Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the 50 Shades universe. It all belongs to EL James.

A/N: Fair warning, this is a cheat story. If that's not your thing, kindly hit the back button and find something more to your liking to read. Enjoy!

Sitting on the sofa I that came with the apartment when I move in, I watch the rain fall outside the window. It's always raining here, much like the place I just left. Shaking my head slightly, I turn to look at the blanket on the floor where Teddy has fallen asleep watching a movie. We've been here nearly six months and so far every day has been the same: Teddy wakes me up like clockwork at six in the morning, I make us breakfast, take a few pitiful bites of whatever I've made, and push the rest around my plate with my fork. I then get my son cleaned up, changed, and we hit the streets while looking for work. We have lunch, and look into other places until it's time for Teddy's nap. I then take him home, lay him down, and take the classifieds I picked up on the walk back to circle ads for jobs to apply for the next morning. When Teddy wakes, I cook dinner, we watch a bit of television, I get bored and grab a book, and Teddy falls asleep on the floor.

Routine is good. I can function with routine. With routine, there's no time for letting my thoughts drift to what brought us here, what we left behind and why, and how I'm possibly going to make life worth living for myself and my precious baby boy.

Teddy misses his father. Of course he does. For the first four years of his life, Christian was right there with us every second of every day, exerting his control and protection and love over us. Teddy was, without a doubt, his father's son. He looked up to his father with a twinkle in his eye as though Christian could never do any wrong.

Oh, Teddy, how desperately I wish you were right...

I sigh, throwing aside my book to gather my son in my arms, managing to not jostle or wake him. Our apartment is tiny by a normal person's standards, but considering what I've gotten used to after five years with Christian Grey, it's a fucking closet. Seriously, I think my closet at the big house in Seattle was bigger than this place... But it's all I can afford. There's only one bedroom, which I immediately granted to Teddy. There had been enough changes in his life; he should at least have his own space. I usually sleep on the couch, though on particularly rough nights, I manage to crawl into my son's tiny twin-sized bed and we sleep like that. The bathroom is so tiny that the toilet might just as well be located in the shower. There's no real room to move around. The rest of the apartment consists of the kitchen/living room/dining room/entertainment room. They really are one tiny room. The stove cooks unevenly, the fridge has had a strange smell from day one that I can't seem to get rid of, the furniture isn't so much secondhand as fourth or fifth-hand. And I'm pretty sure we've got mice living in the wall.

But it's ours.

Despite knowing Christian is still depositing obscene amounts of my money into my bank account "for Teddy's expenses," I try my damndest to use as little of it as I can mostly depending on my income from my job as a barista/waitress. And I know damn well Christian is back home in Seattle on his computer, checking my bank account at the end of every day, and cursing my stubborn independence. I don't care. I'm doing this for me and I'm doing this for my son. I'm so fucking done bending over backwards (literally) to make that man happy. For five years, I lived for him. He was my heart, my soul, my best friend. He was my life. And I really believed he felt the same towards me.

Scratch that, I knew he felt the same towards me. At least up until about a year ago.

Stop!

Once Teddy is tucked into bed, I close the door softly and head out into the main living area where my phone is flashing at me. It's a notification, reminding me to call my mother. I have to set alarms to remind myself to do even the simplest things that might be considered outside my normal routine. God, I'm pathetic...

After grabbing a bottle of beer, something I only occasionally indulge in these days, I collapse onto the couch and grab my phone, hitting speed dial number three—my mom's number.

Surprisingly it takes her until the fourth ring to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom," I say, trying to feign happiness. "Is this a bad time?"

"Ana! No, of course not. I just got in from buying groceries... How are you, baby girl? How's Teddy?"

I smile. "I'm good, Mom." Is it really lying when both parties are fully aware of the lie? "And Teddy is great. He's getting so big."

"I know, I got the pictures you emailed," she gushes. "That little boy is going to be a heartbreaker."

"Don't I know it..." I mumble wryly, taking a swig of beer.

Mom sighs. "How's London, sweetie?" she asks gently.

"It's okay. I think I've finally found a decent place of employment, so I won't have to work at the coffee shop anymore." Not that I really work there all that much, since I've got an almost five-year-old and it's summer vacation for the schools here... "And they have daycare benefits, so I don't have to worry about leaving Teddy with a stranger. I've already seen the facilities, they're right inside the building, and if he needs me, I'm right there."

"Well, tell me about the company!"

I take a deep breath. "It's a publishing company. A small one compared to Grey Publishing, of course, but I've met several members of the senior staff, and I have to say, I'm really excited about this, Mom."

"I can tell," she replies fondly. I hear her hesitate as I take another drink of beer. "Ana, I don't want to upset you, but I've had a few calls from Christian."

And there goes what semblance of a good mood I might have had...

"And what did he say?" I ask dryly,

Mom sighs. "Exactly what he's been saying for six months," she reports. "He misses you and Teddy. He loves you both more than anything in the world." I can't help the derisive snort that escapes from me. I blame the beer. "How long do you plan on keeping this up, Anastasia?"

Oh, she's frustrated. Using my full name. Surprised she didn't throw Rose in there for good measure. "I don't know, Mom," I tell her honestly.

There's silence on the line for several long moments. "Sweetie, I know you don't want to get into what happened between the two of you," understatement... "but do you really think this is the best course of action? You're keeping a little boy from his father."

That's a low blow. "Mom, don't do this," I warn, uncertain whether I'm about to yell or cry or both. "This is not about keeping Teddy from Christian or vice versa. I'm still working out what to do next, and right now, I can't stomach the thought of dealing with Christian Grey."

Another sigh. "Okay, sweetie," she says, sounding sad and resigned. "Look, I know a thing or two about throwing away a good thing. I saw the way you and Christian were together, how much he worshipped the ground you walked on, how dedicated he was to taking care of you and Teddy. I can't imagine what he could have possibly done to make you react like this, but Ana, please, think hard about what you're doing before you do something you'll regret."

I bristle at this. The only person who's done something they will regret was Christian. "I can't talk about this anymore, Mom," I tell her tiredly. "I'll call you next week. Give my love to Bob."

Before Mom can say anything more, I end the call. I should be used to this by now. This is how every conversation with her, Ray, and Kate has gone. And the few times I had the nerve to contact Grace and Carrick, it went much the same. They all look to Christian as the victim in this, when that couldn't be farther from the truth. I think as the weeks have dragged on, I've managed to gain a few sympathetic ears, but everyone took the same stance: Christian couldn't have possibly done anything so horrible to cause me to rip apart our family like I have. Clearly only Christian and I know the truth. That's fine for now; he needs support, too, and I won't be the one to turn his family against him, regardless of what he's done. I hate that after all of this, my first instinct is still to protect him.

I start a little when she felt a tear hit her hand. Setting aside my beer, I roughly swipe at my face to rid myself of the wetness on my cheeks.

Damn you, Christian Grey, even with 4,800 miles between us, you still make me cry.

I know what I'm doing will only hurt my son in the long run. Mom's right; a boy needs his father. Christian hasn't attempted to contact me directly in months. Through Kate, I've managed scheduled Skype chats so Teddy can at least see and talk to his father once in a while. I always stay way out of view of the webcam, though, usually just outside the bedroom so I can intervene if Teddy starts getting too upset. My heart breaks a little more during every chat, listening to how genuinely happy Christian is to speak with his son and hear everything Teddy tells him about what he's been doing and the friends he's made. Christian always ends every chat by telling Teddy to "give Mommy a big hug and kiss and tell her I love her." He knows I'm standing just out of eyeshot, and it's all meant directly for me. Teddy's too young to understand this, of course, so as soon as his father's face disappears from the computer screen, he rushes me, kisses me, hugs me, and tells me Daddy loves me very much. And I cry every time.

I hate this. I hate that I had to pack my son up and drag him away from his entire family, the people he'd known and loved from the day he was born. I truly wish with every fiber of my being that I could have found a different solution for this problem. I considered therapy, both for myself and Christian, as a couple, and separately. But then I realized we had gone the therapy route, several times. Never for something quite this severe, but still... The therapy helped for a few months, but then something slipped, and we were right back to where we were before. He was still angry and cold; I was still bitter and lonely.

Don't get me wrong. Christian could be the sweetest, most thoughtful, loving man in the world when he wanted to be. Last year for our wedding anniversary, he dropped Teddy off with his parents and took me on a second honeymoon, complete with yacht traveling the European seas. It was incredibly, wonderfully, perfectly Christian. During those two weeks, we managed nothing more serious than a slight disagreement about what to have for dinner one night. I'd honestly believed everything would be fixed when we got home, that we'd be just as we were when we first got married. We would be that young, desperately in love couple we had once been. Christian even agreed on trying for a second child, something he'd been fighting for years.

But going home had been the beginning of the end. Within two weeks, we were at each other's throats worse than ever. He was spending more and more time at the office or staying at Escala or going out for a few drinks with Elliot. His business trips became more frequent and lasted longer than should have been necessary. I should have seen the signs. I should have known. I could have stopped this before it got as far as it did.

Who am I kidding? I always knew I could never be enough for him. I could never live up to the standards he needed to get by. Every molecule in my body fought against me whenever I tried to convince myself I could do what he wanted me to do. All of this shit was inevitable. I couldn't listen to his empty promises and reassurances again. I couldn't listen to him telling me I was everything he ever needed and wanted and more, not when I had seen the truth. I couldn't listen to him tell me, with tears streaming down his beautiful face, that he would change, and beg me to give him yet another chance.

And even though I know somewhere in his twisted heart he loved me as much as I still love him—maybe more, in some ways—I know I couldn't stand to live with him anymore. He was killing me, slowly and painfully, and I had to go.

As I finish off my beer, shut off the lights, and wipe the tears from my cheeks again, I climb onto the couch and bury myself beneath the comforting weight of blankets and repeat my mantra in my head until I cry myself to sleep yet again.