Note from Riottori: Ok, guys. This should really be tagged onto the end of Chapter 4. I know some of you don't like the direction this is going in but I want to explore the practical polar opposite of James' 'fairy-tale' ending. I realise that 'reality' isn't as exciting or fulfilling as the 'fairy-tale' but I wanted to push the boundaries. I'm now torn between writing how I envisaged the story going versus reigning myself in and giving the masses what they want. Help! Answers on a postcard please...

"So, Doc," I finished, trying for humour to hide my internal cringing. It wasn't easy to lay yourself bare like that, admit rejection. "What's your prognosis?"

He was thoughtful, contemplative, his fingers steepled under his chin. He looked every inch the brilliant psychologist that he was.

"Ana, have you ever considered that he's 'cured'?" His hands filled the space between us, making the shape of inverted commas. I baulked at him, at the simplicity of his words.

"Can he ever truly be cured?" I asked, unsure of the answer I would receive but braced for it.

"When I first met Christian, I was doubtful. I thought, through our therapy together, he would learn to live with his...how can I put it...his...predilection for...dominance, but never really get over it. He had been so fundamentally scarred by his childhood, I thought no amount of love could or would erase those scars. Even with you at the embarkation of your relationship, I understand that you indulged him, allowed yourself to be controlled and...that control played out in other forms."

"You mean in our role-playing?" I ask, aware of a pink flush creeping over my face.

"Right," he nodded. "Furthermore, Christian needed to dominate you in every way: control what you wore, what you ate, etcetera etcetera."

I nodded back at him, remembering how frustratingly controlling he had been, picking out and paying for my clothes, dictating my diet (or trying to).

"Have you noticed that his need to control you has waned over the past few years?" he asked.

I contemplated this for a moment.

"I think it's...changed direction somewhat."

"What do you mean?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Well, he's now so focused...no, we're now both so focused on the children, what they're eating, what they're wearing," I laughed, thinking of how attentive Christian was, a real hands-on dad, running around comically with a dripping spoon to feed Phoebe, a hat for Teddy on wintry days. "It's understandable that we've fallen by the way-side a little, isn't it?" I look up intently into Dr Flynn's eyes, searching for reassurance.

"Of course, Ana. That's what I'm getting at. He's found a new way to channel his 'control' – by being a father. In The Room, he didn't want to tie you up, didn't need to have you submissive because he's at peace. He has a loving wife, beautiful children...what else does he need?"

I nodded. I wanted to believe him. It still sounded a bit too good to be true.

"Are you sure he doesn't just see me as a mother, and that's why he couldn't...touch me...that way."

"Well, I'm assuming that you are engaging in intercourse with your husband."

"Yes," I said, shyly. After The Disaster in The Room we had managed to have some 'vanilla'. Christian had appeared satisfied.

"Well then," he said, his open hands filling the expanse between us in a gesture that meant 'case closed'.

"I'm just worried that..." I cast my head down, embarrassed about my next confession.

"What?" Flynn asked.

"That over time, I may not be enough." There, I'd said it. Given life to my biggest doubt and allowed it to breathe in the room with me.

Flynn laughed, a mirthful sound which juxtaposed with the gravity and depth of my last statement.

"Ana, you're worrying unnecessarily. Please. Don't create demons that don't exist."

Oh Doc, if you could only see me now, I think while easing into my car, feeling the demon of the memory of last night looming over me. I put the car into reverse and roar out of the underground garage.

Note Ok guys. This should really