"Go on.  Don't look back, Ani," I tell him.  I watch as his
small shape follows the taller one.  Despite what his heart
tells him, I know almost certainly that this is the last time
I will see my son.

Empty, I turn back to our small house.  The money from his
pod racer is sitting on the table.  I count it again.  With
what I have saved over the years, it is enough.

The possibility of freedom is almost frightening.
To go where I want and when I want will be glorious,
but there are no guarantees on a free life.  As a slave,
I have the necessities: food, shelter, clothing.  Given
grudgingly, true, but still given.  I consider my skills,
and plan how I can make a living.

I lied to the Jedi, and he knew it.  I have one skill that
will pay enough to support me; the one that brought me
Ani.  How could I have thought he would remember me?
By what trick of memory, did I remember him?  It was the
hair and the eyes, and that hawk-like nose.  A master
Jedi wouldn't remember a cantina slave who could be
had for the price of a drink.  There were so many, how could I
know my son was his?

This time, however, I know.  I can sense her already,
starting to grow inside me.  That is why I must
buy my freedom, regardless of what I do afterward.
My daughter will not endure the life my son did.
And Watto would never free me if he knew about her.

I gather the money from all the hiding places
in the house.  From the smallest hubba, named for the
native gourd, to the hundred dataries and crystalline
matrixes that Qui-Gon left on my nightstand three days ago.

If I sell the droid Ani was building me, I'll have
enough for my freedom, passage off-planet, and a month's
living expenses.  Maybe I'll raise my daughter on Alderaan.