\u201cPetition for adoption of the minor: Daniel Reyes Hernandez.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was my name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My name written right beneath his, as if someone had tried to bind us on paper many years before I ever understood what the word father<\/em> truly meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood there staring at that line, the open envelope resting on my lap, parked a block away from the chapel where Arthur was weeping. The yellow streetlights cast a glow over his hunched back. He looked smaller than ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew I had hurt him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And yet, I couldn\u2019t run after him just yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because if I did before finishing what I had planned, he would reject everything, just like always.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur never knew how to receive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He only knew how to give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I read the second line of the document.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPetition denied due to the petitioner\u2019s lack of financial solvency.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt something tighten in my throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had wanted to adopt me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not just with words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not out of pity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Legally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had gone to government offices, filled out forms, requested certificates, endured the judgmental stares of bureaucrats, and undoubtedly faced cruel remarks. And they denied him because he was poor. Because he hauled crates at the market. Because he lived in a tiny room near the river. Because he had cracked hands and split shoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I covered my mouth with my fist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a boy, I believed Arthur never wanted to give me his last name because he wasn\u2019t my real dad. Now I understood that he did want to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The world just didn\u2019t let him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked back toward the chapel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur was still sitting outside, his baseball cap gripped in his hands. People walked right past without seeing him. In an upscale commercial district like Buckhead, poor men become invisible among glass towers, luxury SUVs, and restaurants where a single meal costs what he used to make in a week hauling boxes at the Savannah market.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My wife, Laura, called me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere are you?\u201d she asked, her voice cracking. \u201cArthur left here absolutely devastated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDaniel, explain to me why you told him that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took a deep breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause if I told him I already paid for the surgery, he would never accept it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was silence on the line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked down at the envelope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThree months ago, I spoke with his doctor in Savannah. The surgery is paid for. The house is too. It\u2019s in his name. But he came to ask me for a loan, not a handout. If I gave him the cash, he would have sold candy on the street to pay me back, even if it killed him in the process.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Laura exhaled sharply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen go get him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDaniel\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have to make him sign. He has to believe I\u2019m not gifting him anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hung up and got out of the car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked slowly toward the chapel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside, it smelled of wax, dampness, and food from a nearby cart. Arthur raised his face when my shoes stopped right in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, but he tried to smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That completely broke me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, son,\u201d he muttered. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have come to bother you. Old men just get foolish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat down right next to him on the steps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t say that to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s alright. The Lord tests us, but He doesn\u2019t forsake us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSometimes life does forsake us, Dad. That\u2019s why I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at me, thoroughly confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pulled out the envelope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am not going to give you a single dime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He lowered his gaze again. \u201cI already understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. You don\u2019t understand.\u201d I opened the envelope and placed the medical authorization in his hands. \u201cI\u2019m not giving you money because the surgery is already paid for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur froze. His fingers trembled against the paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour operation. The hospital, the medications, the tests, the physical therapy. Everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, son. I can\u2019t accept this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s already paid for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen cancel it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDaniel, I didn\u2019t come here to take your money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my eyes welling up with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd I didn\u2019t come here to return your blood in cash.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He pressed his lips together. \u201cDon\u2019t speak to me like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow many times did you go to plasma centers to sell your blood for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned pale. \u201cThat was a long time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow many times?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t remember.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I lied a little. I didn\u2019t know the exact number. But I remembered his bruised arms, the cheap crackers he would eat afterward, the way he would pretend not to be dizzy so he could walk me to school. I remembered the faint smell of iodine on his shirt. I remembered the crumpled bills sitting on the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou sold blood so I could get an education,\u201d I told him. \u201cNow it\u2019s my turn to make sure you don\u2019t sell candy just to survive a surgery.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur pressed the medical order tightly against his chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA father doesn\u2019t collect.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd a son doesn\u2019t abandon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The phrase completely disarmed him. He covered his face with his baseball cap and wept soundlessly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t touch him right away. I let him cry. Some grief needs to come out on its own, without anyone pushing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After a moment, I pulled out the deed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd this is yours too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He frowned. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t start, Daniel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s in Savannah. Near the district, but far from that old rented room. It has two bedrooms, a yard, a roof with no leaks, and a kitchen where you can set up your own stove.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur bolted upright. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDad\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo! Absolutely not. You worked hard for that money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI worked hard because you taught me how.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t need a house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, you do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve lived just fine where I am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou haven\u2019t lived fine. You\u2019ve endured fine. There\u2019s a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood there staring at me, furious and wounded. It was the first time I had ever seen him angry with me for wanting to take care of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDaniel, if you give me all of this, you make me feel useless.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not giving you everything. I\u2019m returning a lifetime of rest to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t ask you for a house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd I didn\u2019t ask you to sell your blood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We fell silent. A bell chimed inside the chapel. In the distance, the city kept rushing by as if our entire lives weren\u2019t completely changing on a sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur sat back down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy did you say that to me then? Why did you break my heart like that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I swallowed hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause I needed you to feel angry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAngry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. Because if you felt pity, you would never accept it. If it was just out of love, you wouldn\u2019t either. But if you walked away thinking I was an ungrateful jerk, at least you would stop trying to protect me from your illness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked at me for a long, quiet moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou turned out more stubborn than me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou taught me that too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur lowered his eyes back down to the deed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs it really in my name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what if you regret it tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can\u2019t. Legally, it\u2019s already yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy did you do this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I pulled out the very last document. The adoption petition. I laid it across his knees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His expression shifted completely. His mouth trembled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere did you find this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIn the file the records clerk left for me. I was looking for your medical documents to get everything ready for the surgery. I had no idea this existed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur tried to pull the paper away from me. \u201cDon\u2019t read that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI already read it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He closed his eyes. \u201cI felt ashamed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAshamed of wanting to adopt me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAshamed because they told me I didn\u2019t qualify. That a boy like you deserved something better than a market laborer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey gave me the absolute best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, son. I gave you canned beans, patched shoes, and a mattress that got soaked whenever it rained.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou gave me an education. You gave me a roof. You gave me a name, even if it wasn\u2019t on paper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knelt down in front of him. I didn\u2019t care about staining my expensive suit pants. I didn\u2019t care about the people walking past us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDad, listen to me carefully. I am not what I earn in Atlanta. I am not my apartment, or my car, or my watch. I am the boy you lifted off the ground when everyone else said they couldn\u2019t take him in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur wept again. \u201cI wanted you to be my real son.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot on the documents.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen let\u2019s fix the documents.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He opened his eyes. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI spoke with a notary. I\u2019m an adult now. We can do a formal adult adoption, a legal change if you want it. I don\u2019t need your last name to love you, but if it ever hurt you that you couldn\u2019t give it to me, we still have time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur was left entirely speechless. His hands reached out to find mine. They were rough hands, covered in calluses and marks\u2014hands that had carried heavy sacks, bicycles, crates of fish, buckets of water, and my entire life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you really want to take my last name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI want the world to stop believing you were just \u2018my stepfather.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He bowed his head. \u201cI never learned how to be refined.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI never needed refined. I needed a father.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, I brought him to my apartment. Laura welcomed him with tears in her eyes and hugged him so tightly that Arthur didn\u2019t even know where to put his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry for thinking the worst of you,\u201d she whispered to me in the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI would have thought the worst too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur ate very little at dinner. He stared at the furniture as if he were standing in a museum. When we served him soup, he asked if he could wash his own dish. When we told him no, he grew uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with my hands,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut you\u2019re a guest,\u201d Laura replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not a guest. I\u2019m family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Laura smiled. \u201cThat\u2019s exactly why you\u2019re not washing it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He fell quiet, entirely defeated by a logic he didn\u2019t know how to argue against.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Two days later, we traveled down to Savannah. I hadn\u2019t been back in years. The thick, warm air hit my face the moment we stepped out of the airport, carrying that heavy scent of salt, gasoline, and coastal marsh that embeds itself into your memory. Arthur took a deep breath, as if his lungs were finally returning to him. Inside the cab, he looked out at the streets with the eyes of an old child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We passed by the riverfront. The water was gray and beautiful. Large container ships loomed in the distance, massive and slow, like sleeping animals. Near the historic district, people strolled along with ice cream, children chased after pigeons, and a group of local musicians played acoustic music under the shade of the live oaks. The ambient sound dragged me violently back to my childhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you remember when I brought you out to see the parade?\u201d Arthur asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou held me up on your shoulders because I couldn\u2019t see past the crowd.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd my neck was stiff for three days.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut you didn\u2019t put me down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to miss a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We stopped by an old diner. Arthur ordered a coffee. When the clink of silverware echoed through the busy space, he laughed like I hadn\u2019t seen him laugh in years. That simple sound made me realize that all the money in the world meant absolutely nothing if it couldn\u2019t buy moments like this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mother loved coming down here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I watched the steam rise from my mug. \u201cTell me about her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe was brave. Braver than you. Braver than me. When she got sick, she asked me for only one thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo never leave you alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My throat tightened. \u201cAnd you never did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI couldn\u2019t save her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou saved me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t say anything to that. He just held his coffee cup with both hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next day, I took him to see the house. It sat on a quiet street where neighbors put out lawn chairs in the afternoon and small pots of basil lined the windows. It wasn\u2019t a mansion. It was a dignified, bright house with freshly painted walls and a backyard spacious enough for a lemon tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur stepped inside slowly. He touched the wall. He opened a window. He looked around the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe air actually circulates in here,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd it doesn\u2019t flood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned back toward me. \u201cSon, this is too much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. Too much was you going without food just so I could have schoolbooks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He walked out into the backyard. A wooden rocking chair was waiting for him on the porch. He sat down carefully, as if the entire house might vanish if he breathed too heavily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I plant peppers?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou can plant whatever you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what if I put a small bicycle repair setup in the garage?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled. \u201cThe garage is yours too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was when he completely broke down. Not like he did at the chapel. This time, he wept with his entire body, bent over his knees, clutching his shirt as if his chest ached. I rushed over to him, panicked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI never had anything of my own,\u201d he said between heavy sobs. \u201cNever. Not the bed. Not the room. Not the table. Always renting, always borrowing, always used.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knelt down in front of him. \u201cYou do now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what if I die during the operation?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t talk like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cListen to me, Daniel. If I die, I don\u2019t want you thinking you owe me anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI owe you everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. You owe me a good life. That\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The surgery took place a week later. At the hospital, Arthur tried to get up to greet every single nurse. He also tried to tip the orderly with coins he had hidden inside his sock. Laura gently took them away from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cArthur, please, just let yourself be taken care of.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not used to it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, start practicing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right before they wheeled him into the operating room, he gestured for me to come closer. I leaned in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSon, if something goes wrong\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNothing is going to go wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf it does, there\u2019s an old tin box in the house. I kept some letters from your mother in there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I froze. \u201cLetters?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe asked me to give them to you whenever you were happy. I thought you were already happy with your job. But now I see you\u2019re just starting to learn how.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t even find the words to answer. I just kissed his forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll be right here waiting for you, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The operation was a complete success. When the surgeon came out to tell us, I felt my legs give way. I sank into a plastic waiting room chair and wept just like that ten-year-old boy who used to smother his cries into a pillow. But this time, I didn\u2019t cry alone. Laura held me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And Arthur came back. Thin, exhausted, grumbling because the hospital food lacked salt, but alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Months later, we signed the final adoption paperwork. The notary read the document aloud. Arthur wore a brand-new white shirt, held his hat in his hands, and wore the cleanest shoes I had ever seen on him. I signed first. Then he signed. His hand was shaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When he finished, the notary smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCongratulations, gentlemen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Arthur looked down at my full, updated name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Daniel Reyes Hernandez Morales.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t exactly how he had dreamed it all those years ago. It was better. Because nobody could ever look at him again and tell him he didn\u2019t qualify.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That afternoon, we walked along the Savannah riverfront. The sun was setting over the water, and the lights around the harbor were beginning to flicker on. Children ran past with balloons, a couple was listening to a local street performer nearby, and the scent of fresh pastries drifted from a local shop. Arthur walked slowly, leaning on my arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you remember what you told me that day on the steps?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhich day?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe day you said you weren\u2019t going to give me a single dime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a wave of shame. \u201cDon\u2019t remind me of that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He let out a low chuckle. \u201cIt was the cruelest and the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat a strange way to look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s just that you didn\u2019t give me dimes, son. You gave me time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept quiet. The water lapped against the stone harbor wall. Arthur looked out toward the horizon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen I sold blood for you, I thought I was losing a piece of myself. But I wasn\u2019t. I was planting a seed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what did you harvest?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He squeezed my arm tightly. \u201cA son who came home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I couldn\u2019t speak. I just walked beside him, slowly, the exact same way he had walked beside me my entire life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That evening, back at his house, Arthur sat in the rocking chair on the porch. The lemon tree was still small, but its green leaves were vibrant. Laura brewed fresh coffee, and I pulled out the tin box. Inside were my mother\u2019s letters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The very first one read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cArthur, if my son ever asks who his father was, tell him the truth: a father is the one who stays.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I read that sentence out loud. Arthur closed his eyes. I rested my head against his shoulder, just like when I was a kid and would fall asleep after finishing my homework.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For years, I thought my promise to him was about paying him back for everything. I was wrong. Some debts cannot be paid back with money. They are honored. They are lived. They are cared for until the very last breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that night, while the coastal breeze moved the leaves of the small lemon tree, I finally understood that Arthur hadn\u2019t given his blood just so I could be wealthy. He gave it to me so that one day, I would have a heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And at long last, after all these years, I knew exactly how to use it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cPetition for adoption of the minor: Daniel Reyes Hernandez.\u201d That was my name. My name written right beneath his, as if someone had tried to bind us… <\/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-3978","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978","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=3978"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3980,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3978\/revisions\/3980"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3978"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3978"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3978"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}