Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

Greene’s office is spacious, minimalistic, and well appointed.
    “I’m so grateful you caught me before I left,” I mumble, still shell-shocked. “My father’s been in a car accident, and we’ve just moved him here from Portland.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?”
    “He’s doing okay, thank you. On the mend.”
    “That’s good. And it explains why you cancelled on Friday.”
    Dr. Greene wiggles the mouse on her desk, and her computer comes to life.
    “Yes . . . it’s been over thirteen weeks. You’re cutting it a bit close. We’d better do a test before we give you another shot.”
    “A test?” I whisper, all the blood rushing from my head.
    “A pregnancy test.”
    Oh, no.
    She reaches into the drawer of her desk. “You know what to do with this.” She hands me a small container. “The restroom is just outside my office.”
    I get up as if in a trance, my whole body operating as if on automatic pilot and I stumble to the restroom.
    Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How could I have let this happen . . . again? I suddenly feel sick and offer a silent prayer . Please no. Please no. It’s too soon. It’s too soon. It’s too soon.
    When I reenter Dr. Greene’s office, she gives me a tight smile and waves me to the seat in front of her desk. I sit down and wordlessly hand her my sample. She dips a small white stick into it and watches. She raises her eyebrows as it turns pale blue.
    “What does blue mean?” The tension is almost choking me.
    She looks up at me, her eyes serious. “Well, Mrs. Grey, it means you’re pregnant.”
    What? No. No. No. Fuck.

I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don’t want a baby . . . not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to freak.
    “Mrs. Grey, you’re very pale. Would you like a glass of water?”
    “Please.” My voice is a barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?
    “I take it you’re surprised.”
    I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. “Shocked,” I whisper.
    “We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you’re just a couple of weeks or so from conception—four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven’t been suffering any other symptoms?”
    I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don’t think so. “I thought . . . I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive.”
    Dr. Greene arches a brow. “It normally is, when you remember to have the shot,” she says coolly.
    “I must have lost track of time.” Christian is going to freak. I know it.
    “Have you been bleeding at all?”
    I frown. “No.”
    “That’s normal for the Depo. Let’s do an ultrasound shall we? I have time.”
    I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.
    “If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,” she says briskly.
    Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.
    “That’s good.” Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It’s a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard. The screen pings into life.
    “If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide,” she says matter-of-factly.
    I frown warily.
    “This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you’re only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this.” She holds up a long white probe.
    Oh, you have got to be kidding!
    “Okay,” I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.
    “Mrs. Grey, if you could relax.”
    Relax? I’m pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and endeavor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near the lost Island of Atlantis.
    Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.
    Holy fuck!
    All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—although it’s more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it’s very disconcerting.
    “There,” she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the