\u201cWhat do you mean, worse?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Carla didn\u2019t answer immediately. She looked at Mat\u00edas, asleep in her arms, as if asking for his permission to break me a little more. Then she pulled another sheet from the folder. \u201cMarcus knew the baby might be born with Down syndrome before you did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt the blood drain from my face. \u201cNo. That can\u2019t be possible.\u201d \u201cIt is,\u201d she said, her voice cracking. \u201cAnd not only did he know. He ordered tests without your authorization.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She handed me the paper. It was a private lab result. My full name. My age. Weeks of pregnancy. The date. A date prior to the appointment where the doctor had held my hand and given me the news. \u201cI never went to that lab,\u201d I whispered. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Carla placed Mat\u00edas in the crib with immense gentleness and sat back down in front of me. \u201cI found messages with a doctor who works at the clinic where you were treated. Someone used one of your samples to run another study. Marcus paid for everything.\u201d The room started spinning. I grabbed the edge of the table. \u201cHe stole my blood?\u201d Saying it out loud made me nauseous. Carla pressed her lips together. \u201cHe stole information. Yours. From your body. From your son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I covered my mouth to keep from screaming and waking Mat\u00edas. I remembered my first appointment. The kind nurse. The vial of blood. The receptionist telling me some tests were repeated as part of the protocol. I trusted them. I signed papers without reading them because I was alone, scared, and pregnant. Marcus hadn\u2019t disappeared out of fear. He had been pulling strings from the shadows. \u201cWhy?\u201d I asked. \u201cWhy would he do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Carla pulled out her phone and showed me screenshots. They were messages between Marcus and someone saved as \u201cRoger Office.\u201d \u201cIf it\u2019s born with a condition, this gets complicated.\u201d<\/em> \u201cI need proof that I supported her, but without Carla seeing it.\u201d<\/em> \u201cOpen an account with receipts. Make it look like I deposited money for her.\u201d<\/em> \u201cIf Ana insists, we\u2019ll say she tried to extort me.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt something snap behind my ribs. \u201cExtort him?\u201d Carla nodded, crying with rage. \u201cHe had a story prepared. That you knew he was married. That you threatened him. That he gave you money and you wanted more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood up abruptly. My body was shaking. \u201cI asked him for diapers, Carla. Diapers. I sent him photos of prescriptions. I told him Mat\u00edas needed therapy.\u201d \u201cI know.\u201d \u201cI sold my laptop to pay for a specialist.\u201d \u201cI know, Ana.\u201d \u201cMy electricity was cut off twice.\u201d \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla stood up too. She didn\u2019t get too close, as if understanding my pain needed space so it wouldn\u2019t bite. \u201cThat\u2019s why I came,\u201d she said. \u201cBecause Marcus wasn\u2019t running away. He was building a trap.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I slumped into my chair. Mat\u00edas made a small sound in the crib. He moved his tiny hands, opened his mouth, and fell back asleep. So peaceful. So innocent. So unaware of the filth his father had built around his birth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s more,\u201d Carla said. I let out a dry laugh. \u201cOf course there is. With Marcus, there\u2019s always a basement beneath the basement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She pulled out one last sheet. It was a family medical insurance policy. Carla\u2019s name. Her two children\u2019s names. Marcus\u2019s name. And a new, incomplete application where my son appeared. Not by his name. Only as \u201cunrecognized minor.\u201d \u201cWhat is this?\u201d \u201cMarcus wanted to put Mat\u00edas on the insurance without legally recognizing him.\u201d \u201cWhy would he do that?\u201d Carla swallowed hard. \u201cBecause his company has a trust for children with disabilities. Medical support, therapies, deductions, tax benefits. Marcus wanted to collect it through an account he controlled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t understand at first. Then I did. And I almost threw up. \u201cHe wanted to use my son.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cWithout seeing him. Without holding him. Without giving him his name.\u201d Carla closed her eyes. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I got up and ran to the bathroom. I threw up bile. Carla held my hair back. And that scene\u2014absurd and terrible\u2014finally changed everything. Marcus\u2019s wife was kneeling beside me, taking care of me, while the man who had lied to us both tried to profit from my baby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I could breathe again, I washed my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair tied back any which way. A milk-stained blouse. But in my eyes, there was something different. It wasn\u2019t just sadness anymore. It was war. \u201cWhat do we do?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla wiped her tears with her sleeve. \u201cWe take him down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Two hours later, Andrew, her cousin and a lawyer, arrived. He didn\u2019t look like the typical fancy-suit attorney. He showed up with a backpack, sneakers, gas-station coffee, and the look of someone who had no patience for cowardly men. He sat at my table, reviewed every sheet, and began separating evidence. \u201cThis is family law. This is criminal. This is labor law. This is personal data protection. And this,\u201d he said, holding up the unauthorized study, \u201cis a bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was holding Mat\u00edas, who had just woken up hungry. While I gave him his bottle, I heard words that sounded massive to me. Paternity. Child support. Pain and suffering. Forgery. Misuse of medical information. Protection orders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Andrew spoke to me carefully. \u201cAna, Marcus is going to try to flip the story on you. He\u2019ll say you knew everything. That you wanted money. That Carla is hysterical. That the child might not be his.\u201d I looked at my son. Mat\u00edas sucked on his bottle with effort, taking long pauses, just like the therapist taught me. \u201cLet him say it,\u201d I replied. \u201cI\u2019m not afraid of him anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla looked at me. \u201cHe\u2019s going to call you.\u201d As if he had heard her, my phone vibrated. Marcus. The name appeared on the screen like a cockroach on the table. Andrew held up his hand. \u201cSpeaker. No shouting. Let him talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I answered. \u201cAna, what did you tell Carla?\u201d His voice held no guilt. It held anger. As if I had been the unfaithful one, the liar, the one who disappeared. \u201cI told her the truth.\u201d \u201cWhat truth? That you slept with a married man?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla clenched her jaw. Andrew started recording. I took a deep breath. \u201cYou told me you lived alone.\u201d \u201cOh, please. You\u2019re not a child.\u201d It hurt, but it didn\u2019t break me. \u201cYour son needs therapy, Marcus.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t even know if he\u2019s my son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla stood up. \u201cRepeat that.\u201d There was silence. Then Marcus spoke lower. \u201cCarla\u2026\u201d \u201cRepeat that you don\u2019t know if he\u2019s your son,\u201d she said. \u201cBut say it after explaining why you paid for genetic studies, private investigators, and a fake account in Ana\u2019s name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus swore under his breath. \u201cYou don\u2019t understand anything.\u201d \u201cI understand perfectly,\u201d Carla replied. \u201cYou abandoned Ana, you lied to me, and you tried to collect benefits for a child you haven\u2019t even held.\u201d \u201cCarla, honey, you\u2019re upset.\u201d She laughed. A dry, dangerous laugh. \u201cI\u2019m not your \u2018honey\u2019 anymore. I\u2019m your witness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus hung up. The silence that followed was strange. Heavy. But also clean. Like when the power goes out and you finally hear how much noise everything was making. Andrew saved the audio. \u201cThank you, Marcus,\u201d he said. \u201cAlways so helpful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, Carla didn\u2019t want to leave. She told me she couldn\u2019t go back to her house\u2014that everything smelled like him. I offered her the sofa. She accepted without pretending to be strong. At midnight, I heard her crying in the kitchen. I went in with Mat\u00edas in my arms because he wasn\u2019t sleeping either. Carla was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t want to wake you.\u201d I sat beside her. \u201cHe broke you first.\u201d Carla looked at Mat\u00edas. \u201cHe broke us differently.\u201d The baby reached out a tiny hand toward her. Carla let him grab her finger. And then she cried harder. \u201cI lost a baby, Ana. I lost it in a bathroom, with blood on my legs and Marcus knocking on the door because he had a meeting. He told me to calm down. That life goes on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a lump in my throat. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry.\u201d \u201cWhen I saw Mat\u00edas, I thought something horrible.\u201d I didn\u2019t interrupt her. \u201cI thought: Why did this baby arrive and mine didn\u2019t? Afterward, I felt ashamed. Then I held him and understood it wasn\u2019t against him. It was against Marcus. Against everything he took from us.\u201d Mat\u00edas squeezed her finger tighter. Carla smiled through her tears. \u201cLook at him. He doesn\u2019t even have teeth yet and he\u2019s already scolding me.\u201d I laughed. It was a small, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. The first one in weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The following days were a whirlwind. Carla legally evicted Marcus from her house. Andrew filed the lawsuit for paternity and child support. He also requested orders so Marcus couldn\u2019t come near my apartment without authorization. I turned over screenshots, prescriptions, bills, photos, and unanswered messages. Every paper hurt, but every paper also built a wall around Mat\u00edas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus tried everything. First, he sent flowers to Carla. Then to me. Then messages of regret. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I got scared.\u201d<\/em> \u201cWe can fix this without lawyers.\u201d<\/em> \u201cThink about the boy.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n When that didn\u2019t work, he showed his teeth. \u201cI\u2019m going to take Mat\u00edas away from you.\u201d<\/em> \u201cI have better lawyers.\u201d<\/em> \u201cNo one is going to believe a mistress.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I sent everything to Andrew. He replied: \u201cLet him keep writing. He\u2019s doing the work for us.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The DNA test was ordered quickly. On the day of the lab appointment, Marcus showed up in dark sunglasses and an expensive shirt. He smelled of the same cologne that made me fall for him. It made me sick. I had Mat\u00edas in a blue baby wrap, tucked close to my chest. Carla arrived with me. That rattled him. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d he asked her. \u201cI\u2019m accompanying your son,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus looked around nervously. \u201cDon\u2019t make a scene.\u201d Carla stepped closer. \u201cYou started the scene. We just bought front-row tickets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the nurse took the sample from Mat\u00edas, he cried. A small, offended cry. I held him and sang softly. Marcus stood there, uncomfortable, as if his son\u2019s crying was a bothersome chore. Right then, the last bit of feeling I had for him died. Because until that day, in a foolish corner of my heart, I hoped that upon seeing him, he would feel something. Love. Guilt. Tenderness. Something. But Marcus only asked: \u201cHow long does this take?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The result arrived ten days later. 99.99%. Mat\u00edas was his. Marcus didn\u2019t ask to see him. He didn\u2019t ask about his therapies. He didn\u2019t ask if he was sleeping well, if his latch was improving, if he was holding his head up, if he was smiling. He only said to Andrew: \u201cHow much is this going to cost me a month?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla closed her eyes. I think that sentence finally signed the divorce in her heart. The judge ordered temporary child support, medical expenses, insurance, and early stimulation therapies. It wasn\u2019t wealth. It wasn\u2019t complete justice. But it was milk without counting pennies. It was being able to take Mat\u00edas to physical therapy without choosing between a specialist or the rent. It was buying his vitamins without crying at the pharmacy counter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The investigation into the fake account moved slower. The doctor who leaked my samples was suspended. The private investigator admitted Marcus hired him to follow me. Marcus\u2019s company opened an internal review when Carla turned over the trust documents he had tried to manipulate. And that\u2019s when his real fall began. Because Marcus didn\u2019t hurt from losing love. He hurt from losing his reputation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One afternoon, his mother called me. I don\u2019t know how she got my new number. I answered by mistake. \u201cYou\u2019re Ana,\u201d she said, with the voice of a church lady full of poison. \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve destroyed enough. My son made a mistake, but you didn\u2019t have to get Carla involved or ruin his job.\u201d I looked at Mat\u00edas, asleep on his play mat, a red rattle next to his hand. \u201cYour son abandoned a baby.\u201d \u201cThat child is going to suffer a lot. It wasn\u2019t necessary to bring him into the world like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my body burn with rage. \u201cMy son is not a tragedy, ma\u2019am. The tragedy is having a cowardly father and a cruel grandmother.\u201d I hung up. I blocked the number. I cried afterward. Not because I cared about her, but because it still hurt that people looked at Mat\u00edas as if he had to apologize for existing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night Carla arrived with food. Tacos, rice, diapers, and a printed list of therapy centers. \u201cI found one near the neighborhood<\/strong>,\u201d she said. \u201cThere\u2019s also guidance at the city center and family groups. You don\u2019t have to learn everything alone.\u201d \u201cNeither do you,\u201d I said. She went still. \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t have to go through this divorce alone, either.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla looked down. \u201cMy kids are angry.\u201d \u201cThey have a right to be.\u201d \u201cSophia wants to meet Mat\u00edas.\u201d \u201cAnd Diego?\u201d \u201cDiego says he doesn\u2019t want to know anything about \u2018the problem baby\u2019.\u201d It hurt, but I understood. We adults broke the table. The children were standing among the broken plates. \u201cWhenever she wants,\u201d I said. \u201cWithout forcing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia met Mat\u00edas two weeks later. She showed up with a pink headband, a unicorn backpack, and a dinosaur plushie. She approached the crib and looked at him seriously. \u201cIs he my brother?\u201d Carla took a deep breath. \u201cYes.\u201d Sophia scrunched her nose. \u201cHe\u2019s very tiny.\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s a baby,\u201d I said. \u201cMy dad is very stupid.\u201d Carla almost choked. I couldn\u2019t help but laugh. \u201cYes, Soph. Very.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The girl left the dinosaur next to Mat\u00edas. He moved a tiny hand and accidentally hit it. Sophia smiled. \u201cI like him.\u201d Diego took months. And that was okay. Sometimes children need more truth than speeches. Carla never forced him. \u201cForced love looks too much like a lie,\u201d she told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With time, Carla and I stopped introducing ourselves. People would ask: \u201cAre you sisters?\u201d She would say: \u201cWorse. We\u2019re survivors.\u201d And we would laugh. A tired laugh, but ours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus tried to get back with Carla. He brought flowers. He brought a serenade. He brought his mother. Carla shut the door on all three. Then he tried with me. A message: \u201cI want to meet my son. We can be a family another way.\u201d<\/em> Before, that phrase would have made me tremble. Now it only made me sad. I replied with a CC to Andrew: \u201cYou can see him when you fulfill the supervised visitation plan, pay the arrears, and take the fatherhood course ordered by the judge.\u201d<\/em> He didn\u2019t reply. He didn\u2019t go to the course. He paid late. Part of his salary was garnished. That\u2019s how he learned punctuality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mat\u00edas turned one on a rainy Saturday. I made him a small vanilla cake. Lucy brought yellow balloons. Carla arrived with Sophia and a massive candle. Diego didn\u2019t want to come in, but he sent a card without a signature. It said: \u201cBe happy.\u201d<\/em> I kept it in Mat\u00edas\u2019s memory box. When we sang \u201cHappy Birthday,\u201d my son got scared and started crying. Sophia said: \u201cIt\u2019s because you guys sing horribly.\u201d We all laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla held Mat\u00edas for the photo. At first, she didn\u2019t want to. \u201cI don\u2019t want to take your place,\u201d she said. I settled the baby into her arms. \u201cYou\u2019re not taking it. You\u2019re helping me hold him up.\u201d Carla cried. Mat\u00edas tugged on her necklace and almost snapped it. The photo came out blurry. Perfect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A month later, Carla signed her divorce. I accompanied her to the courthouse with Mat\u00edas in the stroller. I didn\u2019t go into the hearing. I waited outside with two coffees. When she came out, she was pale but standing tall. \u201cAll done?\u201d I asked. \u201cAll done.\u201d \u201cDoes it hurt?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cA lot?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d She looked at Mat\u00edas, sleeping with his mouth open. \u201cBut it hurts less than staying where you\u2019re dying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We sat on a bench. The city passed in front of us as if nothing had happened. Vendors, taxis, people in a hurry, lawyers carrying folders. Carla pulled a folded sheet from her bag. \u201cThere\u2019s one more thing.\u201d I tensed up. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me that anymore.\u201d She smiled sadly. \u201cThis is good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a copy of the divorce decree and a separate agreement. Carla had requested that part of the settlement Marcus owed her be deposited into a trust for his three recognized children. Sophia. Diego. Mat\u00edas. \u201cNo,\u201d I said immediately. \u201cCarla, I can\u2019t accept that.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s not for you.\u201d \u201cBut it comes from your marriage.\u201d \u201cIt comes from what Marcus broke. And Mat\u00edas is also living among those ruins.\u201d I was speechless. \u201cMy kids have their share,\u201d she said. \u201cHe should also have something protected, in case Marcus decides to disappear again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hugged her. This time without guilt. Without asking for permission to breathe. We hugged as two women who had been placed on opposite sides of a war they didn\u2019t invent. And who decided to change the map.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mat\u00edas grew slowly. At his own pace. He took time to sit up. He took time to crawl. Every advance was a celebration. The day he held his head up for more than a minute, Carla sent stickers as if the national team had won the World Cup. The day he said \u201cma,\u201d I cried so much Lucy thought something bad had happened. Carla received the video and replied: \u201cI demand recognition as the official aunt.\u201d<\/em> And so she stayed. Aunt Carla. Not because blood said so, but because she arrived with diapers, papers, truth, and open arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus had his first supervised visit when Mat\u00edas was almost two. He arrived late. With a giant bear. The supervisor noted it. Mat\u00edas looked at him without recognizing him. Marcus tried to pick him up quickly. Mat\u00edas cried. \u201cSlowly,\u201d the supervisor said. \u201cThe bond isn\u2019t bought with teddy bears.\u201d Marcus got offended. \u201cI\u2019m his dad.\u201d \u201cThen start by being on time,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For twenty minutes, Marcus talked more about himself than the boy. He asked if Mat\u00edas would \u201cever be normal.\u201d I ended the visit. \u201cMy son is already normal,\u201d I told him. \u201cWhat isn\u2019t normal is that you only value what fits your convenience.\u201d Marcus didn\u2019t ask for a visit again for months. It hurt for Mat\u00edas, but I also felt relief. Because an absent father leaves holes, but a half-present father can leave wounds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The second birthday was different. Diego did come in. He showed up in a black hoodie with a look of not wanting to be there. He approached Mat\u00edas and said: \u201cWhassup.\u201d Mat\u00edas threw a cookie at him. Diego laughed. That\u2019s how it all started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That afternoon, while the kids played in the living room, Carla and I went up to the roof. Below us, the city hummed. Motorcycles, dogs, vendors, crowded life. Carla had sparkling water. I had reheated coffee. \u201cDo you regret writing to me?\u201d she asked. I looked through the window. Mat\u00edas was on the floor, covered in cake, laughing with Sophia. \u201cI regret believing Marcus. I regret feeling guilty for not guessing a lie. I regret many things. But not writing to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carla nodded. \u201cI thought I was coming to face the woman who took something from me.\u201d \u201cI thought you were coming to destroy me.\u201d She smiled, her eyes glistening. \u201cAnd we ended up changing diapers together.\u201d We laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Below, Mat\u00edas let out a laugh. A clear, luminous laugh, like a little bell. We peeked in. Sophia was making faces at him. Diego was pretending he wasn\u2019t having fun. Lucy was recording everything. Andrew was arguing with a balloon that wouldn\u2019t inflate. Everything was strange. Everything was imperfect. Everything was ours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus wasn\u2019t there. Not because we forbade him forever, but because he never learned to arrive without wanting to be the center. And his absence, finally, no longer filled the room. Mat\u00edas did. With his therapies. With his sticky tiny hands. With his extra chromosome. With that way of his of turning every small achievement into a massive celebration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, when everyone left, I put my son to bed. I put on his yellow pajamas. The same ones I bought at the flea market before knowing how much my life was going to change. They were tight on him now. Mat\u00edas grabbed my finger just like the day he was born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat by the crib and thought about the Ana who wrote to Carla while trembling, convinced that woman was coming to tear away the little she had left. But Carla didn\u2019t arrive with hate. She arrived with the truth. A horrible truth. Marcus didn\u2019t disappear because he was afraid. He disappeared because he was calculating how to abandon us without paying the price.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What he didn\u2019t calculate was that the two women he tried to pit against each other were going to look into each other\u2019s eyes and stop obeying the script he wrote for them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kissed Mat\u00edas\u2019s forehead. \u201cThank you, my love,\u201d I whispered. Because my son was born with Down syndrome, yes. But he wasn\u2019t born to be pitied. He was born to remove masks. To unite two broken women. To teach me that a truth can hurt like childbirth and yet save your life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I turned off the light. My phone vibrated. It was Carla. \u201cTherapy at ten tomorrow?\u201d<\/em> I smiled. \u201cYes. I\u2019ll bring the coffee.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Mat\u00edas sighed in his sleep. I closed my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I wasn\u2019t afraid of the world falling on me. It had already fallen. And among the ruins, my son had learned to laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you mean, worse?\u201d I asked. Carla didn\u2019t answer immediately. She looked at Mat\u00edas, asleep in her arms, as if asking for his permission to break… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1239","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1239","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1239"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1239\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1240,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1239\/revisions\/1240"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1239"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1239"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1239"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}<\/h3>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"