\u201cGrandma!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The voice pierced through my chest before my eyes could even fully process what they were seeing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood up so fast that my knees gave out beneath me. I felt the floor tilt sideways, but before I could fall, she was already right there in front of me, catching me by the arms. She was crying just like she had that night, but older now, stronger, with the face of a child forced to become a woman before her time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI came back for you,\u201d she told me, her voice breaking. \u201cI told you I would come, Grandma. I\u2019m sorry it took so long.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t answer. Twelve months got choked up in my throat. Twelve months of listening for footsteps that were never hers. Twelve months of pretending that every empty Sunday didn\u2019t ache. Twelve months of sleeping curled around a promise like someone clutching a blanket in the freezing cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched her face with my wrinkled hands, searching for the little girl who had left my soul burning with hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy sweet girl\u2026\u201d I managed to choke out. \u201cYou did come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She closed her eyes and pressed my hand against her cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOf course I came back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The nurses stood frozen a few yards away. Some were smiling. Others stared at the floor. Teresa, from her chair by the window, watched me with her mouth slightly open, as if she had just seen someone rise from the dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI told you,\u201d I whispered, never taking my eyes off my granddaughter. \u201cI told you mine would come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my granddaughter didn\u2019t smile. She hugged me tight, yes, but there was something strange about her embrace. It wasn\u2019t just joy. It was fear. A sense of urgency. A hidden desperation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe have to leave,\u201d she told me quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLeave?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cToday. Right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked toward the front desk, confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut your mom has to sign off\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My granddaughter straightened up. A shadow appeared in her eyes that I had never seen before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mom doesn\u2019t make decisions for you anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The receptionist\u2014a woman with glasses who always spoke as if she were reading medication instructions\u2014approached with a manila folder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMiss Valeria, we need to confirm some paperwork. Your grandmother was admitted by Patricia Morales as her legal guardian, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd here is the revocation,\u201d my granddaughter interrupted, pulling some folded papers out of her backpack. \u201cI am officially an adult. Here is my ID. Here is the authorization from the family court judge to review her situation. And here is the complaint I filed for abandonment and unlawful retention.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The receptionist blinked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA judge?\u201d I asked, feeling like the world was moving too fast for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Valeria squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll explain later, Grandma. But I\u2019m not going to let them hide you away anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word hit me like a slap to the face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hide.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s what it had been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t that my daughter couldn\u2019t care for me. It wasn\u2019t that I was too sick. It wasn\u2019t that the nursing home was \u201cfor the best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They had hidden me away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The way you tuck an embarrassing photograph deep into a drawer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The receptionist flipped through the papers nervously. She called the facility director. The director called someone else. For nearly an hour, they left us sitting in the lobby, as if they were still hoping I would get tired, that Valeria would give up, that the day would end and I would go back to being just another old woman waiting for nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But my granddaughter didn\u2019t let go of my hand for a single second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDid you eat?\u201d she asked me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I let out a soft laugh through my tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI should be asking you that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnswer me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I\u2019ve been waiting for you since early this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her eyes filled up with tears all over again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, Grandma\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t cry. You\u2019re here now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2026 you don\u2019t know how hard I tried to get to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at her. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria swallowed hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy mom told me that you didn\u2019t want to see me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt something sink deep inside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe said you were angry with me. That it hurt you too much that I didn\u2019t do anything to stop her when she brought you here. She said if I came, it would just agitate you. I didn\u2019t believe her, but\u2026\u201d She wiped her face with her sleeve. \u201cShe took away my phone. She moved us to a different house. She pulled me out of my school. She had my uncle watching me. Every time I asked about you, she lost her mind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I ran out of air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My own daughter had taken the very last thread holding me together and tried to cut it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI thought you had forgotten,\u201d I confessed, though it cut me to admit it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valerie shook her head fiercely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever. Not for a single day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She reached into her backpack and pulled out a battered notebook with bent corners and coffee stains on the cover.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI wrote to you every single day. I couldn\u2019t mail the letters because I didn\u2019t know if they\u2019d actually give them to you, but I wrote them anyway. To keep from breaking. To keep from forgetting the promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She placed the notebook on my lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened it carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The very first page read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDay 1 without my grandma. Today I made a promise that I am still too young to keep.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My eyes blurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t keep reading because the tears wouldn\u2019t let me. I pressed the notebook against my chest, as if holding a whole year\u2019s worth of hugs that had been trapped inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just then, the director appeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCarmen,\u201d she said with a smile that didn\u2019t reach her eyes, \u201cwe need to speak with your daughter before any discharge can happen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria stood right up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy grandma is not a piece of furniture. You don\u2019t need permission from the person who abandoned her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYoung lady, watch your tone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The word came out firm, clean, like a stone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at my granddaughter and for a split second, I saw my own mother. The exact same way she used to stand when life tried to bend her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have the legal documents,\u201d Valeria continued. \u201cI have the police report. I have photos of the conditions you kept her in. I have voice memos of my mom saying she wants nothing to do with her. And I\u2019ve been eighteen years old since six o\u2019clock this morning. So, with all due respect, go get her bags.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The director\u2019s face completely changed color.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat there, motionless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy bags?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria knelt down in front of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, Grandma. We\u2019re going home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That word made me tremble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Home.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I thought I didn\u2019t have one anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A young nurse, Marisol, went to fetch my duffel bag. There wasn\u2019t much inside. Two dresses, an old photograph, a pair of slippers, my mother\u2019s rosary, and a tin cookie box where I kept the few things that still truly belonged to me. When she handed it to me, she hugged me tightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m so glad they came back for you, Carmen,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you for not treating me like garbage,\u201d I told her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She pulled away quickly, wiping away a tear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Teresa approached slowly with her walker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo miracles do exist after all,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a miracle. It was my granddaughter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Teresa looked at Valeria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTake good care of her, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria nodded, her voice coming out cracked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust like she took care of me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before walking out, I turned back to look down the long hallway of the facility. The open doors. The faces watching from wheelchairs. The eyes of those still waiting for children, grandchildren, siblings\u2014anyone to confirm that they once mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And I felt a pang of guilt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because I was leaving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because they were staying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria noticed my look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019re going to come back,\u201d she told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo visit them. To listen to them. To bring them pastries. To remind them that they are still somebody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at her and knew that my granddaughter hadn\u2019t just come to rescue me. She had emerged from that year with a wound that she had turned into a mission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside, the air smelled entirely different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not like bleach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not like reheated soup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not like old sadness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It smelled like the street, like car exhaust, like the food trucks on the corner, like life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria helped me into a small, beaten-up old car. On the back seat, there was a folded blanket, a bag of medication, and a bottle of water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s not much,\u201d she said, looking a bit ashamed. \u201cI bought it used. I work at a coffee shop and clean houses on weekends. I rented a tiny apartment. It\u2019s small, but it has a window. And I bought a rocking chair because I know how much you like them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t cry. I completely unraveled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy sweet girl, you didn\u2019t have to\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I did,\u201d she interrupted me. \u201cBecause you did it for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The drive was quiet at first. I watched the city pass by as if I had been locked away for twenty years instead of just one. The spring flowers were gone. There were new businesses. A whole new building where a pharmacy used to be. People walking in a rush, completely unaware that inside this old car, a woman was coming back to life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you scared?\u201d I asked her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTerrified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOf not being able to give you what you deserve.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I placed my hand on her leg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou already gave it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, Grandma. You deserve a beautiful home, a big room, good doctors, delicious food every day\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI deserve to not be alone. And I already have that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She let out a shaky sigh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy mom is going to come looking for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The air inside the car instantly shifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDoes she know you came?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. I texted her when I walked out of the nursing home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valerie clenched her jaw.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause I\u2019m tired of hiding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We arrived at an apartment complex painted a pale, fading yellow. There were potted plants by the entrance and clotheslines hanging between windows. A neighbor sweeping the walkway greeted us with curiosity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs that your grandmother?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, Mrs. Lupe. She\u2019s finally home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She\u2019s finally home.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n As if they had all been waiting for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The apartment was small, just like Valeria said. A twin bed, a sofa bed, a table with two chairs, an electric hot plate, a shelf with mismatched plates, and, right by the window, a wooden rocking chair with a floral cushion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the table sat a small cake with an unlit candle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t know if they were actually going to let you leave,\u201d Valeria said, \u201cbut I bought it anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked over to the table. Written in shaky frosting, the cake said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWelcome Home, Grandma.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat down and cried the way I hadn\u2019t cried the day they left me. Because when you are abandoned, sometimes you harden yourself just to survive. But when someone actually comes back for you, everything you pretended to endure crashes out all at once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria hugged me from behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, Grandma. You\u2019re with me now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We ate the cake with spoons because she didn\u2019t have a knife. It tasted like the greatest banquet of my entire life. Then she showed me the rest of the notebook. There were letters, drawings, budget calculations, plans. On one page, she had written:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen I get her out, I\u2019m not going to tell her how much I suffered. First, I\u2019m just going to let her rest.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I closed the notebook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou suffered a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo more than you did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t compare pains, my love. They both hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, while she was organizing my dresses into a storage box, there was a knock on the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three knocks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Loud. Heavy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria froze. I did too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOpen up, Valeria,\u201d a voice called out from the other side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My body reacted before my mind did. My hands went ice cold. Suddenly I was back in the lobby of the nursing home, watching the pen sign the paper, seeing her back as she walked away without turning around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria took a deep breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to see her,\u201d she told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But I stood up anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrandma\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot to forgive her. Just so she has to look at me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria opened the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia was standing there, sharply dressed, her makeup flawless, her fury barely disguised. Behind her came her brother, my youngest son, Ernest, whom I hadn\u2019t seen in years, carrying the exact same lifelong cowardice on his shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter looked me up and down, as if my very existence were an insult to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMom,\u201d she said coldly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPatricia.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her mouth trembled slightly, but she hid it quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cValeria, let\u2019s go. You have no idea what you\u2019re doing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou can\u2019t afford to take care of her. You have no clue what it costs to care for an elderly woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria took a step forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt costs a lot less than abandoning your own mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia raised her hand, as if she were about to slap her across the face. I didn\u2019t think. I instantly stepped between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou don\u2019t touch her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter froze mid-motion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, so now you defend me?\u201d she spat bitterly. \u201cHow beautiful. When I was young, you never defended me from life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That sentence hit me differently. Because rage, when mixed with a shred of truth, cuts much deeper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI defended you the best I could,\u201d I said slowly. \u201cMaybe not the way you wanted. Maybe not the way you needed. But I never let go of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia let out a harsh, mocking laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t let go of me because you wanted me to owe you everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I gave you everything because you were my daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked around the room, at the bed, at the humble walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd this is better? You think this is dignified?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I straightened my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMore dignified than a bed paid for with guilt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ernest cleared his throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMom, let\u2019s not make a scene. Patricia was just trying to handle things\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou shut your mouth,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He went dead silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at him long and hard. My son. The one who always showed up when there was an inheritance, a free meal, or a favor to ask, but vanished whenever there were hospitals, bills, or loneliness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou knew where I was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He lowered his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPatricia told me it was for the best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd did you ever come see me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t answer. That was answer enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia crossed her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI came to stop Valeria from ruining her life over you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria laughed without any humor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy life actually started today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My daughter looked at her with pure rage, mixed with something else. Something that looked like fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have no idea who your grandmother really is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A heavy silence fell over the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria frowned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia smiled faintly, satisfied to have finally found a crack in the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my heart pounding violently against my ribs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There are secrets you keep not out of malice, but because you truly believe silence protects the people you love. But over the years, hidden silence rots. And when it finally breaches, it doesn\u2019t come out as truth; it comes out as venom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTell her, Mom,\u201d Patricia whispered maliciously. \u201cTell her the real reason Dad walked out on us. Tell her why I grew up hating you. Tell her what you did the night of the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Valeria turned to face me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrandma?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The room felt entirely too small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The cake candle still sat on the table, unlit. The rocking chair by the window shifted slightly in the breeze. Outside, someone laughed out in the courtyard, completely unaware that inside this room, the past had just knocked on the door with hands covered in ash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at my granddaughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the girl who had come back for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the woman who had bet her entire life on a promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And I understood that if I wanted to stay in this home, if I wanted to be worthy of this love, I had to open the wound completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even if it bled me dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even if I lost her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took a deep breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cValeria\u2026 before your mother left me in that nursing home, I left someone behind too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia smiled with tears welling in her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ernest crossed himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My granddaughter didn\u2019t let go of my hand, but her fingers went completely cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then, for the first time in thirty years, I spoke the name that had been strictly forbidden in our family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour grandfather didn\u2019t die the way they told you. And the blame\u2026 was entirely mine.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cGrandma!\u201d The voice pierced through my chest before my eyes could even fully process what they were seeing. I stood up so fast that my knees gave… <\/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-2401","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2401","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=2401"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2401\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2404,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2401\/revisions\/2404"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2401"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2401"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2401"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}