What I saw wasn\u2019t something disgusting, as my cowardice had feared for a fraction of a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was something much worse: fear turned into flesh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella\u2019s abdomen was covered in yellow and purple bruises, as if someone had tried to erase her body with blows. On her left side, she had a poorly placed bandage, stained with dried blood. Her legs trembled beneath the fabric, not from shame, but from pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She yanked the sheet back up, her eyes filled with panic. \u201cForgive me,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remained rooted to the floor, my throat tight. All the money they had promised me turned to dust in my head. The house, the truck, the buildings, the new life\u2014everything suddenly looked like bait set on a trap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho did that to you?\u201d I asked, even though a part of me already knew the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella looked down. \u201cMy dad says it\u2019s for my own good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt something hot rise from my stomach to my face. \u201cYour dad hit you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She shook her head fast, too fast. \u201cNot with his hands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I understood that in wealthy houses, there were also elegant ways to destroy someone. There were bought-off doctors, quiet nurses, forced treatments, humiliations wrapped in phrases like \u201cit\u2019s for your health\u201d and \u201cno one is going to love you like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella breathed heavily and brought a hand to her bandage. \u201cThree weeks ago, they put me in a private clinic in secret.\u201d \u201cWhat for?\u201d \u201cTo perform a surgery I didn\u2019t authorize.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She started crying without making a sound, as if she were even ashamed to cry loudly. \u201cThey told me that if I lost weight, maybe someone would agree to marry me without having to be paid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sentence split my shame in half. Because I was that someone. I was the bought man. I was living proof that her father was right to distrust the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat on the edge of the bed, without touching her, leaving enough distance so she wouldn\u2019t be scared. \u201cIs that why he married you off to me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella let out a bitter laugh. \u201cNo, James. 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 so much sadness that it hurt to hear it from her lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From under her pillow, she pulled out a USB drive and a folded envelope. \u201cMy dad didn\u2019t pick you because you were a good person.\u201d \u201cThen why?\u201d \u201cBecause you\u2019re poor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word didn\u2019t offend me. I had been told 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 will sign whatever is put in front of him,\u201d she said. \u201cMy dad believes you are going to obey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the envelope. It had my name written in a notary\u2019s script. I opened it with stiff hands. Inside was a contract I had never seen before, though it bore a photocopy of my signature. It stated that, as Isabella\u2019s husband, I authorized the joint administration of her assets and waived my right to claim anything in the event of my wife\u2019s medical incapacitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt the room shrinking. \u201cThis isn\u2019t my original signature.\u201d \u201cThey scanned it from the marriage certificate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The breath left my lungs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella pressed her lips together. \u201cMy mom left me shares, properties, and a foundation before she died. Everything is in my name, but my dad never accepted that a woman like me should control anything.\u201d \u201cA woman like you?\u201d \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, surprised. Maybe no one had ever defended her, not even from her own words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a long silence. Outside, the house was quiet, massive, like a sleeping animal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked over to the nightstand and grabbed my phone. \u201cI\u2019m taking you to the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She tensed up. \u201cNo.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re bleeding.\u201d \u201cIf I leave here, my dad will know I told you.\u201d \u201cLet him know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled with terror. \u201cYou don\u2019t understand. He doesn\u2019t lose. He buys judges, doctors, cops, silences. He convinced my mom 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 barehanded. She came from one where violence wore white gloves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen tell me what we do,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella swallowed hard and pointed to the USB drive. \u201cThere are recordings on there. Conversations with the doctor. Bank transfers. Videos from the clinic. My dad plans to declare me incompetent after the wedding and use your name to take everything from me.\u201d \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 brought me more shame than any insult. I remembered my mother in Kentucky, her hands cracked from washing other people\u2019s clothes, the way she always told me that being poor wasn\u2019t a license to be wretched.<\/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 single dime of yours,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Isabella closed her eyes, but she didn\u2019t look relieved. \u201cThat\u2019s not enough.\u201d \u201cThen we\u2019ll fight.\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t know who you\u2019re up against.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve carried bags of cement heavier than my own body since I was a kid.\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 out loud, her body shaking, as if the little girl she had been was stepping out of a locked room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t hug her. Not yet. I just sat close and waited for her to breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night wasn\u2019t a wedding night. It was a night on watch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I changed her bandage with clumsy hands, following her instructions, and nearly passed out seeing the open wound. It wasn\u2019t huge, but it was red, hot, and poorly cared for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis got infected,\u201d I told her. \u201cI know.\u201d \u201cYou could die.\u201d \u201cSometimes I thought that\u2019s 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 possessed by someone who has already imagined their own funeral many times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At four in the morning, I called Dave. I didn\u2019t explain everything. I just told him I needed a car, discretion, and for him to come without asking questions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dave arrived in his old Chevy with a scared look on his face. When he saw Isabella leaning on my arm, pale and sweating, he took off his cap. \u201cMa\u2019am, be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word ma\u2019am<\/em> sounded respectful, not mocking. Isabella noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the private hospital, they wouldn\u2019t admit us without Richard\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 a spinster, 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, Richard Sterling showed up. He didn\u2019t come alone. He brought two lawyers, a doctor in an impeccable white coat, and a smile so calm it scared me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJames,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat a disappointment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood up. \u201cYour daughter is sick.\u201d \u201cMy daughter has always been dramatic.\u201d \u201cYour daughter almost died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled wider. \u201cAnd you almost had your life set.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lawyers stood perfectly still behind him. Richard stepped close enough to speak quietly. \u201cYou have no idea what you\u2019re throwing in the trash, boy.\u201d \u201cYes I do.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t be naive. No one marries Isabella for love.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The phrase hit me because it was loaded with truth and venom. \u201cI didn\u2019t marry her for love either,\u201d I told him. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t marry her to kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time, his smile cracked. \u201cBe careful.\u201d \u201cYou too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He let out a loud laugh. \u201cAre you threatening me with your broken boots?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t answer. I took out my cell 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 gray hair, a blue suit, and a knife-like gaze arrived. Her name was Carolyn Archer, and she had been Isabella\u2019s mother\u2019s lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Richard saw her, the color drained from his face. \u201cYou no longer work for this family,\u201d he said. \u201cI work for the only Sterling who doesn\u2019t forge documents,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I handed her the USB drive. Carolyn pocketed it without looking at it, as if she already knew a bomb was inside. \u201cMr. Sterling, from this moment on, any attempt to remove Isabella from this hospital will be reported as domestic violence and attempted financial fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Richard glared at me with hatred. He didn\u2019t yell. Men like him didn\u2019t need to yell to promise ruin. He only said: \u201cI\u2019m going to send you back to the mud you crawled out of.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It made me angry. But it also gave me 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Richard tried to say I had kidnapped Isabella to take her money. Then he claimed she wasn\u2019t in her right mind. Then he presented a psychiatrist who signed a diagnosis without having seen her in months. But Carolyn had the patience of a snake. She produced recordings, bank 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 too. I didn\u2019t sugarcoat anything. I told the whole truth, even the part that made me look like garbage. I said I agreed to marry her out of self-interest. I said I was promised property. I said I thought about my poverty before her dignity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella was sitting in the back, wearing a baggy sweater, her face still looking weak. When I confessed that, she looked down. It hurt me. But lying to her after everything would have been just another way of betraying her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the way out, Dave gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder. \u201cYou messed up real bad, man.\u201d \u201cI know.\u201d \u201cBut not everyone stays to clean up the mess they made.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t answer because my throat tightened.<\/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 the right to.\u201d \u201cYou could have hidden it.\u201d \u201cThere were already too many people hiding things from you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She let out a slow breath. \u201cDo you regret marrying me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I thought about the truck I was never going to drive, the house that wouldn\u2019t be mine, the buildings that had been bait, my life of poverty waiting for me outside like a skinny dog. Then I thought of her trembling under the sheet, apologizing for being wounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI regret the reason I said yes.\u201d She looked at me. \u201cBut I don\u2019t regret lifting that sheet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her eyes filled with tears. This time she reached out her hand. I took it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t romance. Not yet. It was a small pact between two people used by the same man in different ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The trial against Richard lasted for months. During that time, I went back to working construction. I didn\u2019t accept any money from Isabella, even though she insisted on paying for a better room for me. I kept living with Dave and the other workers, but every afternoon I went to the hospital, or later to her apartment, where Carolyn had managed to set her up away from the family home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella started therapy. She also started eating without apologizing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was what impressed me the 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One night she told me: \u201cMy whole life they treated me like my body was a debt.\u201d I was fixing a crooked shelf in her living room. \u201cYour body owes explanations to no one.\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 started to grow between us. It wasn\u2019t fast, or perfect, or a clean romance 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes we argued. Sometimes she told me she didn\u2019t need me to rescue her. Sometimes I got mad because I didn\u2019t know how to love someone without trying to carry all their problems. But we also laughed. We went to flea markets, ate pulled pork sandwiches in places where no one knew her, and she discovered she could walk down a street without her last name clearing the way or her body having to ask for permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One day she took me to the cemetery where her mom was buried. She laid 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 close to someone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stepped aside so as not to intrude on the moment. But Isabella called me over. \u201cYou come here too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked over 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 out. \u201cMa\u2019am, I\u2019m not much, but I\u2019m not going to leave her alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella cried and laughed at the same time. \u201cThat sounded horrible.\u201d \u201cThen teach me to speak pretty.\u201d \u201cNo. You\u2019re fine just the way you are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the first ruling finally came out, Richard lost legal control over Isabella\u2019s assets. They also opened an investigation against him for forgery, assault, and fraudulent administration. He didn\u2019t go to jail right away. The rich rarely fall all at once. First, they trip over expensive rugs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But he fell. His partners backed away. The papers that used to publish photos of his parties started publishing questions about his clinics, his contracts, and his bought-off doctors. The people of Dallas, the same ones who had mocked Isabella for years, suddenly started calling her brave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That hurt her too. \u201cThey prefer me as a victim rather than a woman,\u201d she told me. \u201cThen let them get used to seeing all of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A year after the wedding, Carolyn called us to her office. She placed divorce papers on the table. \u201cYou can annul the marriage if you both agree,\u201d she said. \u201cDue to 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 started out right. I thought the right thing to do was to free her 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 picked up the pen. She held it for a few seconds. Then she put it down on the table. \u201cMy whole life people made decisions for me using the excuse that it was for the best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carolyn raised an eyebrow. \u201cIsabella, you don\u2019t have to stay married out of gratitude.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s not gratitude.\u201d She looked at me. \u201cIt\u2019s not an obligation either.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was barely breathing. She smiled, nervous and glowing. \u201cI want to start over, but this time by asking James if he wants to go out with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Carolyn took off her glasses. Dave, who had come with me for moral support, let out a laugh from the doorway. \u201cThat\u2019s it, boss lady!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella blushed. So did I. \u201cI do,\u201d I said, and then realized how ridiculous it sounded because we were already married. She laughed. It was a clean, unexpected, beautiful laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We didn\u2019t sort out everything that day. We signed an absolute separation of assets, because love didn\u2019t need mixed bank accounts to prove anything. I legally waived any right to her estate. She insisted that I study construction management if I wanted to stop hauling sacks for the rest of my life. I accepted, but with a scholarship, not a handout.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It cost me sleepless nights, tight budgets, and feeling old among younger guys. But I finished. Two years later, I started a small crew. I hired men like me, newly arrived, hungry, scared, but willing. I paid them fairly because I knew exactly how much it hurts when your sweat builds houses you\u2019ll never be able to live in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella turned her mother\u2019s foundation into a shelter for abused women\u2014not just poor ones, but rich ones too, because fear doesn\u2019t distinguish between neighborhoods. Sometimes she went to give talks. She would stand in front of broken women and tell them: \u201cDon\u2019t wait until you become perfect to save yourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first time I heard her, I cried, hiding in the hallway. She found me. \u201cAre you bawling?\u201d \u201cI got cement in my eye.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re in an office.\u201d \u201cFine dust cement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She kissed my cheek. That kiss had no fear in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the night of our anniversary, we went back to the same bedroom where it all began. The house was no longer Richard\u2019s. Isabella had sold almost all of it, but she kept that room for a reason I didn\u2019t understand until we walked in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She had ordered the carpet removed, the bed changed, and the windows opened. The smell of artificial lavender was gone. Fresh air drifted in. On the bed lay a folded white sheet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella walked over to it and looked at me. \u201cThe first time you lifted a sheet, you saw my wound.\u201d I swallowed hard. \u201cAnd I should have seen the woman first.\u201d She shook her head gently. \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 She lifted the sheet. Underneath, there was no blood, no contracts, no fear. There were two bus tickets to Kentucky and a small wooden box with magnolia seeds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI want to meet your mom,\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 about that eighteen-year-old boy who arrived in the city in worn-out boots, believing that dignity was a door some rich person would have to open for him. I thought of the man who had agreed to sell himself. I thought of the woman everyone called a spinster, as if love had an expiration date.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kneeled in front of Isabella\u2014not to ask for 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 like someone collecting a debt. Not like someone fulfilling a contract. I kissed her the way you kiss a home after years of sleeping on the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Weeks later, my mother welcomed Isabella in Kentucky with an embrace so long that they both ended up crying. She didn\u2019t care about her weight, her last name, or the gossip she had never even heard. She just touched her face and told her: \u201cSweetheart, I can see you\u2019ve suffered, but I can also see you didn\u2019t let yourself die.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Isabella broke down right then and there. We planted the magnolia behind the simple wooden house. Dave took out-of-focus photos. My mother made fried chicken and biscuits. I watched Isabella laugh with her hands full of dirt\u2014messy-haired, sweaty, alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And I understood that the new life Richard had promised me did arrive, but not the way he had planned it. It didn\u2019t come in the form of a truck, or buildings, or deceitfully signed papers. It came in the form of a woman everyone had looked at as a burden, until she taught me that carrying pain isn\u2019t the same as being heavy. It came when I stopped asking myself how much I could gain from her, and started asking myself how much I could build by her side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes people still whisper. They say I married her for the money. They\u2019re right. That\u2019s how it started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But not everything that starts twisted is condemned to grow rotten. Some things, if uprooted from lies and planted in truth, learn to bloom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now we have a small house with a door that closes properly and a roof that doesn\u2019t leak. It\u2019s not a mansion. I don\u2019t want one. In the entryway, there are work boots, Isabella\u2019s books, blueprints on the table, and a photo of the two of us under a magnolia tree that is just starting to cast shade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When someone asks me what I saw that night when I lifted the sheet, I never mention the blood or the bruises first. I say I saw an injustice. I say I saw my own misery staring right back at me. I say I saw a woman who didn\u2019t need to be bought, but believed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And if they ask me what I did next, I lower my eyes for a second, because shame still teaches. Then I answer the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night I walked into that room as a starving construction worker who had sold his last name for a better life. But I walked out carrying my wife to a hospital\u2014empty-handed, with my soul awakening. And even though I lost the promised house, the promised truck, and the promised buildings, I won something that no boss can ever give a man. I earned the chance to look myself in the mirror again without hanging my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What I saw wasn\u2019t something disgusting, as my cowardice had feared for a fraction of a second. It was something much worse: fear turned into flesh. Isabella\u2019s… <\/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-3758","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3758","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=3758"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3758\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3761,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3758\/revisions\/3761"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3758"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3758"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3758"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Leave a Reply<\/h3>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"