Chapter Twenty
After that night, it's difficult to coax Anakin out of his dark mood especially when the nightmare recurs with furious vengeance and leaves him sleepless most nights. It's even harder not to fall into that yawning pit of grief with him, but I remain steadfast about keeping a foothold in optimism. I persevere and hang on doggedly to my hope and, eventually, I manage to pull Anakin along with me.
His therapy sessions with Dr. Wilc help to keep him grounded. My regular appointments with Dr. Moren lessen the stress as well. Each time the obstetrician reassures us that Luke is healthy and without any concerning medical anomalies or clinical concerns, we gain a little more hope, become a little more certain that whatever Anakin has seen in his dream is just a snippet of a much larger picture. We hold on to that hope fiercely. In the meantime, we do our best to muddle through life.
My parents are thrilled to welcome me back home, my mother especially. She begins hovering protectively almost immediately. While part of me balks at the idea of being a fully grown woman who is married and expecting a child of her own allowing her mother to take full control of her life, the other part of me is just grateful to have someone handle the mundane day to day. Anakin is barely holding it together, and I'm expending most of the energy I have to keep him from spiraling. The fact that my mother readily takes of the role of Padmé's life determinator is a welcome thing, though I recognize that eventually I will need to reestablish some boundaries with her.
I am in my 35th week of pregnancy when the time finally arrives for my mother and I to have that talk. After spending six weeks vacillating crazily between hope and dread, Anakin and I finally reach a point where we both want to reclaim some control of our lives. The fear remains, always lurking and coloring every thought and emotion we have, but it is also tempered with the anticipation of our son's impending birth, an impatience to simply "get it over with" and traverse whatever challenges might await us on the other side.
When week 36 comes and goes uneventfully, with Luke continuing to grow and thrive, I become weary of remaining stagnant. That evening I find myself perched at my vanity in predictable fashion, brushing my hair while Anakin is reclined on the bed a few feet away, propped by pillows, feet crossed at the ankles while he studies his datapad with laser focus. It is a routine that we've been following for weeks now. Rise. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
We have been little more than automatons lately, drifting through our daily routines with mechanical efficiency. I cannot remember the last time we experienced a moment of pure, untainted joy together. It feels like eons since the last time we shared a laugh, even longer since we've made love. Neither of us has shown any interest in that at all.
I'm quite ungainly now, hardly the definition of a sexual siren, but that isn't the reason that Ani and I have been neglecting our sex life. We've been much too worried, so overwhelmed with stress and grief to the point of sheer exhaustion. Some nights all I want is to fall into bed and sleep. I know that Anakin feels the same. But, following this most recent visit with Dr. Moren, I'm feeling strangely encouraged. I'm excited by his prediction that I should give birth "any day now," and I want to celebrate that accomplishment. I want to share that feeling with Anakin, to be as close to him as I possibly can.
Filled with renewed determination, I set aside my brush and rise to approach the bed. Anakin doesn't glance up or even acknowledge me at all until I pluck his datapad from his fingers, set it aside, and move to straddle his lap. He looks at me then, his expression beset with mild irritation.
"What are you doing?"
"Anakin, has it really been so long that you can't tell when your wife is trying to seduce you?" I ask wryly as I start to smoothly divest him of his shirt. He doesn't resist my efforts to undress him but neither does he seem particularly engaged to do more after I drop his shirt to the floor. I sit back on my knees, resting my weight against his thighs, and regard him with a thoughtful look. "Do you no longer find me attractive?" I splay my hands over the tight, stretched skin of my heavily rounded abdomen. "You can be honest. It's the belly, isn't it? It's too much for you."
There's a glimmer of a smile that threatens the corners of his lips, but he stubbornly bites it back. "Don't be absurd. You're a goddess to me, Padmé, especially now."
"Then what is it?" I whisper, "Don't you miss being with me, Ani?"
He groans at the question, and I already know the answer even before he whispers back, "You know that I do…"
That is all the invitation I need to whip my nightgown over my head and toss it aside. "Then I think we should do something about that."
Though he's careful to keep his eyes averted from me, his hands inevitably drift up and down my bare thighs in gliding, instinctive caresses. He is already drawing me closer so that I'm settled over his groin, where he is already beginning to stir with arousal despite his protests. "This won't change anything," he mumbles mournfully, "Won't we just be hiding from our problems?"
I sweep his hand from my thigh and place it against my bare breast in frank invitation. His eyes flutter to meet mine in a trenchant stare. "Anakin, I'm tired of being miserable. Aren't you?"
He doesn't require much more coaxing than that. We don't make love with our usual fierce, unfettered abandon. Instead, our coupling is quiet, gentle, and unhurried. This is the way it's always been with us when we find ourselves facing seeming indominable circumstances. It's as if we're determined to take our time, to savor every kiss, every fleeting caress as if we might never enjoy them again. For that reason, I watch Anakin's face carefully as he moves beneath me, delighting in each grimace of pleasure, every sweet moan that escapes his parted lips.
When it is over, he draws me against him and drowsily murmurs, "I love you, Padmé," into my hair. I listen as his breathing slows and evens with the peaceful cadence of sleep. Eventually, I relax enough to drift off after him.
I'm not sure how long I've been asleep before I am awakened suddenly by an intense pressure in my abdomen and lower back. It is not painful, but the unrelenting tension is enough to jar me into full wakefulness almost instantly. I catch my breath as the pressure gradually builds and builds. I fist my hands into the blankets in a white-knuckled grip, gritting my teeth against the impulse to yelp aloud. My abdomen feels rock hard. And then, just as I think I'm about to lose my fight against whimpering aloud because it seems the crescendo will never break, the sensation eases and slowly ebbs away. I remember to breathe again.
Only then do I begin to process everything around me. It's only half past the 25th hour. Sometime during the night Anakin has rolled away from me entirely, leaving me bereft of his body heat. He now lies sprawled on his stomach on the opposite side of the bed, the sheets bunched messily about his naked waist, his head half buried beneath the pillow. He is sleeping soundly. It's such a rare occurrence that I don't want to wake him.
Dr. Moren warned me that false labor contractions would become a frequent occurrence as I got closer to my delivery date. I've experienced them before, but never this strongly. And while the contraction had been enough to momentarily steal my breath, nothing too incredibly concerning had occurred, certainly nothing worth waking Anakin for. So, I lay there in silence instead, waiting to see if the curious phenomenon will repeat itself. I don't have a very long wait.
The extreme pressure once again starts in my back before snaking around my abdomen. It builds to the point where it becomes almost intolerable, where just taking a breath feels impossible and I'm literally gritting my teeth. And then, just as before, it fades away and I can relax again.
I scowl thoughtfully in the darkness. Is this what labor feels like? If so, it's not what I expected at all. While the sensation is uncomfortable and even somewhat unbearable at certain points, it is not the searing agony that Sola led me to believe. I'm nowhere near "writhing in waves of pure suffering." I've had superficial burns that caused me more discomfort. I wonder if, perhaps, my older sister has an incredibly low threshold for pain…
After my third contraction crests and recedes, I decide that I can't lie in bed any longer waiting and wondering. I slip from beneath the blankets and scoop up my discarded nightgown. After I pull it back on along with my underwear, I sit down to time my contractions as I had been instructed to do by Dr. Moren only days earlier.
They come at regular intervals and are spaced roughly seven to eight minutes apart. I'm confused because, while the contractions are clearly invariable, they also continue to feel more like I'm being hugged in a vise grip rather than acute pain. I keep waiting for the moment when I'll double over with sharp, bursting agony and yet…nothing. I'm not very impressed. I'm also not sure what I should do at this point either.
I feel silly as I consider waking my sister and mother at such a late hour to ask them what true labor feels like. Anakin is hardly an option either. He doesn't know any more than I do and, if I wake him, he'll likely become worried and panicked and it's already enough for me to concentrate on keeping my own anxiety at bay. I can't add reassuring Anakin to the mix too. What I do know is that, based on the endless accounts that I've heard regarding childbirth, I'm supposed to be in excruciating pain right now, and I am not. So, perhaps, this isn't labor after all.
It seems reasonable then to try and go back to sleep, but after I settle down in bed again, I cannot get comfortable. The steady contractions keep me awake and tense. There is a near constant pressure in my pelvis. A particularly bad contraction sends me on trip straight to the fresher to relieve myself. As I sit there, caught somewhere between nausea, lightheadedness, and mounting panic, I contemplate the rust-colored stains that darken my undergarments. I'm not bleeding heavily but the small streaks of blood I do see are enough to cause me alarm.
Trying desperately to keep myself calm, I decide to put in a comm call to Dr. Moren's medical droid, Irma. While I don't expect that Dr. Moren will be readily available to me given the late hour, I have no doubts that Irma will answer my call. My instincts pay off. She accepts my call almost immediately.
"Good morning. How may I assist you, Padmé Amidala Skywalker?"
"Irma, how do I know if I'm in labor?"
"Please, describe your symptoms." I quickly give her an overview of what I've been experiencing for the past hour, including my most recent discovery in the fresher. When I'm done speaking, she recites clinically, "What you are describing is what we often refer to as the 'bloody show.' It is the loss of your cervical mucous plug and indicates that your cervix is beginning to soften."
"What does that mean?"
"Based on your previous physical exam, your cervix was closed at the time of your visit. That has likely changed. When your contractions occur in 2-to-5-minute intervals, you will be considered in active labor. You may proceed to the medical center at that time."
Finally having a definitive answer to my question does little to comfort me, however. I now realize that if I truly am in labor then that means that the events that Anakin foresaw in his dream are imminent as well. Despite Irma's clear instruction that I should remain at home until my contractions are closer together, I know that I will be unable to do that, not with so many unknowns looming on the horizon. I would feel much better if I were at the hospital, hooked up to multiple monitors designed to track Luke's vital signs and activity. If something goes wrong with him, I want to know about it as soon as possible.
Consequently, I do the thing I've been trying to talk myself out of since I was abruptly jostled from sleep more than an hour earlier. I shake Anakin awake. He flops onto his back with a surly grunt and squints up at me groggily.
"What is it?"
"You have to take me to the hospital," I tell him without preamble, "I'm in labor."
Anakin comes fully awake following that announcement and a short time later, after he has thrown on his clothing and grabbed my overnight bag, so is the rest of the house. There is a veritable bustle of activity as everyone scrambles about in preparation for departure, but for me it feels as if the world has slowed to a crawl. Luke seems uncharacteristically idle, and the fear that accompanies that realization utterly paralyzes me.
Over the past weeks, his movements have gradually lessened as his environment has grown more and more constrictive. Rather than kicking and thumping, he began to stretch and roll instead. Dr. Moren had assured me and Anakin that the slowdown in activity was perfectly normal and that we shouldn't worry at all. He reviewed with us how many movements we should feel on average in a designated period and how to monitor those movements. There has been nothing amiss with Luke's activity level at all. I know this and yet I can't help but fret a little when he doesn't move about because I wonder if it might mean something more foreboding.
Anakin easily picks up on my anxiety. He stoops down before me and gathers my hands in his own, his blue eyes searching my face as I sit there trying valiantly not to cry. "Tell me what's wrong?" he urges gently, "Are you in pain?"
"He's not moving, Ani. I can't feel him."
He places his hand against my rigid abdomen and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. An instant later, he looks at me again and he's smiling. "It's tight in there for him, Padmé," he explains to me gently, "Not a lot of wiggle room. That's all." I exhale a tearful sigh of relief. "He's fine. He's going to be fine. Remember? We're choosing to hope for the best this time, right?"
I answer with a quick nod and give his fingers a desperate squeeze. "Right. We're choosing to hope."
I'm thankful for Anakin's Force connection with our son because I'm reassured that if anything changes between now and his birth, his father will know immediately. The knowledge calms me considerably and relieves most of the urgency I feel to get to the hospital right away. I still want to go, but now I feel I have a little time to freshen up first. I insist on taking a quick shower then so that I can clean up, attempt to wax my legs, and generally make myself presentable while my father arranges for our transport to the hospital.
Anakin and I have a brief argument about my need to beautify myself that threatens to become a full-fledged fight before my sister intervenes and manages to convince him that I do, in fact, have time to "pretty up" before we leave for the hospital. He walks away to begin loading the transport, muttering something under his breath about "typical Nabooian vanity" as he does. Less than half an hour later, my mother, Anakin and I are in route to the Naboo Galactic MedCenter. While Anakin calls ahead to Dr. Moren so he can meet us there and then reaches out to update Shmi, my own mother tries to soothe me through my latest contraction.
"Are you scared?" she asks me once it passes.
"A little bit," I hedge, "Mostly, I just want to hold him in my arms. I don't think I can relax until I do."
Mom offers me a loving smile, full of shared understanding. "Are you in much pain right now?"
"Surprisingly, I'm not. If I'm honest, I don't find labor that painful at all. I have no idea why everyone complains about it." I say "everyone," but I specifically mean my sister. I'm beginning to suspect that Sola might be a drama queen and I tell my mother that.
She literally throws her head back and laughs uproariously at the comment, as if I've just told her the most fabulous joke she's ever heard. I stare at her blankly while she favors me with a complacent smile. "Oh, my sweet, little Padmé," she chuckles, "This is only the beginning, my dear. The pain will come. Trust me."
And it does. Oh, does the pain come…with the full battering force of a charging reek! It is pain like I have never experienced in my entire life! I'm suspended somewhere between intense, building pressure that robs me of the ability to breathe and sharp, rending cramps that seize the muscles in my back and abdomen in a grip so punishing that it brings literal tears to my eyes.
It is a pain so visceral that I scream through it and almost lose my resolve not to beg pathetically for pain killers. The only reason I don't is because I'm fearful of doing anything that might bring Anakin's premonition to fruition. Still, I find myself waffling between whimpering for my mother like a child and simultaneously cursing my husband's entire existence with snarling virulence. The pain is acute, so unrelenting that I would like nothing more than to crawl away from it, to desperately claw out an escape even for a few seconds, but the agony follows me without let up.
My mother and Anakin flank me on either side as I grit my way through it, and I grasp each of their hands in an unyielding grip. The contractions begin to follow each other so quickly that it becomes indiscernible to me when one begins and another ends. They come one on top of the other on top of the other until I'm not even breathing anymore.
I'm drenched in sweat, gasping and groaning. The only reason I'm so diligent about following Dr. Moren's instructions to "bear down" is because I want the baby out of my body. I need for this ripping, endless pain to stop. That is my sole focus now. I need him out! It is when I'm poised on the brink of utter exhaustion and sure that I don't have a single ounce of strength left in me to push again that the complications begin.
Sometime between this agonizing moment and my last appointment with Dr. Moren two days earlier, my headstrong little son capriciously decided to flip his position. He has shifted into something Dr. Moren refers to as "frank breech" presentation. I don't pretend to understand all the details about umbilical cord compression and fetal heart decelerations, but I do know that the stricken expression on Anakin's face and the sudden flooding of medical personnel into my hospital room is not a good thing. It is cold confirmation for me that Anakin's premonition will indeed become a reality. I am going to lose my baby today. It doesn't crystallize for me until that very second.
I lose it. They're all telling me to stay calm. Anakin is urging me to stay calm. But I can't. I won't because my entire world is going to implode and there is no being calm in that scenario. I'm sobbing uncontrollably even as I follow Dr. Moren's harsh instructions to push and breathe and hold. The burning and tearing and stretching I feel hardly registers. I do what he asks but it all feels so futile, so hopeless now. He's going to die. Luke is going to die. And all I really want in that moment is to die with him. I would welcome death gladly if it meant the suffocating anguish I am feeling right now would end.
When's he's finally born, slithering into the world in a mixture of blood and mucous, he is flaccid and blue just as Anakin said he would be. They whisk him away, and I am inconsolable. I'm vaguely aware of Anakin sobbing apologies over and over but I can barely hear him. There is a loud, mournful keening that drowns out every sound in the room and I don't even realize it's me until Anakin pulls me against him and I feel his tears against my face and know that he is as broken as I am.
It takes me a long while to register my mother's hand gently cresting up and down my back, to hear the soothing, sweet words she croons in my hear. "…listen, Padmé, listen! He's crying, my dear! Can you hear him? He's alive…he's fine…"
As I quiet down, I hear it. Faint at first, weak and lethargic before it strengthens, becoming louder and almost indignant. Anakin and I stare at one another in suspended disbelief, trapped between wild hope and soul crushing grief. "He's alive…" I whisper gruffly before I'm sobbing again, this time in relief, then laughing, then uttering a litany of tearful "thank yous" under my breath.
The medical staff take their time with him, stabilizing him. I try not to be too anxious or bombard them with too many questions while they work. I'm relieved, at least, to see that my previously blue son is now a mottled pink and screaming in outrage. That is enough to keep me from lurching from the bed and snatching him into my arms.
"Are you two ready to meet your son?" Dr. Moren asks us when they have finished their evaluation, "Seems like he might have a flare for the drama though…"
I'm still laughing and crying over what an incredible understatement that is when he finally places a swaddled Luke in my arms. It's not real until I feel his warm, delicate weight settled against me and look down into his small, perfect face to see a curious set of dark, blue eyes staring back at me. I carefully unwrap the blanket surrounding him so that I can diligently count each tiny finger and each tiny toe, needing to reassure myself that this moment is real and not merely a fantasy I've conjured up in my grief.
Even after I'm certain that it's all real, I cannot stop touching him, cannot tear my eyes away from his face at all. I trace one trembling finger over the downy slope of his cheek. "Hello, Luke…I've been waiting so long to meet you." I glance over at Anakin to find him watching us with a reverently humble expression. "Ani, come look at your son," I whisper, beckoning him closer, "Isn't he the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
Anakin smiles at me and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. "He's pretty close," he whispers back before reaching out to stroke our son's little hand. Immediately, Luke's delicate fingers close around Anakin's in a solid grip. I watch Anakin's smile soften with awe. "He's really strong."
"I know. Like you."
He leans into me, his forehead resting lightly against my own when he replies softly, "No. Like you."
"Do you want to hold him?" I ask, although if I'm honest I'm very reluctant to relinquish my precious child to anyone, even Ani.
But when Anakin nods eagerly, I have little choice except to deposit Luke carefully into his arms. Despite my hesitance, I can't deny that my heart contracts with the sweetest pain when I witness Anakin holding our son for the first time. It's both a strange and gratifying thing to watch your husband fall in love with the child you created together. I have no doubts I am still the center of Anakin's heart, but now he's made room for Luke too…and that suits me just fine.
As I watch them together, I'm also struck by how ridiculously small and delicate Luke appears. Both Anakin and I question it simultaneously. Still a bit shaken from our earlier scare, we're prone to make a mountain of everything at this point. Dr. Moren is quick to assuage our fears and reassure us that Luke is a very healthy weight.
"You have a perfectly healthy baby boy," he says.
Anakin grins at me proudly. "You hear that, Mommy? You have a perfect baby."
"We made a perfect baby."
He lowers his eyes to Luke once more, seeming to be engaged in the same struggle with looking away from Luke even for a second that had plagued me earlier. "Yes, we really did."
My mother's voice sounds form somewhere behind me. "If you two are finished congratulating yourselves on a job well done, I would like to hold my grandson now."
I dutifully hand him over at Mom's behest, but it's strange how my arms already feel naked and foreign without him cradled there. The weight of his small body against my breast has already become welcome and familiar to me. It's only been a few minutes, and I'm already itching to take him back. Unfortunately, I'm not given very much time to hold him after my mother finally gives him back because Irma informs me that Luke needs to be taken to the nursery for further assessment.
"It will be no more than an hour," Irma reassures me, "and we will return him."
I'm reluctant to allow him to be away from my side, and the thought alone causes me a fair bit of anxiety. I throw an apprehensive glance up at Anakin, who appears to be struggling with similar feelings. "Will you stay with him?" I implore, catching hold of his fingers tightly, "Don't let him out of your sight, Ani."
He bends low to kiss me and that small gesture of affection is more comforting than he knows. "I won't."
I watch him follow the personnel from the room, feeling a little bereft as Luke's tiny bassinette disappears from my line of sight. Only a few cleaner droids remain behind to remove the lingering remnants of the birth that had taken place only a little while earlier. They briskly disinfect the surfaces, clear away soiled linen and provide me with clean linin and a fresh gown. After they've gone, my mother helps me settle down more comfortably, and briskly tucks in the sheets all around me.
"How long has it been?" I ask, darting a hopeful glance at the door.
"Only a quarter of an hour," Mom replies with a mild laugh, "It will be some time yet, Padmé. You should sleep now. You look very tired."
"I can't rest until they bring him back," I insist. Despite my protests, however, I start to yawn. My eyelids feel undeniably heavy as I'm suddenly overcome by the strenuous events of the last twelve hours. "Maybe I will sleep," I mumble in weary afterthought, "It has been a pretty harrowing day."
As my eyes begin to drift closed, I can feel my mother tenderly smoothing my tangled hair back from my forehead. "That was quite a scare you and Anakin had earlier."
"He had a premonition, you know," I confess to her in a drowsy whisper, "For weeks, Ani has been having nightmares about what happened here. We thought Luke was going to die, Mom."
"No wonder you've both been so withdrawn. I assumed you were having marital difficulties again."
I grunt a sleepy laugh. "For Force's sake, Mom, we're not that bad…"
"I was terrified myself. And when I saw how devastated you both were, it broke my heart, Padmé," she whispers, her confession thickened with emotion, "I can see how much you and Anakin love each other…how much he loves you and his family."
"He really is a good man."
With my eyes still closed, I smile when her lips gently brush my forehead. "I know he is, my dear," I hear her say as I start to drift away, "You always make good choices…"
When I open my eyes again, there is bright sunlight filtering into my hospital room and my mother is gone. Anakin is there, however. He has our infant son cradled in his arms and is slowly pacing back and forth with him while he croons low, sweet words that I can't quite discern. But I don't need to hear what he's saying. The expression of deep, encompassing love on his face is enough.
A burning lump of emotion rises in my throat as I watch them together. I find it incredible that Anakin could have ever doubted for a second that he would make an outstanding father. For all his uncanny ability to predict the future, he could never foresee the beautiful potential of this moment, but I always knew. It's clear to anyone with eyes that he adores his son completely. I have no doubts that he will protect Luke with his dying breath.
"Can I hold him?" I ask, surprised by how rough and unused my voice feels and sounds.
Anakin whips a startled look my way before he smiles at our son. "Luke, guess what? Your mother is finally awake."
As he carefully makes his way towards me, I push myself upright, grimacing at the discomfort that even minimal shifting causes me. With our son cradled securely in one arm, Anakin uses his free hand to help me settle into a more comfortable position. Once that is done, he gingerly transfers our slumbering baby into my arms. I'm immediately transfixed by Luke's small, drowsy face. His round, ruddy cheeks, the perfect "o" his rosebud mouth makes when he yawns, the wrinkling of his tiny nose…all of it enthralls me. I really do have the most beautiful child in the entire universe.
"I don't think I'll ever get tired of having him in my arms," I murmur.
"Your mother says we'll spoil him if we do that," Anakin says as he comes to lean over us.
It's not hard to imagine her saying that at all, and I make a face. From Anakin's tone, it's clear that he's already received a version of that lecture. But I can also tell from the look on his face that he is no more inclined to take the advice to heart than I am.
"I think we should take our chances," I recommend dryly.
"Agreed."
We exchange a short laugh over our mutual defiance before I ask, "How long have I been asleep?"
He scoots into the narrow space that I've provided next to me on the bed. "A few hours."
I glance at him in astonishment. "You're joking! It feels as if I only closed my eyes for a minute."
"You had a long night."
"So did you," I point out wryly.
"Yes, but you did all the work. Besides, I never sleep," he says, "and you needed your rest. Visiting hours will start soon and you'll be overrun."
"Is that why my mother isn't here?"
Anakin nods. "She went home to freshen up and then she's returning with the troops," he examines, "I hope I'm an acceptable stand-in for the time being."
I smile at him with what I'm sure is a besotted expression because I don't think that I have ever been more in love with him than I am right at this second. "We both know you're much more than that." Anakin rewards that declaration with a sweet kiss. "Will your family be here soon?"
"In route as we speak. When I say you're about to be overrun, I mean it."
"That's fine," I murmur, my eyes inevitably drawn back to the dozing bundle in my arms, "We'll just enjoy this quiet time we have with him now." I can't help but smile as I listen to the sleepy snuffles and soft gurgles my little son makes as he dreams. I study him for a long moment before I finally ask quietly, "Did you have him tested?"
I know I don't need to clarify what I'm asking. Luke's potential Force sensitivity and what to do about it has been a longstanding point of contention between me and Anakin. We've mostly shelved the argument due to our uncertainty over his birth, but the issue of whether Luke should be ultimately trained as a Jedi has remained unresolved. I suppose that now is as good a time as any to address it.
"Yes," Anakin confirms after a beat, "I asked Dr. Moren to check his levels, and he agreed."
"And?"
"His midi-chlorian count is well over 14,000," Anakin says, "It will only increase as he gets older."
"What does that mean, Ani?"
"That our son will be very powerful in the Force just as Yoda said."
"I understand," I reply, nodding my acceptance, "Alright. You have my consent. Luke can be trained at the Temple."
"That won't be for some time, Padmé," Anakin reassures me, "He's still very little and he'll need us for a while to come. You don't have to make that decision now."
"Will it be what's best for him?"
Anakin strokes Luke's tiny face with an infatuated smile. "I think so."
"Then he should go," I determine softly, "But he won't have the same experience that you did at all. I know that. Luke will not be isolated or cut off from his attachments. Our son will be free to love and know that he is loved in return."
"You sound very sure of that."
I lean closer to kiss him gently. "Of course, I'm sure. We've made it this far, haven't we?"