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Ten. Ten. Ten. Like ten little fingers, ten little toes. Ten little Subs. I almost fall down, admit defeat. Give up, the battle lost. I sway a little on my feet but the voice urges me on. Ask him, Ana. Find out more. He's not going anywhere.

We planned this together, the voice and I, this meeting in The Red Room, the place where it all began; the origin of my hurt, this is where it lives. We didn't want him to run away from the bitter truth he had created, didn't want his lies. For eight long years now, I've been inhabiting my dream-world where everything is a hazy hue, where I can look my husband in the eye without hinting at my hurt, where I buried the truth deep down, in the deep well inside me. There lived my self-esteem, too. And my self-worth. Shades of old Ana.

Ten. Ten. Their sheer number makes them swarm together in my head, cardboard-cutout Subs. They glide towards me, on a conveyor belt, each one brunette, each one with a submissive little face that looks like mine. Except the last one. The last one is special, she stands a little taller than the others. As she passes me she smirks. It's the last one that got my 'more', that dragged me from my dream-world back to the real-world.

I'd gone to see Christian at work a few weeks back. It was a surprise visit from his loving wife. I'd even made him lunch – can you get more submissive than that? – and I was swinging the basket laden with treats as I headed to his office. Mrs Grey, striding along like she owned the place. What a fool. Little did I know I was striding straight into hell.

Helen or Jane – I don't know which one – stood abruptly when I rounded the corner. She'd tried to stop me from entering the office (see, he had identical Blondes, too) she knew something was going on. God, how embarrassing. If she only knew the true depth of his betrayal, just how deep his treachery ran.

I pushed open the heavy oak door.

A slim brunette was standing in front of my husband, her hair in a demure ponytail, her head slightly stooped. My husband was reclining in his chair, feet up on the desk, a gesture of dominance. The big boss. The air crackled with electricity, a frisson of sexual tension. My presence had broken the spell.

My husband eased his long legs down from the desk but the girl just stood there, her back to me. He just managed to remove the last trace of surprise from his face – he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he knew it – as he moved towards me.

"Ana, what a nice surprise!"

The girl turned slowly. A swiveling ballerina in a music box.

Christian put his possessive arms around me. I was still watching the girl over his shoulder. Her face was impassive but I knew. I could feel it. I'd been looking for it.

Christian stepped back, one hand on my wrist, the other reaching out to the girl. "Ana, this is Alice. She's new."

The voice cackled in my ear at my husband's choice of words.

I composed myself as I had learnt to over the past eight years. I extended my hand to accept hers. It was small and warm, suppliant. Perfect. I squeezed it a little, as I smiled at her. Then a little harder. She smiled right back at me. And then squeezed back her response. Hard. I drew my hand away quickly, not because it hurt but because I knew what it meant. A back-bone, a smart-mouth. Oh. Christian. What are you doing?

"I'd better get back to work. Sir." The way my husband's face changed when she uttered that last word, a tacit agreement between them that excluded me, left me out in the cold, told me everything I needed to know. That very afternoon I went and purchased the wig.

I don't know why I didn't say anything to him then and there. Shock? Fear? It's hard to say something that may cause your world to stop turning, to be an active agent in its collapse.

It's because you were weak, the voice explains. But you're not anymore.

No, I concede. I can never go back to the way I was. Little Ana, the good little wife. Isn't it funny that for him to get me back, the Ana that had been lost to him, I'd have to leave him. The voice and I laugh at the irony.

Our foreheads are pressed together, me standing over him, him at my feet. We have been like this for an eternity it seems. If we break away, we break the spell. Break it, the voice urges. Break him. He broke you after all.

I peel away. I feel hollow, an empty shell. My bruised heart rattles inside. Soon there will be no heart left to hurt. Soon. Not just yet.

"I have to leave."

"No, Ana, please." Fear has seeped in.

I shake my head and start to untie him. He tries to stop me.

"Just leave me here, like this." He's shouting at me now. "If you're going to leave me again, just leave me here."

I look at a point on the blood-red wall behind his head and start to undo the knot. I cannot look at him.

"Ana. Talk to me, baby. Please. We can work this out. We'll go to Flynn..."

A little too late for that, Mr Grey. The voice taunts my troubled husband. I close it out.

"No, Christian. I have to leave you. It's the only way."

"YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER LEAVE ME!" His anger makes me stronger, fortifies my will.

"And I thought I'd be enough. Looks like we were both wrong." I sound resigned and tired. So, so tired.

"THEY DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING TO ME. IT WAS JUST SEX." We're back to talking in cliches. No, I deserve more than that.

"I saw you. You and Alice. Last week. It's not just about sex with that one." My voice is as quiet as a whisper on the wind.

He groans, a gutteral sound, and I know I'm right.

"Let me explain, please." He's free now, raised veins criss-crossing his hands like mountain ranges. He's reaching for me.

"No." Simple. No.

He grabs my shoulders. "Yes."

"How do you not see that nothing you say will erase the damage you've done? I've turned a blind eye for eight years. Eight years!" I scoff at the masochist in me.

"You knew?! Why didn't you tell me. I would have stopped..."

"You can't stop. It's who you are, Christian. I didn't care about the others as much as I thought I would." I realise as soon as I've said it that it is true."But with her...I can't. I can't not care. You should want me to care." I start to back out the door but he holds me, prevents me from moving. " Let go, Christian. You have to let go."

"I can't lose you Ana. I'll give Alice up, I'll never go into The Room again, I'll give it all up for you. The only reason I liked her was because she was so like you." A small sigh escapes him, the sort of sigh we make when we reminisce.

"I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHO I WAS. WHO WAS I CHRISTIAN?!" My shout startles me.

"You were Ana, my Ana. You are Ana." He starts to sob and another part of my heart is chipped away. I take another step back. This time he doesn't stop me.