They were. [There will always be a shade of grief in her voice when she speaks of them, she thinks--or, at least, there will be for a long, long time. Maybe in a few decades, she'll be able to speak of them easily, but at this point, she's still too easily reminded of the brief, unspeakable dread they must have known when the Death Star's laser fired on them.] I owe them everything for the opportunities they gave me.

[It occurs to her after she speaks that it might sound like they treated her as something less than a daughter--to think of owing anyone anything. But she can always correct that misconception if need be. All she knows is that she could never have been a senator at fourteen if not for the parents she knew and loved as her own.]

I'm sorry. [That she died, that she'd have to speak of such things, that she couldn't have known Luke while he was here. And then, soft:] It's a miracle that I could remember you.