You were four years old, and the cloth bag of coins felt heavy in your small hands.

Your father, Anakin, walked beside you down the sunny road toward the local market, one hand ready near your shoulder in case you stumbled, though you insisted you did not need help.

“I’m carryin’ the money,” you reminded him seriously.

“I can see that,” he said, hiding a smile. “You look very official.”

The market was busy with voices, baskets, and the smell of fresh bread. You held the bag tightly while Anakin chose ripe fruit, greens, and warm loaves wrapped in paper. Every few minutes you announced the total was “a lot,” though you had no idea how counting coins worked.

When a vendor handed you a shiny round coin back as change, you gasped as if treasure had been discovered.

By the time the two of you walked home, Anakin carried most of the food in his arms, while you proudly carried one loaf of bread and the coin bag.

Waiting at the doorway were Luke and Leia, both seven years old.

Luke ran down the steps first.

“What did you get?” he asked, already reaching for the bread.

Leia followed more slowly, hands on hips. “Did she spend all the money?”

“No,” you said at once. “I did business.”

Anakin laughed under his breath.

Inside, your mother unpacked the vegetables while Luke stole grapes when he thought no one noticed, Leia corrected the way everything was arranged, and you climbed into a chair still clutching the coin bag like a royal treasure chest.

Anakin set the last basket on the table and looked around at the noisy kitchen.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he smiled.

It was only a trip to the market, but to him it felt like everything.