\u201cPer the instructions of Mr. Sebastian Rivas, today we formalize the deed transfer of this property over to Mrs. Joan Martinez.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Matt\u2019s jaw dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan pressed her hand to her chest, as if the blow had been physical.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Joan didn\u2019t understand at first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhich property?\u201d she asked, looking at the lawyer, then at me. \u201cNo, honey, I didn\u2019t come here for anything. I only lent you a tiny bit. That wasn\u2019t even a proper loan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lawyer adjusted his glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMrs. Joan, Mr. Sebastian has purchased the house you are currently renting and is putting it under your name. Free of all liens. It also includes a complete kitchen remodel, a safe gas line installation, a commercial-grade refrigerator, and all the city permits required for your catering business to operate legally.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Joan let out a gasp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wasn\u2019t a sob. It was the sound of someone finally catching the breath that life had knocked out of them for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, Sebastian\u2026 I can\u2019t accept this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked over and placed her hundred and twenty dollars right in front of her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou offered me your stove money when you thought I was going blind. I\u2019m just giving you back a kitchen where you don\u2019t have to live in fear of a gas leak explosion.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Matt slammed his hand on the table again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is insane! You\u2019re just giving a house away to some lady who isn\u2019t even family?!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFamily was the one that was going to let me lose an imaginary eye just so they wouldn\u2019t have to touch their bank accounts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan bit her lip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be so dramatic, Sebastian. You set a trap for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. I presented a need to you. You all chose exactly what to do with it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My cousin Tony looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody dared to touch the pastries I had set out on the table: fresh-out-of-the-oven bagels, apple turnovers, cinnamon rolls, and warm biscuits. All my life, they told me my garage bakery was a joke. Now, the smell of fresh bread was witnessing their downfall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Matt pointed at the lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd what\u2019s in the second folder?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The attorney opened it slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt is the establishment of a private foundation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan let out a nervous scoff. \u201cOh, please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt will be called \u2018Hands with Flour,’\u201d the lawyer continued. \u201cIt will have an initial endowment of five million dollars to support isolated senior citizens, self-employed widows, and low-income students here in Texas. The first honorary director will be Mrs. Joan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Joan covered her face with her apron.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI barely even know how to use a smartphone, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll have an accountant, a lawyer, and a staff to help you with that. You only have to make decisions with the exact same heart you lent me that Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Matt\u2019s face turned bright red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd what about us? You\u2019re just going to cast us out like dogs?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNot like dogs,\u201d I said. \u201cLike competent adults. Isn\u2019t that what you told me at the barbecue?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou have no right to humiliate us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At that, I laughed. It came from deep in my chest\u2014an old, exhausted laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have no right? You humiliated me in front of everyone while eating ribeyes and sausages in Matt\u2019s backyard. You lectured me about financial management while wearing a gold necklace, with a vacation ticket to Europe still fresh in your purse. Now the word humiliate hurts?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She wanted to fire back, but she couldn\u2019t find a single shred of dignity to stand on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Matt picked up the expensive bottle of wine he had brought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re acting like new money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, Matt. I\u2019m acting like a poor man who can finally choose who to believe in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lawyer pulled a third document from the folder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere are also instructions regarding family support.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At that, everyone raised their heads. How quickly hope returns when it smells someone else\u2019s money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Sebastian will cover the college tuition for his minor nieces and nephews through direct payments to the educational institutions. No cash will be handed over to the parents. A medical emergency fund will also be established for genuine emergencies, subject to verifiable documentation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan blinked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo you are<\/em> going to help us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe kids, yes. You guys, no.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt threw the expensive bottle against the floor. The glass shattered, and the heavy scent of alcohol filled the bakery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan flinched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t. Not anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUngrateful piece of trash!\u201d Matt yelled. \u201cWhen Dad died, I was the one who kept this family afloat!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou sold Dad\u2019s truck without telling me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause we needed the money!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo buy your first boat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A heavy silence fell over the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan glared at me with pure hatred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve always been full of resentment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I was always the one who stayed quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked over to the counter and pulled out a cardboard box. Inside were old receipts, IOUs, printed text messages, and records of small bank transfers I had made over the years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere is the money I lent you guys when I had nothing. Five thousand for your son\u2019s tuition, Susan. Three thousand for Matt\u2019s truck tire. Eight thousand for Tony\u2019s dog\u2019s surgery. Twenty-five hundred for Auntie\u2019s electric bill. Nobody ever paid me back. I never asked for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n No one breathed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat Sunday, I asked for a fake five grand and you treated me like a beggar. I had been your personal ATM for years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan cried, but it was tears of rage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd how were we supposed to guess you were a millionaire?!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to. I wanted to see if you still saw me as human when you thought I had nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan stood up with some difficulty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHoney, I think I should leave. This is a family matter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, ma\u2019am. You stay. Right because of that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt looked at her with pure disdain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou should be ashamed of yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan stood up straight. She was short, with rough hands and a clean apron, but in that moment, she looked taller than any of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou should be the ashamed ones\u2014having a brother but having no heart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt was left speechless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t know anything about millions,\u201d she continued. \u201cI just saw a man terrified about his eye. That\u2019s enough for me. When my husband died, half the world told me \u2018I\u2019m sorry\u2019 and not a single soul brought me a bowl of soup. Sebastian did. He would buy lunch from me even when he wasn\u2019t hungry, just so I could make a sale.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked down. I didn\u2019t want to cry in front of my siblings. But I did. Because some truths hurt more when they are spoken by someone who actually saw you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan grabbed her purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go, Matt. Let him stay with his \u2018lady.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWith pleasure,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She paused at the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to end up completely alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked around the bakery. Mrs. Joan. The lawyer. My employees peeking out from the kitchen. Martin, my delivery driver, with flour on his shirt. The neighbor from down the street who had just walked in for biscuits and stayed as a witness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was alone when I was begging for your affection,\u201d I replied. \u201cNow, I am surrounded by family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not everyone, though. My seventeen-year-old nephew, Leo, stayed standing by the counter, his eyes filled with shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUncle Seb,\u201d he said softly, \u201cI heard what they said to you that day at the barbecue.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know, bud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry I didn\u2019t say anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked over to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAt your age, it\u2019s scary to stand up to the adults.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to be like them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I placed a warm, fresh biscuit in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen start by not staying quiet next time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Leo choked up and hugged me. And that embrace finally felt like family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The following days were a total storm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt called me thirty times. Then he sent voice notes. First furious. Then offended. Then affectionate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSeb, brother, that whole thing at the barbecue was just a misunderstanding.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPeople say things without thinking.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe can sell my boat if it bothered you that much.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan sent novel-length text messages about family unity, about our mother, about how sad it would be if money changed who I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Money didn\u2019t change me. It just paid the electric bill so I could finally see what had been standing in front of me the whole time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t reply. I changed my number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I also changed the locks on the bakery because Matt showed up at three in the morning one night, screaming outside the shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat money belongs to all of us!\u201d he yelled from the sidewalk. \u201cLuck is meant to be shared!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Martin walked out with a rolling pin in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLuck, yes. Shame, no.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The whole town found out within two days. In a tight-knit neighborhood, secrets last about as long as a hot biscuit on a breakfast table. People started coming to the bakery not just for bread, but for the gossip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs it true you won the Powerball?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs it true you bought Mrs. Joan a house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs it true your siblings turned you away over an eye?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I learned to answer with a smile:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you here for the cinnamon rolls or just the poison?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some laughed. Others got uncomfortable and bought a couple of extra muffins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The prize didn\u2019t arrive like it does in the movies. There was no confetti. There were lawyers, taxes, appointments, receipts, signatures, banks, the IRS, financial advisors, insurance policies, and endless lectures on not showing off, not lending money, and not making impulsive purchases. Heavy money brings heavy vultures. And it also brings little vultures disguised as family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I bought a simple house for myself, not a mansion. It was out near the Texas Hill Country, with a nice yard to put in a stone oven and a lemon tree. I didn\u2019t quit the bakery. I just fixed it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n New flooring. New oven. A decent display case. Health insurance for my employees. A raise for everyone. And a long table outside to hand out free coffee and yesterday\u2019s bread to anyone who showed up hungry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan didn\u2019t want to accept her house. For weeks she would say:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t feel right, honey. I feel like someone\u2019s going to bill me for this happiness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I accompanied her to the notary. Then to the county clerk\u2019s office. Then to buy a brand-new stove at an appliance store downtown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the delivery guy installed it and checked that there was absolutely no leak, Mrs. Joan sat down in a chair and started to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy husband died worrying about that old kitchen,\u201d she said. \u201cHe always used to say, \u2018Joan, one day that gas line is going to take us out.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knelt down in front of her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She took my face in both of her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother would be so proud of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was the moment I broke down. My mom used to sell bread with me when I was just a boy. She taught me how to know when a loaf was ready by its smell, not by the timer. She used to say that dough can feel the mood of the hands touching it. Maybe that\u2019s why my conchas always turned out a bit deflated whenever I came back from seeing my siblings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The foundation started small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n First, we paid for dental implants for Mr. Davis, a retired construction worker who couldn\u2019t chew his food. Then we bought school supplies for ten kids at a middle school in Austin. After that, we repaired a tin roof for an elderly lady in Houston before the heavy storm season hit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan insisted on personally reviewing every single case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t give to the ones who just know how to ask beautifully,\u201d she would tell me. \u201cGive to the ones who still feel too much shame to ask at all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She knew. Because that was exactly how she had lived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A month after that fateful meeting at the bakery, Matt showed up alone. No new SUV. No luxury watch. No bottle. His face looked completely hollowed out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need to talk,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was kneading dough. \u201cTalk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked around, uncomfortable with the employees nearby. \u201cIn private.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat you said to me at the barbecue was public.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His face hardened, but he swallowed his pride. \u201cI got myself into a massive hole. I owe a lot of money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t answer. That was answer enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI sold the boat,\u201d he muttered. \u201cIt\u2019s not enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept kneading. The dough was sticking to my fingers\u2014warm, alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you came for help?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019re brothers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. We are children of the same parents. You were a brother only when it suited you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He glared at me with pure rage. \u201cSo you\u2019re really just going to watch me drown?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I\u2019m going to give you the exact same thing you gave me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pulled out a piece of paper. It had the address of a public clinic that handled gambling and addiction counseling, alongside the contact information of a financial consultant who specialized in debt restructuring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis isn\u2019t money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. It\u2019s help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He slammed it down on the counter. \u201cShove your help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He walked out. Two hours later, he came back to pick up the paper. He didn\u2019t thank me. He didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan took a bit longer. She didn\u2019t ask for money directly. She asked for forgiveness in a letter. Four pages. Beautifully written. Incredibly dramatic. At the very end, there was a postscript:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you could help us out with Regina\u2019s college tuition, I promise it will be a loan.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled. I called the university directly. I paid for Regina\u2019s semester and sent the confirmation receipt straight to my niece, bypassing Susan entirely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Regina texted me back: \u201cThank you, Uncle Seb. Mom says you\u2019re being dramatic, but I know you did the right thing.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Kids understand a lot more than adults give them credit for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n December arrived. At the bakery, we started baking holiday pastries ahead of schedule. Mrs. Joan organized a Christmas block party in the backyard of her new house. There were tamales, warm spiced apple cider, gingerbread cookies, a huge pinata, and kids running around with bags of candy. There were no luxuries. Just noise. Laughter. A massive pot releasing steam. A local band playing old country music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And for the first time in many years, I wasn\u2019t sitting at the far edge of the table. I was right in the middle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt showed up near the end. Thin. Quiet. Completely stripped of his arrogance. He brought a bag of fresh oranges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I come in?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Joan looked at him first. Then she looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took a deep breath. \u201cYou can come in. But don\u2019t expect to charge anyone for your affection.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt nodded. He sat down far from the center. It wasn\u2019t a total reconciliation. It was an open door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Susan didn\u2019t come. She sent a text: \u201cMerry Christmas. I hope one day you go back to being the person you used to be.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t reply. The person I used to be accepted scraps. That person was no longer available.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At midnight, Mrs. Joan called me into the kitchen. She handed me an envelope. Inside was her hundred and twenty dollars. The exact same bills.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMrs. Joan, we already talked about this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd now you\u2019re going to listen to me. I gave that money to a man who desperately needed help. Today, I am returning it to a different man, so he never forgets that his life was worth the exact same amount before the millions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t speak. She closed my fingers around the bills.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKeep them somewhere you won\u2019t forget them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I put them in my safe. Not next to the Powerball receipt. Right on top of it. Because those hundred and twenty dollars were worth far more than forty million. The prize bought me peace of mind. But those crumpled bills bought me the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A year and a half later, the bakery became famous in the neighborhood. Not because of the lottery money. Because of the bread. Because of the coffee table. Because of the foundation. Because of Mrs. Joan chewing out local politicians whenever they showed up trying to get a photo op.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou come here to help, not to flash your teeth for the cameras,\u201d she would tell them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I would watch her and think to myself that the real stroke of luck wasn\u2019t winning the Powerball. The real luck was my family denying me money in front of a backyard barbecue. Because if they had lent me something that day, I might have gone on confusing bloodlines with love for the rest of my life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One morning, while pulling biscuits out of the oven, a kid in a school uniform walked in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you Mr. Sebastian?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDepends. If you\u2019re looking to buy on credit, I\u2019m just his cousin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He laughed. \u201cMy mom says that thanks to you, I get to stay in school.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a note. It didn\u2019t say much. Just:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen I grow up, I want to help people just like you do.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat down on a crate of flour. I wept right there, with my apron on and my hands coated in white. Mrs. Joan saw me from the doorway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCrying again, honey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s just the flour.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, sure. Flour is famous for having feelings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We both laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside, Texas was waking up to its usual symphony of traffic, sirens, and the sun rising over a clear sky. In some backyard, someone was lighting up charcoal for a cookout. In another house, someone was warming up breakfast. Life kept moving forward\u2014stubborn, flavorful, unjust, and beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I won forty million dollars in the lottery. But the day I asked for a fake five grand, my siblings showed me exactly how much their love cost. Mrs. Joan taught me something entirely different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Family isn\u2019t who shares your last name when there\u2019s a jackpot. Family is the person who reaches into their kitchen cupboard, pulls out the absolute last thing they have, and hands it over without ever asking if you\u2019ll be able to return it tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s why every single night when I close up the bakery, I leave a fresh loaf of bread on the table outside. For whoever is hungry. For whoever is too proud or too scared to ask. To always remind myself that a widow with a hundred and twenty dollars made me richer than any lottery ever could.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cPer the instructions of Mr. Sebastian Rivas, today we formalize the deed transfer of this property over to Mrs. Joan Martinez.\u201d Matt\u2019s jaw dropped. Susan pressed her… <\/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-2872","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2872","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=2872"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2872\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2875,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2872\/revisions\/2875"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2872"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2872"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2872"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}