"He can help you."
Shmi hadn't spoken those words lightly. People had to help each other in order to solve their problems. Hope had to be greater than fear if anyone was to survive in this galaxy. So she'd given her blessing that Anakin enter the race. Her heart whispered to her it was right. That didn't stop her from wanting otherwise.
This wasn't a bet to her, or a chance to win, or even a mission. This was her son being put in danger. No amount of motherly love could shield him once he stepped out onto the race course. Anything could happen to him.
He could crash again.
He could be killed.
He could also survive. He'd done it before.
Maybe this time, he could even win.
This was bigger than her son, bigger even than one person. All she had to do was hold out faith, and the galaxy would do the rest.
"He was meant to help you."
Was he meant to help at the cost of his life? So much rested on chance. The risks were hers to take, but the advantages weren't hers to gain. Her son's life was what mattered, not the lives of these strangers. Her heart balanced on the knife edge, wanting so much for her son to succeed, yet also wanting any excuse to snatch him back from harm.
Maybe the pod wouldn't work. Anakin couldn't race in a broken machine, and their guests would have to give up and find another way out of their troubles. Engines lit up with a howl as loud as a shout of glee, as loud as a wounded child crying out in pain. There was no getting out of it now. Tomorrow he would race. As Anakin's face lit up, and with it his heart, a part of her heart died.