A/N: Wow!! Thanks guys for reviewing! I can't believe it. I didn't Wow. Thanks! And I forgot to include the disclaimer before!
Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed and I don't pretend like I own it. I only have five dollars at the moment so yeah. Basically - I don't own Charmed. Fanfiction.

Piper dropped Wyatt off at his daycare, had a long chat with some children's parents and mad a few empty promises about meeting them for lunch sometime. Then she sped off to a vantage point overlooking the bay and parked.

Angrily she dialed the number of the cell phone she made Leo buy. Tears fell in droves down her face. They were tears for her sham of a life and for Wyatt's dysfunctional future.

"Leo?" she asked, voice choked.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call? Should I come?" Leo's words were quick and fast.

"Everything is fine supernaturally. Don't come. I just want to talk on the phone."

"OK," Leo replied, his discomfort at the situation obvious.

"I want to be normal," Piper almost yelled the words. "I want Wyatt to be normal!" She sniffed. "I I was at Wyatt's school and I met his classmates' parents. And you know what? I liked them! And I want to go to lunch with them and not worried about excuses for unexplained absences!" Her voice was hoarse and thick with tears. "And what about Wyatt? What about that inevitable alienation he'll feel when he discovers his heritage?" She stopped screaming. "I wasn't sure about how I would be with kids. I was nervous. Phoebe was always better with kids. But Leo?" Her voice rose again, defiant. "I love Wyatt more than my life! And I don't want to make him go through my life!"

Leo, as Piper calmed down, was given a chance to speak. And he realized that he didn't know what to say.

* * * * * *

Phoebe slapped Cole across the face as soon as he opened the door to his office.

"Hey! What was" Cole began, starting to wonder if everyone who had a relationship with Phoebe came out toting emotional and physical wounds.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Phoebe asked, indignant. She sat herself down in the leather chair reserved for clients that was opposite Cole's desk.

"Tell you" Cole crossed around to be in back of his desk and, for the first time since she arrived, looked straight at Phoebe. Her eyes red and puffy and her face a bit splotchy he said one thing, "You've been crying."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Phoebe pushed.

"What? Tell you what?" Cole asked, running a hand through his hair.

"You know," Phoebe stated quietly. "The Hollow."

"The Hollow," Cole echoed with a whistle.

"You're stupid. Stupid for the right reasons, but stupid."

"Phoebe "

"You never told me," Phoebe said, her voice regaining strength. "You could have told me."

"No. He had me."

"After. Now. You never bothered to explain. You didn't trust me."

"We weren't on speaking terms. And this has nothing to do with trust." Cole's voice was terse as he clenched his pen.

"But it does. Love is trust. It's It's trusting a person to share their secrets." She waved her hands about wildly as she tried to explain the abstract feeling. "It's trusting them to tell the truth and then trusting them to forgive you when that truth hurts. It's trusting them," Phoebe stood up and began to walk towards the door, her back to Cole, "to know all those hidden places and secret weaknesses. Trusting them not to use those things against you. If I fall I should trust that you'd catch me."

"I told you!" Cole protested, standing up and sending papers flying every which way. "Every botched plan I told you! You didn't listen!" Phoebe stopped, her hand on the brass doorknob. She didn't turn, but Cole felt every emotion. He could see her guilt in the way her right foot pointed in a bit. He saw her anger in her left hand, which was curled into a fist; her fear in her hunched, rigid shoulders. Her sadness flooded the room, and you didn't need a psychic connection to see it.

"You didn't tell me," she said coldly, turning the knob and slipping quickly out.

* * * * * *

Wyatt was surprised to see someone, who was not his Aunt Phe coming to pick him up. This woman wore his aunt's mismatched; yet charming clothes and they looked vaguely familiar. They both had the same short, bobbed light brown hair, run with blond. The eyes, however. They had different eyes. His aunt's shone with happiness and repressed tears. This woman's eyes were dry.

"Aunt Phe?" Wyatt asked, as she flung his superhero backpack over her shoulder.

"Yeah, sweetie?" Phoebe answered, tussling his hair.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said with a tiny smile, before muttering to herself, "Cole."

* * * * * *

"Mr. Tubner?" Wyatt asked, moving, at the approaching footsteps of his aunt, to the closet. "This is Wyatt. Wyatt Halliwell." He smiled to himself. He'd seen his mom make hundreds of business calls. He could too.

"Wyatt?" Cole asked, surprised, but thankful for the distraction from thoughts of his emotional meeting with Phoebe.

"Why did you make Aunt Phe cry?"

Cole coughed. "She said that?"

Wyatt furrowed his brow in concentration. "No. I know though."

"How?" Cole challenged the four year old, not realizing nor caring how foolish he sounded.

"She's," Wyatt lowered his voice, "my favorite. I know."

"She's my favorite too," Cole said with a laugh. "I didn't make her cry. Something did, however."

"Well, fix it, Mr. Tubner," Wyatt finished, hanging up the phone.

* * * * * * *

"I will fix it," Cole said, picking up the phone, expecting it to be Phoebe's precocious nephew.

"Fix what?" the person said sharply and annoyed. "You have a secretary."

"Yes. Sheryl. Paige?" Cole's patience was wearing thin.

"Yeah. Duh." She sighed, defeated. "Okay. You know what? I don't want your legal help. That's too complicated."

"So?"

Paige gulped. "I want you to help me find someone in the legal profession."

Cole sighed. "Cheap?"

"Preferably," Paige said. Cole could tell that calling him was killing her.

"Downes & Bach or the Humanitarian Law Firm on Elm," Cole said, hanging up the phone. He was almost tempted to unplug the thing, having decided he had enough calls from Phoebe's family.

* * * * * *

"Wyatt?" Phoebe said, surprised as her nephew rolled out of the closet under the stairs, a corded phone clutched firmly with both hands.

"Aunt Phe," Wyatt greeted, as if rolling out of a closet with a telephone was the most sensible thing in the world.

"What were you doing in the closet?"

"Practicing."

"Practicing what?"

"Calling home," he said, handing her the telephone. He stood up and pointed to his shoe. "Please." Phoebe nodded lamely, putting the phone down and tied his red shoelaces. Wyatt nodded his thanks, kissed the forehead of his squatting aunt, took the phone, and scurried off.