I opened the door. Regina managed to grab my arm, but she couldn\u2019t stop me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman in black stood under the cold light of the porch. Her hair was pulled back, her face was tired, and her eyes weren\u2019t asking for permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI am Martha Collins,\u201d she said. \u201cJulian\u2019s mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt the name crack the house open again. Regina stood behind me, pale as the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMrs. Collins,\u201d she whispered, \u201cplease, don\u2019t do this here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman held up the red envelope. \u201cMy son also heard \u2018please\u2019 before he died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t know what to say. I wanted answers, but in that moment I understood that some answers don\u2019t arrive as light. They arrive as a knife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha walked in without waiting for an invitation. She walked through the living room looking at the furniture, the paintings, the unlit fireplace, as if she had already been there in nightmares. Then she placed the envelope on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOpen it, Matthew.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina took a step forward. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her. \u201cYou can\u2019t ask that of me anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened the envelope. Inside were photos of a young, dark-haired man with a calm smile. Julian. In one picture, he was with Regina outside a courthouse, dressed in everyday clothes, no party, no family. Another photo showed a contract almost identical to mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Twelve months. Zero feelings. Separate bedrooms. And the exact same clause. If the husband died before the term was up, Regina was freed from all financial and estate obligations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t breathe. \u201cYou said I was the first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina closed her eyes. \u201cNo. I never said that.\u201d \u201cYou let me believe it.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That word hurt more than a full lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha pulled out another page. It was a copy of a medical report. I didn\u2019t understand all the terms, but I did see a photograph marked with a red pen. A small mark behind Julian\u2019s ear. Like a round burn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy son was found in his car, in a ravine off the old highway to Albany,\u201d Martha said. \u201cThey said he fell asleep at the wheel, that he drank too much. Julian didn\u2019t drink. He had that mark. A week prior he told me that Regina was finally going to tell him the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina spoke with a broken voice. \u201cI didn\u2019t kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha glared at her with hatred. \u201cBut you bought him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A heavy silence fell over the room. I wanted to defend Regina. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to go back to the day when I was just her driver and she was a distant woman drinking black coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy did you choose me?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina didn\u2019t answer. Martha did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause you\u2019re just like him where it counts. Alone, drowning in debt, with a sick mother. Good men who think selling a year of their life isn\u2019t selling their soul if it means saving someone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt ashamed. Not for being poor. For having been easy to spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTell me yourself,\u201d I demanded of Regina. \u201cDid you choose me because I could die without anyone asking too many questions?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina stepped closer, trembling. \u201cI chose you because I needed someone outside my family\u2019s circle. Someone Patrick hadn\u2019t bought. Someone who still knew right from wrong even when it cost him.\u201d \u201cThat sounds lovely. But my mom is in a hospital and you knew exactly how terrified I was.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t sugarcoat it. She didn\u2019t defend herself. \u201cI used your desperation, Matthew. And there\u2019s no clean way to say it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha let out a bitter laugh. \u201cAt least this time she admits it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina looked down the hallway. At the far end was the locked room. \u201cJulian wasn\u2019t just a contract,\u201d she said. \u201cHe was my friend. He was the first one who agreed to help me when my father put that absurd condition on the trust fund. Patrick found out. He threatened him. Then he died. I\u2019ve been gathering evidence ever since.\u201d \u201cIn that room?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She nodded. \u201cI couldn\u2019t tell you.\u201d \u201cBecause the contract said I couldn\u2019t ask about your past?\u201d \u201cBecause if you knew, you became a liability.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed joylessly. \u201cI was already a liability from the moment I signed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked to the locked room. Regina didn\u2019t follow me. This time she didn\u2019t try to stop me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The key was hidden behind a painting. Maybe she wanted me to find it someday. Maybe I needed to believe that so I wouldn\u2019t shatter completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened the door. The room smelled of old paper, dust, and sleepless nights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a wall covered in photographs: Julian walking into a parking garage, Patrick talking to a man in a lab coat, a private clinic in the Upper East Side, receipts, license plates, maps. On a table there were binders with names of board members, wire transfers, phone logs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And there was also a photo of me. Walking out of a public hospital in the Bronx with red eyes, carrying a bag of medication for my mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I picked it up with shaking hands. \u201cYou investigated me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina appeared in the doorway. \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cYou watched me drown.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cAnd you waited for the exact moment to throw me a rope with a price tag.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with tears. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That honesty arrived late. But it arrived. I walked out of the room clutching the photo in my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mom is having surgery tomorrow.\u201d \u201cI know.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t want to see you there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Regina looked down. \u201cI understand.\u201d \u201cAnd I don\u2019t want your money after the surgery.\u201d \u201cMatthew\u2026\u201d \u201cNo. The surgery is already paid for. That was the deal. The rest is over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha watched us from the living room. As I walked past her, she grabbed my wrist. \u201cCheck your neck every morning. Julian said he had been pricked at a dinner party. The next day the mark was there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze. \u201cWho did it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked at Regina. \u201cHer brother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night I slept at the hospital, in a plastic chair next to my mom. The Mount Sinai cardiac ward smelled of coffee, bleach, and prayers. People from all over New York slept in the hallways, hugging blankets, bags of bread, holy cards tucked into wallets. No one there had a mansion\u2019s last name. We were all just scared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mom woke up before dawn. \u201cMatthew,\u201d she said with a weak voice. \u201cYou look like a man who just realized he did something stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed and cried at the same time. \u201cI married poorly, Mom.\u201d \u201cWell, you married for me.\u201d \u201cThat doesn\u2019t make it right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lifted her hand and touched my cheek. \u201cNo, but it explains why you still have a heart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I told her almost everything. Not the ugliest details. Mothers hear even what you try to hide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo you love her?\u201d she asked. I didn\u2019t answer. \u201cThen you do.\u201d \u201cShe used me.\u201d \u201cAnd didn\u2019t you use her to save me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That shut me up. \u201cSon,\u201d she whispered, \u201cit\u2019s one thing to start out of necessity and another to continue with a lie. If she wants to stay in your life, she needs to enter without a contract.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They took her into surgery at seven. I stood there watching the double doors close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought of Regina alone in that massive house in the Hamptons, surrounded by evidence, ghosts, and a family that smiled while hiding knives. I thought of Julian. Of Martha. Of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mid-morning I received a text from an unknown number. \u201cFinal warning. Stay away from Regina if you want your mother to make it out alive.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t Patrick. But it smelled like him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I showed it to the hospital security guard and then called Regina. She answered on the first ring. \u201cMatthew.\u201d \u201cPatrick knows where my mom is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her breath hitched. \u201cDon\u2019t move. I\u2019m on my way.\u201d \u201cI told you not to come.\u201d \u201cAnd I listened. But this time I\u2019m not going to obey while someone has a gun to your head.\u201d She hung up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She arrived forty minutes later, no heels, no makeup, hair down, and two bodyguards behind her. She didn\u2019t look like the ice queen. She looked like a woman who had been racing against fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve spoken to hospital security,\u201d she said. \u201cMaya, my lawyer, is on her way. Martha too.\u201d \u201cMartha?\u201d \u201cShe has copies of everything. If something happens to us, Patrick goes down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at her. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you turn him in before?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina pressed her lips together. \u201cBecause my father covered for Patrick the first time. He said he wasn\u2019t going to destroy the Vance legacy over a dead driver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sentence struck me. A dead driver.<\/em> Me. Julian. All the men who weren\u2019t people to that family, just replaceable parts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you stayed?\u201d \u201cI stayed to take the company from him before he used it to bury more people.\u201d \u201cBut you dragged me into it.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t hide anymore. \u201cAnd because of that, if you decide to walk away, I won\u2019t stop you. But let me protect you today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The doctor came out hours later. My mom had made it. The surgery had been complicated, but she was alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I doubled over a chair and cried into my hands. Regina stood two steps away, not touching me, respecting my anger. I was the one who reached for her hand. Just for a second. But she held onto it as if that second was everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The attack came three days later. Not in an alley. Not in the hospital. It came at a charity gala in Manhattan, in an elegant ballroom near Fifth Avenue, where women wore designer gowns and men talked about donations while drinking wine that cost more than my old rent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina insisted on going. \u201cPatrick is going to be there,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd he thinks you\u2019ll be a no-show out of fear. We need him to get overconfident.\u201d \u201cWe?\u201d \u201cMartha, my lawyer, two private investigators, and me.\u201d \u201cHow romantic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t smile. \u201cMatthew, don\u2019t drink anything I don\u2019t give you. Don\u2019t leave my side. If someone touches your neck, scream.\u201d \u201cThat last part is going to be hard to explain in high society.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t give a damn about high society.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There she was. The real Regina.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The gala overlooked a bright and unequal city. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you could see the lights stretching toward Central Park, that massive forest that holds museums, street vendors, and families by day, and looks like a sleeping beast amidst the concrete by night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patrick appeared in a black tuxedo with a perfect smile. \u201cBrother-in-law,\u201d he said. \u201cGood to see you alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina tightened her grip on my arm. \u201cPatrick.\u201d \u201cSister. You look nervous. Marriage is making you human.\u201d \u201cAnd ambition still leaves you faceless.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He let out a laugh. \u201cAlways so dramatic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dinner began. I didn\u2019t touch the wine. I didn\u2019t touch the water. I took two bites because Regina was watching me as if I might drop dead between the salmon and the dessert.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At midnight, Patrick stood up to give a speech. He spoke of family, legacy, social responsibility. People applauded. I only watched his hands. They were manicured, clean hands of someone who had never lifted anything heavy and yet had crushed entire lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When he finished, a waiter approached with a tray. \u201cWater for Mr. Hernandez.\u201d Regina stepped in. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The waiter hesitated. In that second, Patrick stepped off the stage and approached from behind. I felt a slight prick below my ear. Like an insect bite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I brought my hand to my neck. Regina saw it. Her face changed. \u201cMatthew!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patrick backed away with a silver pen between his fingers. I started to feel dizzy. The room tilted. Regina caught me before I hit the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCall an ambulance!\u201d she screamed. \u201cNow!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patrick held up his hands. \u201cHe fainted. How embarrassing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Martha emerged from the crowd holding her phone up, recording. \u201cI saw it,\u201d she said. \u201cYou touched him just like you did my son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patrick\u2019s smile vanished. Regina lowered me to the floor. She gently tapped my cheek. \u201cMatthew, look at me. Don\u2019t close your eyes.\u201d \u201cYou owe me\u2026 chicken parmesan,\u201d I mumbled, because even dying I\u2019m an idiot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She cried. \u201cI owe you a life without lies.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The bodyguards pinned Patrick down. He struggled, yelling that it was a setup, that Regina was crazy, that I was a starving employee willing to do anything for money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Arthur spoke from his wheelchair. He had been in the back, observing. \u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The word dropped like a hammer. Patrick went still. \u201cDad, don\u2019t believe them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur raised a hand. His assistant placed a tablet on the main table. The screen showed security footage from the hallway. Patrick taking out the pen. Patrick approaching. Patrick touching behind my ear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina looked at him, frozen. \u201cYou had cameras?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur didn\u2019t look at her. \u201cI installed them after Julian.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Martha let out a broken sound. \u201cYou knew?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The old man closed his eyes. \u201cI suspected.\u201d \u201cMy son died!\u201d \u201cAnd my cowardice allowed it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time, I saw Regina look at her father without fear. Only disgust. \u201cDon\u2019t ever say you were protecting the family again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The ambulance arrived amidst screams and camera flashes. Someone had called the police. The guests, so elegant, stepped aside as if violence were contagious. I managed to see Patrick in handcuffs before losing consciousness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I woke up in a private hospital. Regina was asleep in a chair next to my bed, her hand resting over mine. Her makeup was smudged and her clothes were wrinkled. I just watched her. She didn\u2019t look dangerous. She looked destroyed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When she opened her eyes, she didn\u2019t smile. \u201cYou survived.\u201d \u201cBad luck for your contract.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She covered her mouth. She didn\u2019t know whether to laugh or cry. \u201cPatrick is in custody. Martha gave her statement. My father handed over the recordings. He also agreed to testify about Julian.\u201d \u201cAnd you?\u201d \u201cI walked away from the trust fund.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat up, wincing in pain. \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t want a company that requires dead husbands in order to respect me.\u201d \u201cRegina\u2026\u201d \u201cI also voided the contract with you. Legally we\u2019re still married, but you don\u2019t owe me anything anymore. Not your presence, not your smiles, not a year. Nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The silence felt different. It wasn\u2019t empty. It was spacious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd my mom?\u201d \u201cShe\u2019s stable. She asked about you and told me that if you died, she was going to come back and haunt me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled. Then I looked at her closely. \u201cYou lied to me.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cYou used me.\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cAnd I still love you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her face without permission. \u201cDon\u2019t say that because you almost died.\u201d \u201cI almost died before, driving your car on the FDR Drive at six PM. This was just more elegant.\u201d \u201cMatthew.\u201d \u201cI love you. But I\u2019m not going to live in a lie again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She nodded. \u201cThen let\u2019s start ugly, but clean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I left the hospital a week later. My mom was also recovering, slowly, with that stubbornness of women who have bargained with life far too many times. Regina visited her bringing simple flowers, not expensive arrangements. My mom looked at her with suspicion and affection at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTake care of him,\u201d she told her one day. Regina lowered her head. \u201cI\u2019m learning.\u201d \u201cNo. Take care of yourself first. Then you can love him properly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina cried in the hallway. I pretended not to notice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three months later, I testified against Patrick. Martha was there. When the hearing ended, she approached me. \u201cJulian would have wanted you to live,\u201d she said. \u201cI would have wanted to meet him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She handed me a photo of him smiling. \u201cDon\u2019t let them turn him into just a victim. He was stubborn, a terrible dancer, and made the worst coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept the photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina sold a portion of her shares and established a foundation in Julian\u2019s name to support the families of injured workers. She didn\u2019t announce it to the press. She did it quietly, the way you make apologies that aren\u2019t looking for applause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur died before the trial concluded. Patrick couldn\u2019t go to the funeral. Regina did. I accompanied her to Green-Wood Cemetery, not as a driver, not as a contracted husband, but as the man who knew she still trembled when family felt like a cage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On our one-year anniversary, we sat on a bench in Central Park. There were kids running with balloons, vendors selling cotton candy, couples taking pictures, and the distant hum of the city drifting through the trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina pulled out a folder. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me it\u2019s another contract.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s the divorce petition.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a punch to my chest. She looked at me quickly. \u201cI didn\u2019t sign it. But I wanted to bring it. So you\u2019d know you\u2019re free to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took the folder. I ripped it in half. \u201cWe already did that in my head like twenty times.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina took a shaky breath. \u201cI don\u2019t know how to be a wife without controlling everything.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know how to be the husband of a woman who terrifies corporate lawyers.\u201d \u201cI can try to terrify them less.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t make impossible promises.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She smiled. That smile wasn\u2019t rare anymore. But it still saved me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMatthew Hernandez,\u201d she said, \u201cI don\u2019t need a husband anymore.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s good.\u201d \u201cBut I want one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at her. \u201cUnpaid?\u201d \u201cUnpaid.\u201d \u201cNo weird clauses?\u201d \u201cJust one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sighed. \u201cLet\u2019s hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She took my hand. \u201cIf one day I get cold, don\u2019t run away without knocking on the door first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I squeezed her fingers. \u201cAnd if one day I feel bought, you remind me that you chose me when I was already free.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina leaned in. There were no cameras. No family. No investors, no lawyers, no contracts. Just Central Park breathing around us and a massive city that kept making noise, as if it didn\u2019t know that two people had just forgiven each other just enough to begin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She kissed me slowly. And this time there was no applause. We didn\u2019t need it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because our fake marriage was born out of desperation, fear, and an urgent surgery. But the real part started later. When she stopped buying my presence. When I stopped selling my silence. When we both understood that loving someone wasn\u2019t saving them from their past, but staying to listen to the whole truth without using it as a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That afternoon we took the subway home, because my mom said Regina needed to know how normal people lived. Regina took the wrong train line twice. She complained about the heat. I made fun of her. She stepped on my foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And when we walked out onto the street, amidst hot dog carts, the rumble of traffic, and the smell of rain on asphalt, she took my hand with the ease of someone who is no longer acting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMatthew,\u201d she said. \u201cYes?\u201d \u201cThank you for opening the door that night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked up at the gray city sky. I thought of Julian. Of Martha. Of my mom, alive. Of the mark that almost turned me into another photograph inside a red envelope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t open it because I was brave,\u201d I said. \u201cI opened it because I was tired of living trapped in contracts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina rested her head on my shoulder. And we kept walking. Without a driver. Without bodyguards. Without a price tag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Like two survivors who had finally understood that some lies arrive dressed as salvation, but only the truth, even if it bleeds, can turn a borrowed house into a home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I opened the door. Regina managed to grab my arm, but she couldn\u2019t stop me. The woman in black stood under the cold light of the porch…. <\/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-1627","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1627","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=1627"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1627\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1630,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1627\/revisions\/1630"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1627"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1627"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1627"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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