Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

No. I’m fucking starving.

“I’ll go heat this up. The nurses’ kitchen has a microwave. I’ll be a couple of minutes.”

My mother makes the best mac and cheese in America—better even than Gail’s. When she returns, the room fills with its mouthwatering aroma and we sit side by side, and she chats aimlessly while we watch my beautiful wife, who stubbornly refuses to wake.

“We took Mia home late this morning. Carrick’s with her.”

“How is she?” I ask.

“Christian! Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, with my mouth full—and she laughs. For the first time in forever, my lips lift in a reluctant smile.

“That’s better.” Grace’s eyes glow with maternal love, and I have to confess I feel more hopeful with her here. I finish the last forkful and place my plate on the floor, too tired to move any farther.

“That was delicious. Thanks, Mom.”

“My pleasure, darling. She’s very brave, your wife.”

“Stupid,” I mutter.

“Christian!”

“She is.”

Grace’s eyes narrow and she regards me speculatively. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s up. I mean, something other than Ana lying here unconscious and you being exhausted.”

How does she know?

Grace says nothing, her penetrating gaze doing all the talking. Silence fills the room, broken only by the hum of the machine monitoring Ana’s blood pressure.

Fuck.

Interfering woman.

It’s no good—I crack under her scrutiny, like I always do. “We had a fight.”

“A fight?”

“Yes. Before all this happened. We weren’t talking.”

“What do you mean, you weren’t talking? What did you do?”

“Mom—” Why does she automatically assume it was my fault?

“Christian! What did you do?”

I swallow, and my throat burns with unshed tears, exhaustion, and anxiety. “I was so angry.”

“Hey.” Grace takes my hand. “Angry with Ana? Why, what did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The baby. It was a shock. I stormed out.”

Mom grasps my hand, and suddenly I’m overcome with an urge to confess all. “I saw Elena,” I whisper, and shame washes over me like a riptide. My mother’s eyes widen, and she releases my hand.

“What do you mean, ‘saw’?” she hisses, emphasizing the last word with such scorn that it rocks me. Did you sleep with her? I recall Ana’s question from…when, yesterday? The day before?

First Ana, now my mother!

“Nothing like that! Fuck, Mom!”

“Don’t curse at me, Christian. What was I supposed to think?”

“We just talked. And I got drunk.”

“Drunk? Shit!”

“Mom! Don’t you curse! It sounds wrong.”

She presses her lips together. “You are the only one of my children that makes me use such vulgar language. You told me you would cut all ties.” Her glare is loaded with censure.

“I know. But seeing her finally put it all in perspective for me. You know, with the child. For the first time I felt…uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. What we did. It was wrong.”

“What she did, darling. You were a child!” She purses her lips again and then sighs. “Christian, children will do that to you. They make you look at the world in a different light.”

“She finally got the message. I think. And so did I. I’m done with her. I hurt Ana.” Shame douses me once more.

“We always hurt the ones we love, darling. You’ll have to tell her you’re sorry. And mean it, and give her time.”

“She said she was leaving me.”

“Did you believe her?”

“At first, yes.”

“Darling, you always believe the worst of everyone, including yourself. You always have. Ana loves you very much, and it’s obvious you love her.”

“She was mad at me.”

“I’m sure she was. I’m pretty mad at you right now. I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love.”

“I thought about it, and she’s shown me over and over how much she loves me, to the point of putting her own life in danger.”

“Yes, she has, darling.”

“Oh, Mom, why won’t she wake up?” Suddenly, it’s all too much. The lump in my throat swells, choking me, and I’m overwhelmed—the fight, Ana leaving, nearly dying, Hyde, Mia—fuck…and though I’ve tried to hold back my tears, I can’t. “I nearly lost her.” The words are strangled and barely audible as I voice my worst fear, and the dam breaks.

“Oh, Christian,” Mom gasps. She wraps her arms around me as I break down, and for the first time in my life, I weep in my mother’s arms: for my wife, my broken wife, and for myself, and the asshole I’ve been.

Hell. Hell. Hell.

Grace rocks me to and fro, kissing my hair and crooning soft words as she lets me cry. “It’s going to be okay, Christian. It’s going to be okay.”

She holds me. Tight. And I don’t want her to let go.

Mom.

The first woman to save me.

I sit up and wipe my face, and find she’s crying, too.

“For fuck’s sake, Mom, stop crying.”

Her tears turn to smiles. She hands me a tissue from her purse and takes one for herself. Reaching up, she caresses my face. “It’s taken twenty-four years for you to let me hold you like this,” she says sadly.