Once I've explained everything I know about Anakin and Padmé, once I've told them of his fall and his murders and her death, once I've shown a picture of Anakin and Padmé's son and asked them to take him in, once all of that is done, they send me to wait in the garage while they discuss what to do.

I sit on a crate and I meditate as best I can. This is a small house. Spare. Covered in sand. I glance again at the color of the walls. Possibly made of sand. What kind of home is this for a child?

Suddenly I hear a voice that I haven't heard in nearly thirteen years, a voice that's as familiar to me as a mother's is to most people. The voice says, this will be a loving home for Luke.

"Qui-Gon," I whisper. "Yoda was right. You're still with me."

The same voice, but a hint of amusement: much as the Force is.

Before I can say more, I realize Beru Lars is standing before me. "My apologies," I say quickly as I stand up, "I was lost in thought."

She smiles at me. "I don't blame you. You've had a long journey, and a harrowing time before it. I don't even know how you're still holding yourself together." She pulls over a second crate and sits. "Owen is outside taking care of your eopie and pretending to clean something. He always needs to take some time to think everything over before he makes a decision, even a small decision. And this is one large decision you've brought before us."

I sit back down on the crate. "I appreciate that this is unexpected. But everything happened so fast—Anakin's fall, the collapse of the Jedi order, Padmé's death. It was all I could do to escape with the little boy, and I didn't know where to go except here. I know you only met Anakin once, but you're still the only family he has left." Except me. And the way his life ended is proof that I wasn't a good father.

Beru looks at me for a moment. "I only met Anakin once, you're right," she says slowly, "But Padmé kept in touch."

I'm shocked, but I don't let myself react. After everything that's happened in the last week, how is it still possible to be surprised by anything? I say the most neutral thing I can choke out, "How did she do that?"

"I got a transmission every few months, telling me what was happening in the galaxy at large. I heard all the news about the war. I knew that Anakin and Padmé got married." She pauses, trying to gauge my reaction. I hide my surprise at the word "married" as well as I can. How in Qasak did they do that?

"At first I wasn't sure why a Senator wanted to talk to a farmer's wife, but eventually I realized. She was living a lie to everyone—her friends, her parents, her own sister. I think she needed someone to know what was happening, and Force knows there's no one on Tatooine who cares what a Republican Senator and Jedi Knight may be doing between the sheets."

Padmé could trust this stranger with all her secrets, but she couldn't trust me. That stings, yet I have a more important question. "Did . . . did you know about the baby?" Babies, but I can't say that out loud.

Beru actually blushes a little at the question. "Yes. She told me she was expecting almost seven months ago, before she'd even had a chance to tell Anakin. She called me up and she sounded terrified. I offered to help however I could, and then I asked when she was due."

The young woman takes a deep breath. "She had no idea, Ben. She hadn't seen a midwife, she was afraid to even try to seek one out. I told her she couldn't just ignore being pregnant, but she was terrified that her reputation would be ruined, that she'd lose her position, that her husband would be expelled from his order. It didn't make any sense to me," she says, "What kind of barbarians would have punished a pregnant woman? Why didn't she have anyone to care for her?" Her eyes narrow and I can feel the accusation behind those words, why didn't you help her sooner?

I feel the emotion streaming from her soul and I think, it would be a frightening thing to see Beru Lars get truly angry. Then, an idle thought: that's probably a good trait in a mother.

"I didn't know about her and Anakin," I protest—I think I'll be using that excuse until I die. "But I—I should have. I should have helped her. I turned a blind eye to the whole situation, and now it's caused more grief than I can say." There are tears in my eyes again, and I'm not sure whether they're for my friends, my padawan, Padmé, her children, or myself.

Beru's moment of indignation is already passing over, I sense. Patient and quick to forgive. This is a good woman I see before me. She passes me a handkerchief and says, "Sorry. That was harsh. I'm sure that after the month you've had, you're counting the ways that you failed. But you've succeeded in one important way, too. You've protected Luke. You've brought him here to us." She stands, takes a step closer to me, and lays a hand on my shoulder. "For that, you have my gratitude."

I look up at her, surprised. "Have you decided to take him, then?"

Beru Lars shrugs her shoulders at me. "Owen will probably need to think some more before he makes his decision. But I made my decision half a year ago, when Padmé Amidala first told me she was pregnant. 'If she says the word,' I thought, 'that child becomes mine.' Bring Luke here when you're ready, Ben Kenobi, and I'll be the best mother to him I can be."