Padmè shakily pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she pressed the last button. After six months without seeing anyone in her family face to face, she was terrified at the prospect of directly communicating with them now, but knew she had to. If she didn't, they'd think something was wrong, and come and see how she was doing- something she'd been trying to avoid for months. Ever since Padmè Amidala had discovered her pregnancy six months previously, she had been wary, even paranoid, about anyone finding out. Even her family. Even… her husband.

Padmè leaned heavily against a nearby wall, one hand covering her eyes as her anxiety returned, one hand on her bulging stomach, the cause of her fret. It had been seven long, lonely months since her husband's last brief appearance. It had been six months since her shocking discovery. It had been six months of isolation, pain and tears that Padmè had endured so far, telling no one of her condition, though she knew that some suspected. In an act of desperation, the Senator of Naboo had been forced to confide in one solitary person, her handmaiden, and closest friend, Dormè. Apart from the fact that it was Dormè who helped her into her complicated formal gowns, it was inconceivable that a person so close to Padmè could fail to notice certain changes to her body, obvious changes only those expecting can achieve, not to mention the all too common mood swings.

But Dormè was gone now; she herself had married and was living with her husband on Naboo. Padmè envied her so much it was sometimes painful to write to her old friend.

In a last minute decision, Padmè reached back to the communicator, still searching for a signal, and changed the visual settings. Her family must not find out. Her parents would be horrified, and they would look upon their youngest daughter with shame. A flicker and a click indicated a fully operational communication line, and suddenly Ruwee, Padmè's father, appeared on her screen.

"Daughter! Darling!" Ruwee cried, beaming at the sight of Padmè. "We haven't heard from you for so many months! Your mother was so worried!" He paused suddenly, in the middle of his fatherly greeting, his face betraying his concern as he finally focussed properly on his daughter. "You look pale, darling. Are you sick?"

Padmè smiled weakly. He had no idea. "I'm fine, Dad. How have you been? Where's Mum?"

"She's out in the gardens I believe, with Pooja. I'll call her for you in a minute. How has work been, darling? You look tired. I told you not to let those filthy politicians run you down."

Ruwee's fatherly concern faintly amused Padmè. He had no idea, of course, of her current condition. He didn't even know she was married. No one did. She hadn't even let that secret on to Dormè. As Padmè answered her father's worried queries, she grew ever more thankful for her last minute brainwave: though she could see her father's entire elderly frame, he could only see her head and shoulders. This unusual decision of his daughter's escaped Ruwee entirely, however, as he chattered on, trying to catch up on her life, missing all the important details. Finally, he called her mother, who, much to Padmè's growing relief, saw not the signs of impending motherhood in her daughter's face, but weariness, which she too blamed on excessive work.

"I really thought you were ready to settle down a few years ago, darling," Jobal mused, looking slightly saddened. "I never imagined you'd stay away from home this long, either. Family has always been so important to you."

Padmè hid her inner misery with all the skill of a practised politician as she tried to think of a response to her mother's statements, but she felt like her heart was being ripped in two. Her mother had no idea just how much family meant to her at the moment. Neither of her parents even suspected Padmè was concealing something from them. They'd always been such an open family, with no secrets, and little need for questions. The rest of family still believed this was true; Padmè knew differently. As she struggled to think of a suitable lie to tell her mother and father, watching their confused but loving eyes on the communicator screen, her mind went blank. How could she continue to deceive her family like this?

After a noticeable pause from conversation, with both her parents staring at her, expecting her to defend her lifestyle, Padmè began to panic slightly. Just as she was about to close down the screen, her heart leapt at the sight of her sister, Sola, running towards the screen.

"Sola!" she cried, as happy to see her sister as she was that the topic had been successfully changed. "I've missed you so much!"

Sola looked up at her sister's face, beaming with happiness, but as soon as she connected with Padmè's eyes, she knew something big had happened. Something that had caused a huge change in her sister. She didn't have to be a Jedi to notice her sister's great unease, or her slightly pale, strange expression, as if she was holding back panic, or tears, or both. Sola glanced sideways at her parents, staring at their loving, caring, unconcerned faces, and knew that whatever had happened, Padmè hadn't told them about it. She looked back at the screen where her sister waited expectantly for her greetings.

"I've missed you, too," she replied, forcibly holding down the worried questions she was so eager to ask. "Pooja and Ryoo miss you as well."

Padmè noticeably sniffed aloud at this comment, turning briefly to hide her face as she presumably wiped away tears. Sola couldn't understand what was wrong with her sister. The Padmè she knew was always strong, decisive and happy. Something awful must have happened to her sister in the past six months. One thing was certain: Sola had to find out what it was.

"Mum, Dad, can I speak to Padmè alone for a while?" Sola turned to her parents, deliberately not looking at her sister first. Her parents were looking shocked; they too were confused by the distraught and unhappy version of their daughter they were presently talking to. They both nodded, and headed out of the room in the general direction of the gardens.

Padmè looked to her sister with a weary expectance. She knew that something like this would happen. Her sister could always tell when something, good or bad, had happened in her life.

"What's wrong, Padmè?" Sola asked quietly, her eyes locking with her sister's. "Has something gone wrong at the senate? I won't tell Mum or Dad, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sola…" Padmè began, and then paused, straightening the skirts of her dress as she tried to think of something, anything, to say in response to her sister's obvious call of support. She longed so desperately for someone to confide in, someone she could trust with her secret, that her self-discipline was wearing down.

"Padmè, you're my only sister. I know when something's up. If you can't tell me now, at least let me come and see you properly, face to face. Something's wrong; I know it, you definitely know it, and I want to help you."

Padmè's fears of discovery completely flew out the window as she responded to her sister's promptings. She had to confide in someone.

"If you can come to my apartment in Coruscant tomorrow at noon, I'd love to see you, Sola. I miss you so much. But you have to promise me something: you cannot tell Mum or Dad anything I tell you."

"Would I ever betray your trust, sister?" Sola smiled gently. "I promise."