She had been nine years old before she dared to speak of the matter. Even then, Pooja Naberrie knew enough to avoid asking a direct question about what had happened. Her sister had taught her that much.

Still, the question came almost involuntarily. She had been heartlessly snubbed by Sio Derarrie, the tow-headed, ten-year-old neighborhood heartthrob. Mom had adopted Grandmother's habit of curing all ills with food, so even though Pooja suspected that she was on the verge of outgrowing cookies and milk, she accepted the comfort where she could get it.

Mom had been putting in another batch when she sniffled out a heartfelt inquiry: "Can you die of a broken heart?"

"Of course not," Mom said, smiling slightly. "A heart never really breaks. It just gets bent out of shape."

"But it feels like it broke," she sniffed.

Mom's smile was sad as if she knew exactly what Pooja meant, but she leaned across the counter to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"I know, sweetheart," she admitted quietly. "It'll stop hurting soon enough, though. That's how we know it isn't broken--it can be healed."

"But Aunt Padme died of a broken heart..."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, since the tray of cookies went crashing to the floor unnoticed.

"She's not dead," Mom hissed in a voice that was so filled with anger and fear that Pooja immediately repented of even speaking.

"Yes, she is," Pooja protested. "You won't let her leave, you won't let me see her and you don't even talk about her. You talk more about Grandpa and he's been dead a year."

"She's not dead," Mom repeated vehemently, "and she didn't do anything of a broken heart."

She wanted to stop speaking, wanted to forget that she had wanted answers for the last two years, but she folded her arms across her chest and fixed her mother with a stare that she had learned from her Aunt Padme.

"Then, what happened to her?" she challenged.

For a long moment, Mom was silent and Pooja thought she hadn't heard her. She was about to ask the question again when Mom finally spoke.

"You can't die of a broken heart," she echoed, "but your Aunt Padme tried very hard." She had been too young to understand why Padme came back to them. She was only seven years old when the word came that Aunt Padme had died and she had cried almost as her mother.

What had puzzled her was the fact that one month later, she had awoken in the middle of the night to hear voices on the stairs and someone crying. Before she could get to the door, the voices had stopped talking and the house was once more too quiet.

She hadn't realized what it had meant until she noticed that Aunt Padme's room had a light on at night. Her mother didn't dare speak of it, but Ryoo seemed to be Pooja's caretaker more often in the days that followed.

Finally, after too many days of unanswered questions, Mom had sat them both down at the kitchen table when Daddy was at work and when there were no noises coming from upstairs.

"You know we have a guest," she started.

"Yes, Mom," Ryoo answered. "Who is it?"

Mom swallowed and it looked like she was going to cry, but she didn't. She only looked at the ceiling. Maybe she had heard something or maybe she was looking for an answer of her own.

"We found out something wonderful," she said. "Your Aunt Padme didn't die."

"She didn't?" Pooja squealed. "But they told us she did!"

"They didn't know," Mom corrected. "She didn't die, but she's very sick."

Ryoo nodded sagely. "Is she going to go to the doctor?"

"I don't know," Mom answered and wiped away something on her cheek. "I don't know if there's a doctor that can help her."

"But we can help her," Pooja insisted.

"I hope so," Mom said. "That's why she's here. She needs to get better and I think she has to do it here."

"What's she sick with?" Ryoo asked.

Mom cried then and Pooja climbed into her lap, really too big to do that, but knowing that Mom needed someone to hug then.

"Is it her heart?"

Grandpa had been sick then and the only thing the grown-ups would tell Pooja or Ryoo was that it was his heart.

"Yes," Mom said. "Someone hurt her heart and I want to make it better."

The visits had started the same day, with each of them going to visit her with Mom. Aunt Padme had been lying in bed, covered with so many blankets that she must have thought it was winter.

"Padme?"

Aunt Padme made a sad sound, but she didn't cry. Maybe she was asleep.

"Padme, you have a visitor," Mom said.

Pooja's aunt blinked like the lights were too bright, then squinted at her. "Leia?"

"No," Mom said patiently. "It's Pooja, your niece."

"Your daughter," Aunt Padme mumbled. "Not mine."

"No, sweet one," Mom said, placing Pooja's hand in Padme's. "But you can hold mine until yours comes home to you."

Padme blinked again, but nodded. "Thank you."

Pooja pulled back the covers and crawled into bed with her Aunt then, hand still clutching Padme's.

"Are you sick?"

Padme nodded again. "Very sick," she whispered.

"But you'll get better," Pooja promised, "and then we'll go to the lake country and play all day. You don't ever have to leave again."

"Leia, too?"

She didn't know who Leia was, but it seemed like Aunt Padme missed her a lot.

"If she wants to come," Pooja said uncertainly.

Aunt Padme made that sound again, but she smiled. "That sounds good." Every day, they would go to Aunt Padme's room and spend some time with her. Most days, Padme couldn't remember her name, so she just called her Leia. She would play with her hair and whisper stories about a man named Anakin in Pooja's ear.

Most of the stories were funny ones or tales that would make her happy, but sometimes, Padme would forget what story she had meant to tell. She would start to talk about Anakin, but then stop and start crying again.

Pooja had always loved her aunt, but it was kind of scary to be around her. It was like her aunt didn't know what was real any more, so she'd make up a world instead. She was like a little girl who was scared of the dark and needed to convince herself that there was something other than a monster in the closet.

Pooja never asked about what Padme would say until one night, when Mom was brushing her hair, and she got up the nerve to ask the question that she'd thought about all afternoon. It was a question that had bothered her especially after the fight with Mom about Aunt Padme's broken heart, but she had been afraid to talk about it again.

"Who's Leia?"

Mom sniffed, but she didn't stop brushing. "She's Aunt Padme's baby," she explained.

"Aunt Padme has a baby?" Pooja asked. "Is she my cousin like Diena's cousins?"

Now Mom stopped brushing, but she stopped sniffing. She didn't talk for a long time, though.

Finally, she said, "She was."

She was kind of scared to ask, but she had to. "What do you mean was?"

"Aunt Padme couldn't keep her because someone bad wanted to hurt them both," Mom told her, "so she gave her to her best friend, Bail. He was going to take Leia to live with him on Alderaan."

"Can we visit her there?" Pooja demanded. "I think it would help Aunt Padme get better."

"It would," Mom agreed, "but the bad man found their ship and he killed them."

Pooja gasped. "Is the bad man still alive?"

"He is," Mom told her. "He even comes here to Naboo sometimes. You remember Darth Vader."

She nodded miserably. "is he the one who killed Leia?"

Mom sighed quietly. "He is. And Aunt Padme's here, but he hasn't come to look for her. That's why we won't let you tell your friends about her. That's why she doesn't come out with us."

It was the saddest story Mom had ever told her and she probably didn't want to talk about it more, but Pooja turned to look at her. She was looking at her hands and looked much more tired than she had before.

"Is that why Aunt Padme's sick?" she asked.

"I think so," Mom said.

For a long moment, they were quiet and unable to find something to say to each other.

"She's not going to get better," Pooja guessed, "is she?"

Mom closed her eyes and nodded. "I think you're right."