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It's 8.00 AM on an early May day. Thirty-five years ago at this hour, I was rising from my bed at the apartment in Vancouver that I shared with Kate. I remember walking into the living room to find her watching another stupid gossip show on TV, surrounded by snotty Kleenex, bottles of cold medication and her self-pity. Her croaky voice was mumbling as she begged me to do her the biggest favor of her life - take her car, drive four hours to Seattle, and meet with the mysterious billionaire who would be handing out the diplomas at our college graduation.

Would I have agreed if I had known what was in store for me? All the excitement, fear, passion, love and heartbreak? I regard my fifty-six year old face in the bathroom mirror. I've never been self-confident, never mind vain, but I have to admit I look pretty good for my age and circumstances. Of course, over these thirty-five years I've had the luxury of regular facials, physical training and minor medical procedures to maintain my appearance. For all the good it does me today.

I hear voices downstairs and realize that my helpers have already begun their day. I slip into the shower and close my eyes, my memory playing a reel of the greatest hits of my life. I dry off, and another thirty minutes later, I'm ready to begin again, to tackle the loneliness and sadness that is now my existence.

It's Phoebe's week with me. My sons, Ted and Jason, believed that a woman would help me cope better during this emotional anniversary. I would have preferred to have my Teddy, of course, since these home stays always seem to wound Phoebe as much as they do me and Jason is far too busy. I've taken advantage of the fact that Ted followed in his grandmother's footsteps and became a doctor, because I've needed his advice over the last five years. Jason, of course, is at Grey House. He is now the CEO and runs the company as efficiently and ruthlessly as Christian, who has moved to the position of Chairman. But Jason has the ability to leave it all behind when he exits the glass doors of the building, transforming back into the happy-go-lucky baby of the family. Something his father was never quite able to do.

Jason is named for Taylor, of course. There were nine years separating the birth of my sons, and over that time, Jason Taylor became more than the Grey family's Head of Security. He became Christian's best friend. I smile now thinking of the three men in their 30's - Christian, Elliot and Jason - and the asinine, man-cave things they would do. Fishing, hiking, sailing, playing poker with the other men from the security team. Those were some of the good times, before Christian left us for good five years ago.

I walk into the kitchen and see Gail is making pancakes. Poor, ever hopeful Gail, now in her late 60's. She always thinks that maybe this will be the day one of her delicious breakfasts will do the trick. Instead, I walk to the fridge, remove a container of Greek yogurt and some fresh berries. I grab the box of granola from the pantry and sit at the farmhouse kitchen table. Phoebe, Taylor and Sawyer, Jr. are digging in, and only the sounds of the sizzling grill and their silverware against the plates interrupt the silence.

"How are you feeling today, Mom?"

"Not bad, actually. I had a wonderful dream last night. It was about our trip to Martha's Vineyard. Do you remember? You were nine, Ted was twelve, and Jason was just out of diapers. Those two months were magical, your father was so relaxed and happy."

Phoebe's hand reaches out for mine. "I remember, Mommy. I won't forget, I promise. I'm glad the dream made you happy, I just wish…"

Taylor clears his throat. "We all do, Princess, but we can't turn back the clock or change what has happened. We can just hope for some more good times, even if they're brief ones. I know it's been too long for all of us, but hope is about all we have."

Wanting to dispel the somber mood, I ask, "What's the temperature like outside? I see the sun is out and there's a breeze, but is it warm? I think I'd like to work in the garden today."

"It's in the high 50's, Ana, but should warm up a bit more later on," says Gail as she sits down to her own breakfast. "Gardening is a good idea, it will get us all out into the fresh air and let us trim back what needs pruning and talk about what bulbs you want to order for planting in the fall."

"I'm going to shower and check in with the boss, Mom. I'll be down in thirty." Phoebe rinses her breakfast plate and stacks it in the dishwasher before leaning over to kiss my cheek and go upstairs.

An hour later, Phoebe, Gail, Taylor and I are in the garden. I'm working with the original landscape architect's plans that were drawn up thirty-three years ago. The trees Christian and I planted as saplings are now fully grown, but over the years I've experimented with different shrubbery and flower choices. I think going back to the original landscaping may help all of us if we can go back and see the garden the way it was originally designed.

Sawyer, Jr. joins us before lunch. I don't ask what he's been doing, because I know. It's the same thing he does every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. I've urged him to take at least one day off a week, to accept the four weeks' paid vacation to which he's entitled, but he's just as stubborn and protective as his father.

I miss Luke. I know he and Jenny are enjoying their retirement in Arizona, but I always thought of him as a big brother, and I could sure use one today. We spoke three days ago on the phone and he offered to fly in, but I turned him down. I know I'll need him by my side when the time comes to make the final decision and get on with my life.

The mood is lighter as the five of us share a picnic lunch of clam chowder and hoagie sandwiches. Phoebe is inspecting the contents between the French bread. "I take after Daddy, I guess. I love these things, always have. There's nothing like a good sub." My eyes lift to Gail and Taylor and the three of us burst out laughing.

"What? What? What did I say? Why are you all laughing like hyenas?"

I'm half-laughing and half-crying when Gail pats Phoebe's hand. "Your mother is just thinking about the time when she and your father were courting. She wanted to surprise him by making lunch, and I told her that he'd enjoy anything that was served to him on French bread, even his macaroni and cheese."

I wipe my eyes, blow my nose and finish my soup. When I enter the kitchen, I see that it's 1.00 PM. Almost time. I leave my daughter and three friends and climb the stairs to my room. I take another shower with the jasmine scented body wash, blow my hair out long and straight. It's dyed now to the shade of dark brown that I was born with. My make-up is subtle, and I walk into the adjoining closet and don a lacy purple bra, garter belt and stockings and then reach for a hanger covered in plastic. From it I pull a thirty-five year old dress that's been preserved over the years as if it was an inaugural ball gown. Black boots and the purple dress. I take a deep breath and move to the suite that was created four years ago by joining three bedrooms.

I push the button that gives a silent alert. The door opens and a woman in nurse's scrubs steps into the hallway. "He's having a good day, but he's anxious to see you, Mrs. Grey. He wanted to wait to share his sandwich with you."

"Thank you, Marcie. Why don't you take off the rest of the day. Sawyer, Jr. is here to help if I need him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grey. I'll see you tomorrow."

Even though the nurses each give me a brief on what to expect, I never know for sure who I'll be facing. I walk into the suite's living room where Christian is relaxing on the sofa, eyes closed, headphones covering his ears. I go to the kitchenette, pour a glass of sparkling water, and shake the afternoon medications into my hand. Christian won't have had them as yet, because they need to be taken with food.

I carry the items to the coffee table and sit on the sofa next to my husband. His eyes open and that gray color strikes me yet again. But there is nothing there but the color for a moment. Then I see awareness and a smile broaden across his face. "Ana! Where have you been? I thought we were going to have lunch together."

"Yes, sweetheart, that's why I'm here. Look, it's your favorite. Gail made her famous sub sandwiches." I tuck a napkin into the collar of his sweater.

"You're wearing my favorite dress. You know I love the way your ass looks in it. Stand up and turn around."

I roll my eyes and see him sparkle. Oh my God! He's here today, he's really here! I give him my giggle and roll my eyes again.

"I'm waiting, Ms. Steele. My palm is getting itchy." I bite my lip and murmur, "Yes, sir," then stand and turn around.

"Spectacular. And those boots. I'm getting ideas, Ana. Put your foot up here." He pats his upper thigh and I comply. My blood heats as Christian runs his hand behind my knee and up the back of my leg to my ass and squeezes it hard. His fingers run along my cleft, to which I had applied a generous amount of lubricant. "So wet for me, so ready."

"Delay your gratification, Mr. Grey. You need to eat something first." I know I risk losing him once again, but he does need to eat and I do need to get these pills into him ASAP. He's already over an hour late. I hand him half of his sandwich and take the smaller portion for myself. I'm not hungry, but he won't eat if I don't.

It's early onset Alzheimer's, and none of us recognized the signs. The brilliant, multi-track mind that dominated so much of the world's economy has vanished. It was almost imperceptible at the start. Little things like birthdays and place names began slipping away about eight years ago. Then he started to misplace items, space out in meetings, and forget appointments and people. His temper was always mercurial, so we didn't see that his mood swings might be caused by something else. Ros worked with me to cover Christian's lapses until Jason graduated from Stanford and could take over the helm at GEH. That was three years ago. But even before that time, piece after piece of the man I loved disappeared and was lost to me.

We couldn't have predicted it. We knew nothing of the history of his birth parents or grandparents. Christian's extreme behaviors were never alcoholism or drug addiction, which often accelerate the progression of the disease. It just happened. I suppose that if this was fifty years ago, he would already be in a private care facility rather than our beloved house on the Sound. The medications have kept him with us for a few extra years, and every once in a while I receive the gift of a day like today.

Christian is dabbing his lips after finishing his lunch. "That was good. Now I suppose you'll be cramming those vitamins into me again, Ana. You know I think they're a bullshit way for the pharma companies to get people to spend their hard earned money."

"Yes, I know how you feel about it, Christian. But they won't hurt you and it makes me feel like I'm taking care of my man. Please?"

"Hmph. Oh, you know I can't resist those pretty blue eyes. Have you been feeling well, darling? You look tired. Maybe you should take a few of these vitamins instead."

"Don't you try to get out of taking them, Mr. Grey. You know I can see right through your devious schemes." Time for another face lift, I guess. Christian believes I am thirty-two years old, not my real age of fifty-six. I recall the time before the first plastic surgery. Christian had been wild with jealousy, believing I had been out all night with another man, and that was the cause of the bags under my eyes and my less-than-bright complexion. Our bedroom had been destroyed in the wake of his wrath, and I made an appointment with the best surgeon in town that afternoon. Forget about the crazy schemes and subterfuge the entire family and staff went through to hide my recovery time.

Answering my gentle teasing, he says, "You always have seen through me, Ana, since the day we flew in Charlie Tango to Jose's show. We haven't been flying in a while. What do you say we take the helicopter out after lunch?"

"Oh, Christian, that sounds wonderful!" If he recalls this wish after lunch, I'll make up a fake weather report. We chat about this and that, talking about Ted's tenth birthday party, Phoebe's exploits at grammar school and newborn Jason's christening. I thank God everyday that I began my journals when I was twenty-five so I have a reference source for these conversations.

"I can think of something that might be better than flying, Ana. Maybe you could start up the Jacuzzi?" I smile and walk to the bathroom, flipping up my skirt to reveal my garter belt and stockings to give him a thrill. Once I'm behind the closed bathroom door, I text Sawyer, Jr. to warn him that he may be needed to extract Christian from the tub if our water play goes south.

Christian stands in the doorway, observing me as I remove my boots. "I'll take over from here," he murmurs as he unzips my dress. Soon I'm naked before him, shivering in the cool room and reveling in the happiness I feel. "I looked in the drawer for my jeans, but they weren't there, Ana. Are they in the laundry?"

"At the dry cleaners, actually. Those damn things are almost twenty years old, Christian. We should think about breaking in a new pair."

"Speaking of breaking in..." He steps into the tub and lifts me off my feet, nuzzling my neck once I'm standing before him. "You've lost the baby weight, Mrs. Grey. I'm impressed."

For the next hour we're together in the way we used to be, stroking, kissing, touching, making love. This occurs so rarely now that my heart is filled both with joy and despair. How many more sessions does he have left in him? Will this be the final time?

Christian gently uses a bath sheet to dry me, and I do the same for him. His hand cups my cheek as he looks down at my face. His voice is gravelly as he speaks. "I know, Ana. I know what I have, I know what I've lost that will never return, I know that you work as hard as you've ever worked to give me peace. I may not be able to say this to you again, so listen to me carefully, please. The day we met was the best day of my life. I loved you from that first moment, even though I didn't recognize my feelings as love. You have been my reason for living, my compass, my star in the east. We have three beautiful children, family and friends who love us, and it's all because of you. I am sorry for every cruel and hurtful thing I have said and done to you. And when our time together is over, I want you to know that if it were at all in my power, I would never leave you. I love you, my dearest, with my entire being."

I have nothing I can say in response. I simply pull him tightly in my arms and lean my head against his chest, listening to that strong, sure heartbeat. This man has been our guardian for over twenty five years; he protected us, provided for our needs, and in his own way, cherished every single one of us. What we give him now is just a very small payment in kind. Christian lifts me in his arms and carries me to the bed where we lay together. After a few moments, I hear his breathing change and know he is asleep.

I walk to the closet and change into jeans and a tee shirt. Picking up the latest release from Grey Publishing, I ease into an armchair to keep Christian company. I'm halfway through the book when I hear sounds from the direction of the bed and observe his tossing and turning. His eyes fly open, looking around before they light on me.

"What the hell are you doing here? Where is my Ana? Listen to me, Leila, we are over, finished. Get the fuck out of here!"

I send the S.O.S. code to Sawyer, Jr. as I take the sub's position at the side of the bed. "Master, can I not please you?"

"I said get the fuck out of my sight!" Sawyer, Jr. enters the room, goes to the locked cabinet and removes the vial of tranquilizer and a syringe. I keep Christian's attention on me as Junior comes behind Christian and plunges the syringe into his body. Moments later, my husband is calm, but once more is totally unaware of who and where he is. I slip from the room as Luke, Jr. picks up a Time magazine from twenty-five years ago and begins to read aloud.