A.N I'm back (obviously) and feeling sorry for not updating since forever. Greetings to potential new readers! And if anyone from way back when I started posting this is still here, I love you!

Sarah remembered the exact moment she was stricken with remorse. Right after she had left the countess alone in the bathroom, she had walked back into the bedroom and headed straight for the chaise longue where Cora's clothes lay discarded. She remembered looking down at the gown in her hands and feeling its texture under her fingers. It had been in that moment that the thought had hit her and her heart had given a violent lurch – she had been putting the finishing touches to that very dress the night before. Lady Grantham adored it and had requested that she make some adjustments to it as soon as possible. Because it had been a little too tight the last time she had tried it on. Because she was expecting a baby.

Sarah had turned her head and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. She hadn't recognized that haggard, tormented woman staring back at her.

Now, she couldn't even bear to meet her own eyes; instead, she looked down at her hands and scrubbed them. She scrubbed again and again until the skin turned bright red, but it was no use; she could still see her lady's blood on them every time she closed her eyes.

She had completely lost her grip.

It had happened right after she had handed the little bundle of cloth to Cora. The cold, rational part of her, whose chief concern was to make sure she didn't lose her mind, had demanded she looked away immediately, because she really didn't want to see the body. She couldn't bear to look at the innocent life she had taken. And yet Sarah hadn't. The voice of reason had been drowned out by something louder, something which had compelled her to stare at the baby and to endure every second of a farewell so painful it went beyond anything she could have imagined. Until she couldn't take it anymore.

She had left Lady Grantham's bedroom, suddenly and without a word, and headed up to the women's bathroom...

Her hands had grown numb from the icy water. Sarah turned off the tap, ignoring the sting as sensation rushed back to her fingers.

Once she was back in her room, she took off her dress and carefully checked if for stains but couldn't spot any on the black fabric. Then she sat on her bed and wanted to cry again, but strangely no tears would come now that she was alone with no one to see her. She just sat there, still as a statue, staring at the white of the walls and seeing nothing.

Anna's knock on her door, probably hours later – but it might as well have been seconds – jolted her back to reality.

"Miss O'Brien, are you in there?"

"Go away."

Any other answer would have been misconstrued as an invitation to go in and try to comfort her. Sarah knew Anna all too well; she could hear the concern in her voice, could almost feel the woman's burning need to reach out to any pained soul, even if it belonged to the last person she should care about. The problem was that Sarah did not want to be comforted. She would grieve for that child if there was even a shred of humanity left in the monster she seemed to have become. She was also much too scared to even consider opening the door. Somehow, Sarah felt as if her crime were written all over her face and a single glance were all it would take for Anna to see right through her.

Fear still twisted her stomach when she finally came down to the servants' hall for dinner, knowing that not doing so would only make her look suspicious. Thankfully, no one asked her questions but William, and his was harmless enough. In the mean time, everyone had heard about Lady Grantham's misfortune, and everyone maintained a respectful silence. Until Thomas stuck his oar in, that was... Then again, Sarah saw where he was coming from – had she been blameless, had it been about any of the Crawleys but Cora, she probably wouldn't have cared much herself.

She kept silent when Mrs Hughes announced that she would bring her Ladyship a tray herself. When she had heard the jingling of the housekeeper's keys, Sarah had expected a well-earned told off. After all, Mrs Hughes couldn't have been too pleased with how she had essentially run away from her duty, leaving her and Anna to deal with the mess in her stead. There had been bloodied sheets and towels to dispose of (of course, any housemaid could have done it), but Anna had also laid out a water basin and a couple of washrags – and the task of cleaning the blood and sweat from the countess's trembling body should have fallen to no one else but Sarah. However, the housekeeper's face had expressed nothing but sadness as she had slid in her seat opposite her, and there had been no comment on the afternoon's lapses.

Sarah didn't react at all when Mrs Hughes tactfully granted her the evening off. But she was grateful anyway. She couldn't have gone back. In that moment, they couldn't have made her go back for all the gold in the world. She was a coward who couldn't stand to look at herself; how could she have looked in the eyes of the mother whose son she had killed?

She lay awake for hours that night, unable to fall asleep; her mind wouldn't stop conjuring image after image of the dead baby, with his oversized head and translucent skin. Visions of Cora holding his hands between thumb and forefinger, stroking the ten perfectly formed digits, kissing her son's tiny face with the eyes that would remain forever closed...

When Sarah finally dozed off, she saw him in her dreams. The boy she had killed. He was her beloved's spitting image, with pale skin, ebony hair and the same large, clear blue eyes she adored, but there was no warmth in his gaze when it landed on her, and his cheek was cold as ice when Sarah brushed her fingers on it.

Standing at her window looking at the rising sun, Sarah resolved that she would tell the countess the truth first thing in the morning, beg for her forgiveness, and put her fate into her hands, regardless of the consequences. Sarah knew that she would never see her again, because Cora would loathe the very thought of her. She knew that if the word got out, she would never work as a servant again. She knew that she may even end up paying the high price for her confession; if Lord Grantham decided to take her to court, she would have to plead guilty to manslaughter. She knew that she had never, ever, wanted any harm to come to the boy, and, past that initial moment of rage, she had never wanted any harm to come to Cora. However, she also knew that she would never be able to live with the burden of silence.

Sarah waited for the bell and braced herself for the disaster to come, but she was never called up. One by one, each member of the family rang for their early morning tea, everyone but the countess, and Sarah remained seated at the long table, drumming her fingers on the wood next to her near-empty plate. She had helped herself to some gooey porridge earlier but found that she couldn't swallow past the first mouthful.

Anna went back up after a while to help the girls dress for breakfast, and soon Mr Carson was announcing the end of the servants' meal. Everyone scattered to attend to their various duties; Daisy and Beth came in to clear the crockery... Mrs Hughes was the only one who hadn't moved, and Sarah met her concerned eyes from across the table.

"Let's give her another half hour. It is a terrible thing her Ladyship is going through", the housekeeper said. "She must be exhausted."

Time crawled by in near silence as Sarah listened to the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall behind her, a sound she usually never heard above the commotion in the servants' hall. It might as well have been ticking away the seconds remaining before she had to leave Downton. She was roused from her thoughts when an impatient Mrs Patmore descended on them from the kitchen to inquire about what should become of her Ladyship's breakfast.

The legs of Sarah's chair screeched on the stone as she suddenly stood up, prompting Mrs Hughes to ignore the surge of questions from the cook and turn her head towards her instead.

"Be careful not to wake her, Miss O'Brien, if by any chance she's still sleeping."

Sarah nodded distractedly, somehow feeling as if this was the last she would ever see of Elsie Hughes. That was highly unlikely however. No matter how things turned out, she would play a part in dealing with the aftermath of Sarah's horrible revelation. And all the more so if Lady Grantham could no longer stomach the sight of her former maid.

Thomas, on the other hand... For a second, Sarah considered going to him before confronting Cora, but she had no idea where he was. Anyway, that kind of mushy nonsense wasn't like them at all.

Sarah had already reached the foot of the stairs when the housekeeper's voice reached her ears.

"Unless you'd rather I take care of her Ladyship today?"

"No," Sarah answered without turning back. "No, Mrs Hughes. That won't be necessary."

Thank you... but I don't deserve your kindness.

The answer to that question had been simple – Sarah could not afford to give in, because if she didn't do it now, she never would, and sooner rather than later the guilt and shame would drive her insane.

Yet in the end, she never confessed her sin.

A.N. One of the sentences in this chapter isn't fully mine. I borrowed it from a fellow writer, whose work I deeply admire, with only minor alterations. I couldn't have done better myself.

"I never wanted any harm to come to the child," she says.[...] And when that instant of anger passed, I never wanted any harm to come to you. But it was too late."- Blessed are the Merciful by esteoflorien on Archive of Our Own

You should read this wonderful, moving story: /works/1021901

Summary: Sarah O'Brien is horrified by Thomas's betrayal, far more than she is disgusted by Bates's smug arrogance. Canon resolution for episode 8 of series 3.