Coruscant is steely and uninviting as I approach. Anakin and I have already gone our separate ways; once we left the Outer Rim, Obi-Wan contacted him and asked that he assist with the conflict in a nearby system. Obi-Wan knows it is Shmi that Anakin went to visit, and offered to cover for him. But he doesn't know I accompanied Anakin; he can't know. I only hope Obi-Wan can get through to Anakin and be some support, though my husband does not open up easily.

I pilot a small Nubian fighter, flanked by my head of security and one of his most trusted guards. We rendezvoused on a nearby moon once Anakin departed. I can't remember the last time I was truly alone; but it is unsafe to travel solo.

I land on the pad outside my chambers, and the other two fighters peel off toward a hangar bay. Lifting my helmet from my head, I am almost toppled by a fast-moving Irdé. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes.

"Are you okay? Did everything work? Did Reef supply you with everything you needed?"

"Irdé," I gasp, "some personal space please."

Apologising profusely, she disentangles and takes two steps back, gazing at me expectantly. Drawing deeper breaths into my lungs, I look past her to see a welcoming party of five handmaidens smiling at me. I am thankful for this loyal team.

I step into my home-away-from-home and each of them greets me warmly, though with more self-restraint than Irdé. These women who see me for who I truly am, without whom I could not do much of my work. Esmé offers me a freshly cooked meal while Hanné draws a bath. After a while, most of them take their leave, and I am left with only Dormé.

"Are you well?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. Simply tired from the long journey."

Her eyes search my face. "And was the journey a good one?"

"Anakin's mother has passed away. I will spare you the details, but it was cruel." Not to mention what came after.

Dormé's face twists with empathy. "I am so sorry. She was important to you."

"I met her that first time on Tatooine and yes, I cared for her, but to Anakin she was once the whole world."

"And did you tell him?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No. It felt like too much for him to handle right now." Dormé is the only living soul who knows about the twins. A sickening feeling in my gut tells me I should keep it that way.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

"Thank you, Dormé, but all I want right now is to sink into that bath and sleep for as long as possible."

She takes my hand for a moment and squeezes it. "Of course, Milady."

Dormé retires for the evening and I am, finally, alone. My body aches from the cramped cockpit, from Tatooine's heat, from all the tension I have been carrying. I collapse into warm water and let exhaustion fall from my limbs. Once dressed, I flop onto the bed and let my mind wander.

Two secrets. One full of joy and fear and complication. One dark to its very core. Both revolve around Anakin and I, a haunting dance that teeters on a knife's edge between hope and destruction.

Alone with my thoughts for the first time since Tatooine, I am forced to reckon with what Anakin told me after he brought Shmi's body home. I sit in the monstrosity of what he has done. Recall other times he has let his anger loose, tipped over into unnecessary use of force, driven only by passion.

Jedi doctrine commands that they be unfeeling, balanced, but that is near-impossible for any humanoid. Surely such a culture only leads to the hiding of emotions, which can so easily breed darkness. Anakin's heart is writhing with unprocessed trauma, some of which he has not shared even with me. And yet this is invisible, peripheral, to the Jedi Council. They are concerned only with his bottling up and letting go and returning to the field.

Yes, the Jedi have failed my husband, but this doesn't excuse the slaughter of innocent people. He is a wounded creature with gaping emotional wounds. And, killing a whole village is incredibly wrong. An act of cruelty that can only be met with silence. Both can be true at once, though it is difficult to hold these truths within myself.

I want to push them aside, to remember only the tender moments of our relationship: his smile, his laugh, the gentleness of his touch. But that would be wilful blindness. If there were only myself to worry about, I may have chosen this easier road, knowing deep down where it could lead. But inside me are two healthy embryos I am determined will become beautiful children. I will protect them at all costs.

I whisper a prayer for the souls of the slaughtered Sand People.