't be saying anything because we wouldn't be having this conversation. His expression then turned somber. "I was wondering..." He paused, licking his lips, nervously, as he tried to find the right words, without sounding crazy. "if I could hold on to it. Until then."

Edith looked upon him in understanding, handing it back to him. "Yes. Of course."