I carefully pulled back the sheet. And I let out a muffled gasp.
What I saw wasn\u2019t something repulsive, as my cowardice had feared for a split second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was something much worse: fear made flesh.
Isabella\u2019s abdomen was covered in yellow and purple bruises, as if someone had tried to erase her body with blows. On her<\/p>\n\n\n\n
left side, she wore a poorly placed bandage, stained with dried blood. Her legs trembled beneath the fabric\u2014not from shame, but from pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She suddenly yanked the sheet back, her eyes filled with panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cForgive me,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remained pinned to the floor, my throat tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All the money I had been promised turned to dust in my mind. The house, the truck, the buildings, the new life\u2014all of it suddenly looked like bait set on a trap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho did this to you?\u201d I asked, though a part of me already knew the answer.
Isabella looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy father says it\u2019s for my own good.\u201d
I felt a surge of heat rise from my stomach to my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour father hit you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She shook her head quickly\u2014too quickly.
\u201cNot with his hands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I understood that in wealthy homes, there were also elegant ways to destroy someone. There were bribed doctors, silent nurses, forced treatments, and humiliations wrapped in phrases like \u201cit\u2019s for your health\u201d and \u201cnobody will ever love you like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella breathed with difficulty and placed a hand over the bandage.
\u201cThree weeks ago, they put me in a private clinic in secret.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat for?\u201d
\u201cTo perform a surgery I didn\u2019t authorize.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze. She began to cry silently, as if even crying out loud caused her shame.
\u201cThey told me that if I lost weight, maybe someone would agree to marry me without them having to pay him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sentence split my shame in two.
Because I was that someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was the man who had been bought.
I was the living proof that her father was right to distrust the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat on the edge of the bed, not touching her, leaving enough distance so she wouldn\u2019t get scared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIs that why he married you off to me?\u201d
Isabella let out a bitter laugh.
\u201cNo, Santiago. That\u2019s only part of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was the first time she said my name. She said it with such sadness that it hurt to hear it in her mouth. From under the pillow, she pulled out a USB drive and a folded envelope.
\u201cMy father didn\u2019t choose you because you were good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen why?\u201d
\u201cBecause you are poor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word didn\u2019t offend me. I had been called that in a thousand ways since I was a child. But in her voice, it didn\u2019t sound like an insult; it sounded like a warning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA poor, desperate, and grateful man signs whatever they put in front of him,\u201d she said. \u201cMy father believes you will obey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the envelope. It had my name written in a notary\u2019s hand. I opened it with stiff hands. Inside was a contract I had never seen, even though it bore a photocopied version of my signature. It stated that, as Isabella\u2019s husband, I authorized the joint administration of her assets and waived any claims in the event of my wife\u2019s medical incapacity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The room felt smaller.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t my original signature.\u201d
\u201cThey scanned it from the marriage certificate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The air left me. Isabella pressed her lips together.
\u201cMy mother left me stocks, land, and a foundation before she died. Everything is in my name, but my father never accepted that a woman like me should control anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA woman like you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFat, lonely, sick, ridiculous\u2014according to him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood up abruptly.
\u201cDon\u2019t speak about yourself as if you were that bastard\u2019s voice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella looked at me in surprise. Perhaps no one had ever defended her, even from her own words. There was a long silence. Outside, the house was quiet, massive, like a sleeping beast. I went to the nightstand and grabbed my phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m taking you to the hospital.\u201d
She went rigid. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re bleeding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf I leave here, my father will know I told you.\u201d
\u201cLet him know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with terror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t understand. He doesn\u2019t lose. He buys judges, doctors, police, silences. He convinced my mother to sign papers while she was sedated before she died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her, not knowing what to say. I came from a world where poverty crushed you with bare hands. She came from one where violence wore white gloves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen tell me what we do,\u201d I said.
Isabella swallowed hard and pointed to the USB drive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere are recordings in there. Conversations with the doctor. Transfers. Videos from the clinic. My father plans to declare me incompetent after the wedding and use your name to take everything from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd why are you telling me this?\u201d
\u201cBecause when I saw you in the church, I thought that maybe you weren\u2019t rotten yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That caused me more shame than any insult. I remembered my mother in southern Mexico, her hands cracked from washing other people\u2019s clothes, and the way she always told me that being poor was no license to be miserable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had agreed to sell myself for a truck. But I could still decide if I was selling my soul too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going to touch a cent of yours,\u201d I said.
Isabella closed her eyes, but she didn\u2019t seem relieved.
\u201cThat isn\u2019t enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen we\u2019re going to fight.\u201d
\u201cYou don\u2019t know who you\u2019re up against.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been carrying bags of cement heavier than my own body since I was a child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I took a step closer, slowly.
\u201cI don\u2019t know how to fight like the rich, but I know how to endure, and I know when someone deserves not to be left alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She covered her face. She finally cried with sound, her body shaking, as if the girl she once was was finally stepping out of a locked room. I didn\u2019t hug her. Not yet. I just sat nearby and waited for her to breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night was not a wedding night. It was a night of watch.
I changed her bandage with clumsy hands, following her instructions, and nearly fainted at the sight of the open wound. It wasn\u2019t massive, but it was red, hot, and poorly cared for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is infected,\u201d I told her.
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou could die.\u201d
\u201cSometimes I thought that was what they wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her. Isabella wasn\u2019t exaggerating. On her face was a terrible calm, the kind only someone has who has imagined their own funeral many times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At four in the morning, I called Diego. I didn\u2019t explain everything. I just told him I needed a car, discretion, and for him to come without questions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Diego arrived in his old beat-up car with a look of alarm. When he saw Isabella leaning on my arm, pale and sweating, he took off his cap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMa\u2019am, careful now.\u201d
The word Ma\u2019am sounded with respect, not mockery. Isabella noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the private hospital, they wouldn\u2019t admit us without Steven\u2019s authorization. So I took her to a public hospital. There, no one asked if she was rich, if she was fat, if she was an old maid, or if her last name appeared in society magazines. They only saw fever, infection, and pain. They admitted her immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the doctor came out, he told me we had arrived just in time.
I sat in a plastic chair, my shirt stained with blood and the USB drive hidden inside my boot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At eight in the morning, Steven Miller appeared. He wasn\u2019t alone. He brought two lawyers, a doctor in an impeccable lab coat, and a smile so calm it terrified me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSantiago,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat a disappointment.\u201d
I stood up. \u201cYour daughter is sick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy daughter has always been dramatic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour daughter almost died.\u201d
He smiled wider. \u201cAnd you almost had your life sorted out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lawyers stood still behind him. Steven stepped close enough to speak low.
\u201cYou don\u2019t know what you\u2019re throwing away, boy.\u201d
\u201cYes, I do.\u201d
\u201cDon\u2019t be naive. No one marries Isabella for love.\u201d
The phrase hit me because it was loaded with truth and poison.
\u201cI didn\u2019t marry for love either,\u201d I told him. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t marry to kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the first time, his smile cracked.
\u201cBe careful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou too.\u201d
He let out a sharp laugh. \u201cYou\u2019re threatening me with your broken boots?\u201d
I didn\u2019t respond. I took out my phone and dialed the number Isabella had made me memorize before she lost consciousness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Twenty minutes later, a woman with graying hair, a blue suit, and a gaze like a knife arrived. Her name was Carmen Arriaga, and she had been Isabella\u2019s mother\u2019s lawyer. When Steven saw her, the color drained from his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou no longer work for this family,\u201d he said.
\u201cI work for the only Miller who doesn\u2019t forge documents,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I handed her the USB drive. Carmen tucked it away without opening it, as if she already knew it was a bomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Miller, from this moment on, any attempt to remove Isabella from the hospital will be reported as domestic violence and attempted asset fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Steven looked at me with pure hate. He didn\u2019t shout. Men like him didn\u2019t need to shout to promise misery. He only said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to send you back to the mud you came from.\u201d
I felt rage. But I also felt clarity. Because yes, I came from the mud. And in the mud, I learned that the most stubborn roots are born there too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following days were a war. Steven tried to say I had kidnapped Isabella to take her money. Then he said she wasn\u2019t in her right mind. Then he presented a psychiatrist who signed a diagnosis without having seen her in months.
But Carmen had the patience of a snake. She pulled out recordings, transfers, messages, and even the testimony of a nurse who had quit the clinic after seeing how they sedated Isabella against her will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I testified as well. I didn\u2019t sugarcoat anything. I told the whole truth, even the part that made me look like trash. I said I agreed to marry out of interest. I said I was promised assets. I said I thought of my poverty before her dignity. Isabella was sitting in the back, in a loose sweater, her face still weak. When I confessed that, she looked down. It hurt. But lying to her after everything would have been another form of betrayal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Upon leaving, Diego gave me a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
\u201cYou messed up bad, buddy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know.\u201d
\u201cBut not everyone stays to clean up the mess they made.\u201d
I didn\u2019t answer him because my throat felt tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That afternoon, I went to Isabella\u2019s room. She was looking out the window.
\u201cI heard what you said,\u201d she murmured.
\u201cYou had a right to.\u201d
\u201cYou could have hidden it.\u201d
\u201cThere were already too many people hiding things from you.\u201d
She let out a slow breath.
\u201cDo you regret marrying me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought about the truck I would never drive, the house that wouldn\u2019t be mine, the buildings that had been bait, my poor life waiting for me outside like a thin dog. Then I thought of her trembling under the sheet, asking for forgiveness for being hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI regret the reason I said yes.\u201d
She looked at me.
\u201cBut I don\u2019t regret pulling back that sheet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with tears. This time, she reached out her hand. I took it. It wasn\u2019t romance\u2014not yet. It was a small pact between two people used by the same man in different ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The process against Steven lasted months. During that time, I went back to working construction. I didn\u2019t accept money from Isabella, even though she insisted on paying for a better room for me. I kept living with Diego and other laborers, but every afternoon I went to the hospital, and later to her apartment, where Carmen had managed to settle her far from the family home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella started therapy. She also started eating without asking for forgiveness. That was what impressed me most. Not seeing her lose weight, or change her clothes, or get stronger on the outside. The truly powerful thing was seeing her put a plate on the table and not apologize for being hungry.
One night she told me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAll my life they treated me as if my body were a debt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was fixing a crooked shelf in her living room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour body doesn\u2019t owe anyone an explanation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She smiled a little. \u201cYou talk as if it were easy.\u201d
\u201cNo, I talk as if I want to learn it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After that, something began to grow between us. It wasn\u2019t fast, or perfect, or like a clean novel. I still carried the guilt of having accepted the deal. She still woke up some nights convinced her father was going to walk through the door. Sometimes we argued. Sometimes she told me she didn\u2019t need to be rescued. Sometimes I got angry because I didn\u2019t know how to love someone without trying to carry all their problems.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But we also laughed. We went to the street markets, ate local food in places where no one knew her, and she discovered she could walk down a street without her last name clearing a path or her body asking for permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One day she took me to the cemetery where her mother was buried. She left white flowers on the grave.
\u201cThey married me off to him, Mom,\u201d she whispered. \u201cBut I think for the first time, I chose to stay near someone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stepped aside to not invade that moment. But Isabella called me over.
\u201cYou come too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I approached with my cap in my hands. I didn\u2019t know what to say to a dead woman from a wealthy family. So I said the only thing that came to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMa\u2019am, I\u2019m not much, but I won\u2019t leave her alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella cried and laughed at the same time. \u201cThat sounded horrible.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell, teach me how to talk pretty then.\u201d
\u201cNo. You\u2019re fine just like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the first court ruling finally came out, Steven lost legal control over Isabella\u2019s assets. They also opened an investigation for forgery, injury, and fraudulent administration. He didn\u2019t go to jail immediately\u2014the rich rarely fall all at once. First, they stumble over expensive rugs. But he fell. His partners walked away. The newspapers that used to publish photos of his parties started publishing questions about his clinics, his contracts, and his bribed doctors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The people of Houston, the same ones who had mocked Isabella for years, suddenly called her brave. That hurt her, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey prefer me as a victim rather than a woman,\u201d she told me.
\u201cThen let them get used to seeing you whole.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A year after the wedding, Carmen summoned us to her office. On the table, she placed the divorce papers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can annul the marriage if you both agree,\u201d she said. \u201cDue to the fraud and coercion, there are sufficient grounds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at Isabella. She looked at the papers. I felt a strange hollow in my chest. From the beginning, I knew that marriage hadn\u2019t been born well. I thought the right thing was to set her free even from my last name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll sign whatever you want,\u201d I told her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella took the pen. She held it for a few seconds. Then she laid it back on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAll my life people decided for me with the excuse that it was for the best.\u201d
Carmen raised an eyebrow. \u201cIsabella, you don\u2019t have to stay married out of gratitude.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt isn\u2019t gratitude.\u201d
She looked at me. \u201cIt isn\u2019t an obligation either.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was barely breathing. She smiled, nervous and luminous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want to start over, but this time by asking Santiago if he wants to go out with me.\u201d
Carmen took off her glasses. Diego, who had gone with me for moral support, let out a laugh from the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAtta girl, Boss!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella turned bright red. So did I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI do want to,\u201d I said, and then I realized how ridiculous it sounded since we were already married.
She laughed. It was a clean, unexpected, beautiful laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We didn\u2019t resolve everything that day. We signed an absolute separation of assets, because love didn\u2019t need mixed accounts to prove anything. I legally waived any rights to her estate. She insisted that I study construction management if I wanted to stop carrying sacks for the rest of my life. I accepted, but on a scholarship, not a gift. It cost me sleepless nights, tight budgets, and feeling old among younger students. But I finished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two years later, I opened a small construction crew. I hired men like me\u2014newly arrived, hungry, scared, but with drive. I paid them fairly because I knew exactly how much it hurts for one\u2019s sweat to build houses where one will never be allowed to live. Isabella turned her mother\u2019s foundation into a shelter for abused women\u2014not just poor, but rich too, because fear doesn\u2019t distinguish between neighborhoods. Sometimes she went to give talks. She stood before broken women and told them:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t wait to become perfect to save yourselves.\u201d
The first time I heard her, I cried hidden in the hallway. She found me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAre you blubbering?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI got cement in my eye.\u201d
\u201cWe\u2019re in an office.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFine cement.\u201d
She kissed my cheek. That kiss held no fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On our anniversary night, we went back to the same room where it all started. The house no longer belonged to Steven. Isabella had sold almost all of it, but she kept that room for a reason I didn\u2019t understand until we entered. She had ordered the carpet removed, the bed changed, and the windows opened. The artificial lavender smell was gone. Fresh air blew in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the bed was a folded white sheet. Isabella approached it and looked at me.
\u201cThe first time you pulled back a sheet, you saw my wound.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I swallowed hard. \u201cAnd I should have seen the woman first.\u201d
She shook her head gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. That night you saw the truth when everyone wanted you to see shame.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She took my hand.
\u201cToday I want you to see something else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pulled back the sheet. Underneath, there was no blood, no contracts, no fear. There were two bus tickets to southern Mexico and a small wooden box with seeds of a flowering tree.
\u201cI want to meet your mother,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd I want to plant a tree where you learned to survive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn\u2019t speak. I thought of that eighteen-year-old boy who arrived in the city with worn-out boots, believing that dignity was a door someone rich would have to open for him. I thought of the man who agreed to sell himself. I thought of the woman everyone called an old maid as if love had an expiration date.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knelt in front of Isabella, not to ask her forgiveness again, but to be at her level. I pressed my forehead against her hands.
\u201cThank you for not letting my worst decision be my final version.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lifted my face.
\u201cThank you for not running away when you saw my scars.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I kissed her slowly. Not as someone collecting a debt. Not as someone fulfilling a contract. I kissed her like one kisses a home after years of sleeping on the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weeks later, my mother received Isabella in the village with a hug so long they both ended up crying. She didn\u2019t care about her weight, her last name, or the gossip she had never heard. She just touched her face and told her:
\u201cHoney, I can see you\u2019ve suffered, but I can also see you didn\u2019t let yourself die.\u201d
Isabella broke down right then and there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We planted the tree behind the adobe house. Diego took blurry photos. My mother made a traditional feast. I watched Isabella laugh with her hands full of dirt, hair messy, sweaty, alive. And I understood that the new life Steven promised me did arrive, but not how he had planned it. It didn\u2019t arrive in the form of a truck, or buildings, or papers signed with deceit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It arrived in the form of a woman everyone had looked at as a burden, until she taught me that carrying pain is not the same thing as being heavy. It arrived when I stopped wondering how much I could gain from her and started wondering how much I could build by her side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes people still murmur. They say I married for money. They\u2019re right. That\u2019s how it started. But not everything that starts crooked is condemned to grow rotten. Some things, if they are pulled from a lie and planted in truth, learn to bloom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now we have a small house with a door that locks properly and a roof that doesn\u2019t leak. It isn\u2019t a mansion. I don\u2019t want one. In the foyer, there are work boots, Isabella\u2019s books, blueprints on the table, and a photo of the two of us under a tree that is just starting to provide shade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When someone asks me what I saw that night when I pulled back the sheet, I never tell them about the blood or the bruises first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I say I saw an injustice.
I say I saw my own misery looking back at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I say I saw a woman who didn\u2019t need to be bought, but to be believed.
And if they ask me what I did next, I look down for a second, because shame still teaches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I tell the truth.
That night I entered that room as a starving construction worker who had sold his name for a better life. But I walked out carrying my wife toward a hospital, with empty hands and a waking soul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And although I lost the promised house, the promised truck, and the promised buildings, I gained something no boss can give a man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I gained the opportunity to look at myself in the mirror again without hanging my head.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I carefully pulled back the sheet. And I let out a muffled gasp.What I saw wasn\u2019t something repulsive, as my cowardice had feared for a split second…. <\/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-3233","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3233","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=3233"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3233\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3234,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3233\/revisions\/3234"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3233"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3233"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3233"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}