ven though I can’t see him or Christian, I grin like an idiot with my glee. Ted
　　has woken from his nap, and he and Christian are romping nearby. I lie
　　quietly, still marveling at Christian’s capacity for play. His patience with
　　Teddy is extraordinary—much more so than with me. I snort. But then, that’s
　　how it should be. And my beautiful little boy, the apple of his mother and
　　father’s eyes, knows no fear. Christian, on the other hand, is still far too
　　overprotective—of both of us. My sweet, mercurial, controlling Fifty.
　　“Let’s find Mommy. She’s here in the meadow somewhere.”
　　Ted says something I don’t hear, and Christian laughs freely, happily. It’s a
　　magical sound, filled with his paternal joy. I can’t resist. I struggle up onto my
　　elbows to spy on them from my hiding place in the long grass.
　　Christian is swinging Ted around and around, making him squeal once more
　　in delight. He stops, launches him high into the air––I stop breathing––then
　　he catches him. Ted shrieks with childish abandon and I breathe a sigh of
　　relief. Oh my little man, my darling little man, always on the go.
　　“‘Gain, Daddy!” he squeals. Christian obliges, and my heart leaps into my
　　mouth once more as he tosses Teddy into the air then catches him again,
　　clutching him close. Christian kisses Ted’s copper-colored 498 | P a g e
　　E L JAMES
　　hair, and blows a kiss on his cheek. Teddy is oblivious. He squirms, pushing
　　Christian’s chest and wanting out of his arms. Grinning, Christian sets him on
　　the ground.
　　“Let’s find Mommy. She’s hiding in the grass.”
　　Ted beams, enjoying the game, and looks around the meadow. Grasping
　　Christian’s hand, he points to somewhere I’m not, and it makes me giggle. I
　　lie back down quickly, delighting in this game.
　　“Ted, I heard Mommy. Did you hear her?”
　　“Mommy! ”
　　I giggle-snort at Ted’s imperious tone. Jeez—so like his dad, and he’s only
　　two.
　　“Teddy!” I call back, gazing up the sky with a ridiculous grin on my face.
　　“Mommy!”
　　All too soon I hear their footsteps trampling through the meadow, and first
　　Ted then Christian bursts through the long grass.
　　“Mommy!” Ted screeches as if he’s found the lost treasure of the Sierra
　　Madre and he leaps onto me.
　　“Hey, baby boy!” I cradle him against me and kiss his chubby cheek. He
　　giggles and kisses me in return, then struggles out of my arms.
　　“Hello, Mommy.” Christian smiles down at me.
　　“Hello, Daddy.” I grin up at him. He leans down, picks Ted up, and sits down
　　beside me with our son in his lap.
　　“Gently with Mommy,” he admonishes Ted. I smirk—the irony is not lost on
　　me. From his pocket, Christian produces his BlackBerry and gives it to Ted.
　　This will probably win us five minutes’ peace, maximum. Teddy studies it, his
　　little brow furrowed. He looks so serious, blue eyes concentrating hard, just
　　like his daddy does when he reads his e-mails. Christian nuzzles Ted’s hair,
　　and my heart swells to look at them both. Two peas in a pod: my son sitting
　　quietly—for a few moments at least—in my husband’s lap. My two favorite
　　men in the whole world.
　　Of course, Ted is the most beautiful and talented child on the planet, but then
　　I am his mother so I would think that. And Christian is . . . well, Christian is just
　　himself. In white T-shirt and jeans, he looks as hot as usual. What did I do to
　　win such a prize?
　　499 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　“You look well, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“As do you, Mr. Grey.”
　　“Isn’t Mommy pretty?” Christian whispers in Ted’s ear. Ted swats him away,
　　more interested in Daddy’s BlackBerry.
　　I giggle. “You can’t get around him.”
　　“I know.” Christian grins and kisses Ted’s hair. “I can’t believe he’ll be two
　　tomorrow.” His tone is wistful. Reaching across, he spreads his hand over
　　my bump. “Let’s have lots of children,” he says.
　　“One more at least.” I grin, and he caresses my belly.
　　“How is my daughter?”
　　“She’s good. Asleep, I think.”
　　“Hello, Mr. Grey. Hi, Ana.”
　　We both turn to see Sophie, Taylor’s ten-year-old daughter, appear out of the
　　long grass.
　　“Soeee,” Ted squeals with delighted recognition. He struggles out of
　　Christian’s lap, discarding the BlackBerry.
　　“I have some popsicles from Gail,” Sophie says. “Can I give one to Ted?”
　　“Sure.” I say. Oh dear, this is going to be messy.
　　“Pop!” Ted holds out his hands and Sophie passes one to him. It’s dripping
　　already.
　　“Here—let Mommy see.” I sit up, take the popsicle from Ted, and quickly slip
　　it into my mouth, licking off the excess juice. Hmm . . . cranberry, cool and
　　delicious.
　　“Mine!” Ted protests, his voice ringing with indignation.

　　“Here you go.” I hand him back a slightly less runny popsicle, and it goes
　　straight into his mouth. He grins at me.
　　“Can Ted and I go for a walk?” Sophie asks.
　　“Sure.”
　　“Don’t go too far,” Christian adds.
　　“No, Mr. Grey.” Sophie’s hazel eyes are wide and serious. I think she’s a little
　　frightened of Christian. She holds her hand out, and Teddy takes it willingly.
　　They trudge away together through the long grass. Christian watches them.
　　“They’ll be fine, Christian. What harm could come to them here?”
　　He frowns at me momentarily, and I crawl over and into his lap.
　　“Besides, Ted is completely smitten with Sophie.”
　　500 | P a g e
　　E L JAMES
　　Christian snorts and nuzzles my hair. “She’s a delightful child.”
　　“She is. So pretty, too. A blonde angel.”
　　Christian stills and places his hands on my belly. “Girls, eh?”
　　There’s a hint of trepidation in his voice. I curl my hand behind his head.
　　“You don’t have to worry about your daughter for at least another three
　　months. I have her covered here. Okay?”
　　He kisses me behind my ear and scrapes his teeth around the edge to the
　　lobe.
　　“Whatever you say, Mrs. Grey.” Then he bites me. I yelp.
　　“I enjoyed last night,” he says. “We should do that more often.”
　　“Me, too.”
　　“And we could, if you stopped working . . .”
　　I roll my eyes and he tightens his arms around me and grins into my neck.
　　“Are you rolling your eyes at me Mrs. Grey?” His threat is implicit but sensual,
　　making me squirm, but as we’re in the middle of the meadow with the kids
　　nearby . . . I ignore his invitation.
　　“Grey Publishing has an author in the New York Times bestsellers—
　　Boyce Fox’s sales are phenomenal, the e-book side of our business has
　　exploded, and I finally have the team I want around me.”
　　“And you’re making money in these difficult times,” Christian adds, his voice
　　reflecting his pride. “But . . . I like you barefoot and pregnant and in my
　　reflecting his pride. “But . . . I like you barefoot and pregnant and in my
　　kitchen.”
　　I lean back so I can see his face. He gazes down at me, eyes bright.
　　“I like that, too,” I murmur. Leaning down, he kisses me, his hands still spread
　　across my bump.
　　Seeing he’s in a good mood, I decide to broach a delicate subject.
　　“Have you thought any more about my suggestion?” I ask. He stills. “Ana, the
　　answer is no.”
　　“But Ella is such a lovely name.”
　　“I am not calling my daughter after my mother. No. End of discussion.”
　　“Are you sure?”
　　“Yes.” Grasping my chin, he gazes earnestly down at me, radiating
　　exasperation. “Ana, give it up. I don’t want my daughter tainted by my past.”
　　501 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　“Okay. I’m sorry.” Shit . . . I don’t want to anger him.
　　“That’s better. Stop trying to fix it,” he mutters. “You got me to admit I loved
　　her, you dragged me to her grave. Enough.”
　　Oh no. I twist in his lap to straddle him and grasp his head in my hands.
　　“I’m sorry. Really. Don’t be angry with me, please.” Leaning forward, I kiss
　　him. Then kiss the corner of his mouth. After a beat, he points to the other
　　corner, and I smile and kiss it. He points to his nose. I kiss that. He grins and
　　places his hands on my backside.
　　“Oh, Mrs. Grey—what am I going to do with you?”
　　“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I murmur. He grins and, twisting suddenly,
　　he pushes me down onto the blanket.
　　“How about I do it now?” he whispers with a salacious smile.
　　“Christian!” I gasp.
　　Suddenly there’s a high-pitched cry from Ted. Christian leaps to his feet with
　　a panther’s easy grace and races toward the source of the sound. I follow at
　　a more leisurely pace. Secretly, I’m not as concerned as Christian—it was
　　not a cry that would make me take the stairs two at a time to find out what’s
　　wrong.
　　Christian swings Teddy up into his arms. Our little boy is crying inconsolably
　　and pointing to the ground, where the remains of his popsicle lie in a soggy
　　mess, melting into the grass.
　　“He dropped it.” Sophie says, sadly. “He could have had mine, but I’ve
　　finished it.”
　　“Oh, Sophie darling, don’t worry.” I stroke her hair.
　　“Mommy!” Ted wails, holding his hands out to me. Christian reluctantly lets
　　him go as I reach for him.
　　“There, there.”
　　“Pop,” he sobs.
　　“I know, baby boy. We’ll go see Mrs. Taylor and get another one.” I kiss his
　　head . . . oh, he smells so good. He smells of my baby boy.
　　“Pop,” he sniffs. I take his hand and kiss his sticky fingers.
　　“I can taste your popsicle here on your fingers.”

　　Ted stops crying and examines his hand.
　　“Put your fingers in your mouth.”
　　He does.
　　“Pop!”
　　502 | P a g e
　　E L JAMES
　　“Yes. Popsicle.”
　　He grins at me. My mercurial little boy, just like his dad. Well, at least he has
　　an excuse—he’s only two.
　　“Shall we go see Mrs. Taylor?” He nods, smiling his beautiful baby smile.
　　“Will you let Daddy carry you?” He shakes his head and wraps his arms
　　around my neck, hugging me tightly, his face pressed against my throat.
　　“I think Daddy wants to taste popsicle, too,” I whisper in Ted’s little ear. Ted
　　frowns at me, then looks at his hand and holds it out to Christian. Christian
　　smiles and puts Ted’s fingers in his mouth.
　　“Hmm . . . tasty.”
　　Ted giggles and reaches up, wanting Christian to hold him. Christian grins at
　　me and takes Ted in his arms, settling him on his hip.
　　“Sophie, where’s Gail?”
　　“She was in the big house.”
　　I glance at Christian. His smile has turned bittersweet, and I wonder what
　　he’s thinking.
　　“You’re so good with him,” he murmurs.
　　“This little one?” I ruffle Ted’s hair. “It’s only because I have the measure of
　　you Grey men.” I smirk at my husband.
　　He laughs. “Yes, you do, Mrs. Grey.”
　　Teddy squirms out of Christian’s hold. Now he wants to walk, my stubborn
　　little man. I take one of his hands, and his dad takes the other, and together
　　we swing Teddy between us all the way back to the house, Sophie skipping
　　along in front of us.
　　I wave to Taylor who, on a rare day-off, is outside the garage, dressed in
　　jeans and a wife-beater, as he tinkers with an old motorbike.
　　~o0o~
　　I pause outside the door to Ted’s room and listen as Christian reads to Ted.
　　“I am the Lorax! I speak for the trees . . .”2??
　　When I peek in, Teddy is fast asleep while Christian continues to read. He
　　glances up when I open the door and closes the book. He puts his finger to
　　his lips, and switches on the baby monitor beside Ted’s 2 Dr. Seuss. The
　　Lorax. New York: Random House, 1971. 503 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　crib. Leaning over the crib, he adjusts Ted’s bedclothes, strokes his cheek,
　　then straightens up, and tiptoes over to me without making a sound. It’s hard
　　not to giggle at him.
　　Out in the hallway, Christian pulls me into his embrace.
　　“God, I love him, but it’s great when he’s asleep,” he murmurs against my
　　lips.
　　“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
　　He gazes down at me, eyes soft. “I can hardly believe he’s been with us for
　　two years.”
　　“I know.” I kiss him, and for a moment, I’m transported back to Teddy’s birth:
　　the emergency caesarian, Christian’s crippling anxiety, Dr. Greene’s nononsense
　　calm when my Little Blip was in distress. I shudder inwardly at the
　　memory.
　　~o0o~
　　“Mrs. Grey, you’ve been in labor for fifteen hours now. Your contractions have
　　slowed in spite of the Pitocin. We need to do a Csection—the baby is in
　　distress.” Dr. Greene is adamant.
　　“About fucking time!” Christian growls at her. Dr. Greene ignores him.
　　“Christian, quiet.” I squeeze his hand. My voice is low and weak and
　　everything is fuzzy—the walls, the machines, the green-gowned people . . . I
　　just want to go to sleep. But I have something important to do first . . . Oh yes.
　　“I wanted to push him out myself.”
　　“Mrs. Grey, please. C-section.”
　　“Please, Ana,” Christian pleads.
　　“Can I sleep then?”
　　“Yes, baby, yes.” It’s almost a sob, and Christian kisses my forehead.
　　“I want to see the Lil’ Blip.”
　　“You will.”
　　“Okay,” I whisper.
　　“Finally,” Dr. Greene mutters. “Nurse, page the anesthesiologist. Dr. Miller,
　　prep for a C-section. Mrs. Grey, we are going to move you to the OR.”
　　“Move?” Christian and I speak at once.
　　504 | P a g e
　　E L JAMES
　　“Yes. Now.”
　　And suddenly we’re moving . . . quickly, the lights on the ceiling blurring into
　　one long bright strip as I’m whisked across the corridor.
　　“Mr. Grey, you’ll need to change into scrubs.”
　　“What?”
　　“Now, Mr. Grey.”
　　He squeezes my hand and releases me.
　　“Christian,” I call, panic setting in.
　　We are through another set of doors, and in no time a nurse is setting up a
　　screen across my chest . . . The door opens and closes, and there’s so many
　　people in the room. It’s so loud . . . I want to go home.
　　“Christian?” I search the faces in the room for my husband.
　　“He’ll be with you in a moment, Mrs. Grey.”
　　A moment later, he’s beside me, in blue scrubs. I reach for his hand.
　　“I’m frightened,” I whisper.
　　“No, baby, no. I’m here. Don’t be frightened. Not my strong Ana.”

　　He kisses my forehead, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that
　　something’s wrong.
　　“What is it?”
　　“What?”
　　“What’s wrong?”
　　“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Baby, you’re just exhausted.”
　　His eyes burn with fear.
　　“Mrs. Grey, the anesthesiologist is here. He’s going to adjust your epidural
　　and then we can proceed.”
　　“She’s having another contraction.”
　　Everything tightens like a steel band around my belly. Shit! I crush Christian’s
　　hand as I ride it out. This is what’s tiring—enduring this pain. I am so tired. I
　　can feel the numbing liquid spread . . . spread down. I concentrate on
　　Christian’s face. On the furrow between his brows. He’s tense. He’s worried.
　　Why is he worried?
　　“Can you feel this, Mrs. Grey?” Dr. Greene’s disembodied voice is coming
　　from behind the curtain.
　　“Feel what?”
　　“You can’t feel it.”
　　“No.”
　　“Good. Dr. Miller, let’s go.”
　　505 | P a g e
　　Fifty Shades Freed
　　“You’re doing well, Ana.”
　　Christian is pale. There is sweat on his brow. He’s scared. Don’t be scared,
　　Christian. Don’t be scared.
　　“I love you,” I whisper.
　　“Oh Ana,” he sobs. “I love you, too, so much.”
　　I feel a strange pulling deep inside. Like nothing I’ve felt before. Christian
　　looks over the screen and blanches, but stares, fascinated.
　　“What’s happening?”
　　“Suction! Good . . .”
　　Suddenly, there’s a piercing angry cry.
　　“You have a boy, Mrs. Grey. Check his Apgar.”
　　“Apgar is nine.”
　　“Can I see him?” I gasp.
　　Christian disappears from view for a second and reappears a moment later,
　　holding my son, swathed in blue. His face is pink, and covered in white mush
　　and blood. My baby. My Blip . . . Theodore Raymond Grey.
　　When I glance at Christian, he has tears in his eyes.
　　“Here’s your son, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers, his voice strained and hoarse.
　　“Our son,” I breathe. “He’s beautiful.”
　　“He is,” Christian says and plants a kiss on our beautiful boy’s forehead
　　beneath a shock of dark hair. Theodore Raymond Grey is oblivious. Eyes
　　closed, his earlier crying forgotten, he’s asleep. He is the most beautiful sight
　　I have ever seen. So beautiful, I begin to weep.
　　“Thank you, Ana,” Christian whispers, and there are tears in his eyes too.
　　“What is it?” Christian tilts my chin back.
　　“I was just remembering Ted’s birth.”
　　Christian blanches and cups my belly.
　　“I am not going through that again. Elective caesarian this time.”
　　“Christian, I—”
　　“No, Ana. You nearly fucking died last time. No.”
　　“I did not nearly die.”
　　“No.” He’s emphatic and not to be argued with, but as he gazes 506 | P a g e
　　E L JAMES
　　down at me, his eyes soften. “I like the name Phoebe,” he whispers, and runs
　　his nose down mine.
　　“Phoebe Grey? Phoebe . . . Yes. I like that, too.” I grin up at him.
　　“Good. I want to set up Ted’s present.” He takes my hand, and we head
　　downstairs. His excitement radiates off him; Christian has been waiting for
　　this moment all day.
　　“Do you think he’ll like it?” His apprehensive gaze meets mine.
　　“He’ll love it. For about two minutes. Christian, he’s only two.”
　　Christian has finished setting up the wooden train set he bought Teddy for
　　his birthday. He’s had Barney at the office convert two of the little engines to
　　run on solar power like the helicopter I gave Christian a few years ago.
　　Christian seems anxious for the sun to rise. I suspect that’s because he
　　wants to play with the train set himself. The layout covers most of the stone
　　floor of our outdoor room. Tomorrow we will have a family party for Ted. Ray
　　and José will be coming and all the Grey’s, including Ted’s new cousin Ava,
　　Kate and Elliot’s two-month-old daughter. I look forward to catching up with
　　Kate and seeing how motherhood is agreeing with her. I gaze up at the view
　　as the sun sinks behind the Olympic Peninsula. It’s everything Christian
　　promised it would be, and I get the same joyful thrill seeing it now as I did the
　　first time. It’s simply stunning: twilight over the Sound. Christian pulls me into
　　his arms.
　　“It’s quite a view.”
　　“It is,” Christian answers, and when I turn to look at him, he’s gazing down at
　　me. He leans down and plants a soft kiss on my lips.
　　“It’s a beautiful view,” he murmurs. “My favorite.”
　　“It’s home.”
　　He grins and kisses me again. “I love you, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“I love you, too, Christian. Always.”
　　The End
　　507 | P a g e