\u201c\u2026then I\u2019ll make sure you never see a penny from me again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The room went so silent that even the air seemed afraid to move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s voice came again from the recorder, weaker this time, trembling between breaths.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEthan\u2026 please\u2026 that house is for Teresa and Camila. Your father and I promised\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came the sound of a chair scraping across the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My brother laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not the soft, embarrassed laugh of a man caught doing something shameful. Not even an angry laugh. It was colder than that. It was the laugh of someone who believed my mother\u2019s fear belonged to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou always choose her,\u201d Ethan said on the recording. \u201cEven now. Teresa doesn\u2019t even have time to sit with you, but you want to leave everything to her? Fine. Then sign the pension papers first. After that, we\u2019ll talk about the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s breathing grew uneven.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t feel right,\u201d she whispered. \u201cWhat did you put in my tea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a sharp silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Ethan\u2019s voice dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEnough questions, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila buried her face against my leg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Miller crossed herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One of the paramedics looked at me and quietly said, \u201cKeep that recording safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But Ethan was still on the phone, still listening, and now his breathing had changed completely. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the lazy little laugh. What remained was panic trying to disguise itself as anger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTeresa,\u201d he said, \u201cturn that off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at the phone like it had become something filthy. \u201cWhy? You wanted proof. Here it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t understand what you\u2019re doing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, Ethan,\u201d I said, my voice so calm it frightened even me. \u201cFor the first time in my life, I understand exactly what I\u2019m doing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The recorder continued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a rustling sound, then my mother crying softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPlease don\u2019t make me sign\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Ethan\u2019s voice again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not dying today, Mom. Stop being dramatic. You\u2019ll wake up later and won\u2019t remember half of this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at my mother on the stretcher. Her face was pale. Her mouth hung slightly open. Her eyelids fluttered like she was trapped under the weight of something she could not fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou thought she wouldn\u2019t remember,\u201d I said into the phone. \u201cBut she knew you. She knew exactly what kind of son you had become.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan cursed under his breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The paramedics wheeled my mother out of the house. I followed them with Camila in my arms while Mrs. Miller carried the recorder inside a clean plastic bag one of the paramedics had given her. The unlabeled bottle was sealed too. The pension document, the notebook, the teacup, everything was photographed before we left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I rode in the ambulance with my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila sat against me, silent and shaking. Every few minutes, she looked at her grandmother\u2019s face and whispered, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I kissed the top of her head again and again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou saved her,\u201d I told her. \u201cYou hear me? You saved Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my daughter did not smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the hospital, doctors moved fast. They took blood. They flushed her system. They asked questions I could barely answer because my mind kept replaying Ethan\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sign it, Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Don\u2019t be difficult.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If you don\u2019t give me that house while you\u2019re still alive\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The police arrived before midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By then, my mother was in a hospital bed with tubes in her arm, still unconscious but stable. A detective named Alvarez stood in the hallway with a notebook in his hand while I told him everything\u2014Ethan\u2019s sudden visits, my mother\u2019s confusion, the missing cards, the deed, the forged authorization, the locked door, the bottle, the recorder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I handed him the tiny device, I felt like I was handing over the last piece of my family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Detective Alvarez listened to the recording with headphones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His face did not change much, but his jaw tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When he finished, he removed the headphones slowly and looked toward my mother\u2019s room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour mother was very smart,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at her through the glass. \u201cShe was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBoth can be true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At 2:13 in the morning, Ethan called me again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The detective was still there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time, he nodded for me to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put the call on speaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan\u2019s voice was different now. Softer. Almost pleading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTeresa, listen. We\u2019re family. Don\u2019t let strangers get between us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost laughed. \u201cStrangers?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe police. The neighbors. The hospital. Come on. You know how Mom is. She gets confused. She probably told Camila all kinds of nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at Camila asleep in a chair outside the hospital room, her small body curled into itself like she was trying to disappear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou locked my six-year-old daughter in a house with her unconscious grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t lock her in. The door sticks. You know that old door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou took Mom\u2019s cards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was keeping them safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou forged her signature.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe was helping me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou drugged her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he whispered, \u201cYou can\u2019t prove that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Detective Alvarez lifted his eyes to mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I said, \u201cThe bottle is with the police. So is the teacup. So is the recording. So is the pension paper. And Camila saw you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan\u2019s breathing shook through the speaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the pleading disappeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou always wanted to ruin me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I answered. \u201cI wanted a brother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the last thing I said to him before the detective took the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By sunrise, Ethan was arrested at a motel two towns over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had my mother\u2019s Social Security card in his wallet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her bank card was hidden inside his shoe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The deed to her house was folded inside the glove compartment of his car, along with three more documents he had prepared but not yet filed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One of them made my knees go weak when Detective Alvarez showed it to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a transfer deed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To Ethan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With a blank line waiting for her signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But that was not the worst part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The worst part was the date.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had prepared it two weeks earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This was not a mistake. It was not desperation. It was not one bad decision made in panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had planned it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had watched our mother grow weaker. He had visited with smiles, with groceries, with false concern. He had waited until I was working, until Camila was too young to fight him, until Mom was old enough that people might believe she was simply confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And when she refused, he put something in her tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For three days, my mother did not fully wake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat beside her hospital bed, holding her swollen hand and listening to the machines breathe around us. Camila drew pictures for her\u2014crooked hearts, little flowers, a brown teddy bear with a red light in its belly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the fourth day, my mother opened her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her gaze was cloudy at first. Then it found me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTeresa,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I leaned over her, crying before I could stop myself. \u201cI\u2019m here, Mom. I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her lips trembled. \u201cCamila?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe\u2019s safe. She\u2019s right here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila climbed onto the chair beside the bed and took my mother\u2019s hand carefully, as if she were made of glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Grandma looked at her and began to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy brave girl,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila shook her head. \u201cI was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother turned her hand just enough to touch her cheek. \u201cBrave people are scared too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later, when the doctors said she was strong enough, Detective Alvarez came in and asked if she remembered what happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a long moment, I thought she would say no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she opened them again, and the old fire I had not seen in years flickered behind her tired face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI remember my son telling me I owed him my house,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The detective wrote it down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI remember the tea tasting bitter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He wrote that down too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI remember him putting the pen in my hand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My throat closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd I remember thinking, if I could not stop him, maybe Camila could.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was when I understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The teddy bear had not been an accident. The recorder had not been panic. My mother had known Ethan was getting worse. She had known no one would believe her if he played the devoted son and called her confused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So she had protected herself in the only way she could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Secretly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like women in our family always did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan did not stay quiet for long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From jail, he called relatives. Cousins I had not spoken to in years suddenly messaged me. An aunt said I was being cruel. Another said family problems should stay inside the family. Someone else said my mother was old and maybe she had misunderstood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Ethan\u2019s lawyer tried to make the same argument.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Old woman. Confused memory. Overworked daughter. Frightened child. Misunderstanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a few weeks, it felt like the truth had to fight harder than the lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my mother had one more surprise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Mrs. Miller came to visit her in the hospital, she brought a small envelope. She said my mother had given it to her two months earlier with strict instructions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf anything ever happens when Ethan is around,\u201d my mother had told her, \u201cgive this to Teresa.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s handwriting was shaky, but every word was clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Teresa,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If you are reading this, then my fear was not foolish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Your brother has been asking about my pension, my bank card, and the house. He tells me you are too tired, too poor, too busy, and that after I die you will lose everything anyway. He says he can \u201cmanage things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I am writing this while my mind is clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I do not want Ethan to have control over my pension, my bank account, or my house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I want my house protected for you and Camila.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Your father and I bought this house with years of pain in our backs. It is not much, but it is ours. If Ethan tries to say I changed my mind, do not believe him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And if I am too weak to speak, remember this:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A mother knows when a child has stopped loving her and started counting what she owns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had to sit down after reading that line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A mother knows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The letter changed everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The prosecutor added charges. Financial exploitation of an elderly person. Forgery. Theft. Unlawful restraint. Child endangerment. Possession and use of a sedative without consent. Attempted fraud involving property transfer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan denied everything until the lab results came back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bottle contained a strong sedative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The same substance was found in my mother\u2019s blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Traces were found in the teacup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His fingerprints were on the bottle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His fingerprints were on the forged authorization.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the recorder had captured enough of his voice to make even his lawyer stop smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The day of the hearing, my mother insisted on going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was still weak, walking with a cane, her body thinner than before, but she wore her nicest blue dress and pinned her silver hair back the way she used to for church.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila held her hand on one side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I held the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan was brought in wearing an orange jumpsuit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For one second, when he saw our mother, his face changed. Not with guilt. Not with sorrow. With irritation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As if she had embarrassed him by surviving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked at me next, and his mouth tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he saw Camila.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My daughter stood a little taller.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the prosecutor played the recording in court, Ethan stared at the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s voice filled the courtroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEthan, I don\u2019t want to sign anything\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then his voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSign it, Mom. Don\u2019t be difficult\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody coughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every word he had spoken in that old house returned to him under fluorescent lights, in front of a judge, lawyers, police officers, and the mother he thought he could silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the prosecutor played the next part\u2014the part we had not heard that first night because I had stopped the recorder too soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s voice, weak but clear:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat house is not yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan\u2019s answer:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt will be when I\u2019m done.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother closed her eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I squeezed her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The judge denied bail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan turned around before they took him away and looked directly at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is your fault,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did not answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said, her voice fragile but sharp enough to cut him. \u201cIt is yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the last time he saw her outside a courtroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Months passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother slowly recovered, though she was never quite the same. Some days her hands shook more than before. Some nights she woke crying, saying she could still taste the bitterness in the tea. But she was alive. She was present. And every morning, she sat by the window with Camila, helping her with spelling words and telling her stories about my father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The house changed too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We changed the locks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We installed cameras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Miller\u2019s husband fixed the broken doorframe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And my mother, who had once guarded her pension notebook like a secret, finally let me help her with her accounts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One afternoon, she placed the notebook in front of me and said, \u201cI\u2019m tired of being afraid of paper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So we went to a lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not Ethan\u2019s lawyer. Not someone he knew. A woman my mother chose herself after asking three neighbors and the church secretary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Together, we created a trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The house would remain my mother\u2019s for as long as she lived. After that, it would pass to me and Camila. Ethan would receive one dollar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One single dollar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother insisted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The lawyer gently asked if she was sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother smiled, but there was no softness in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want him to know I did not forget him,\u201d she said. \u201cI want him to know I remembered exactly who he was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At sentencing, Ethan tried one last performance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He said stress had broken him. He said he had debts. He said he loved our mother and only wanted to \u201cmanage things better.\u201d He said I had poisoned everyone against him. He said Camila was a child and children misunderstood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the judge asked my mother if she wanted to speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stood slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The courtroom watched her struggle with her cane, but she refused help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked at Ethan for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy son,\u201d she said, \u201cI gave you life. I fed you when I had nothing. I forgave you when you lied. I opened my door every time you came back pretending to be sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan lowered his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut the day you put that pen in my hand while I could not defend myself, you stopped being a son and became a thief sitting at my table.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He began to cry harder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother did not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou wanted my pension. You wanted my house. You wanted me quiet. So now I will give you what you earned.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The judge sentenced him to prison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not as long as my anger wanted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But long enough for his debts to swallow themselves, long enough for every scheme to rot, long enough for the world outside to move on without him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the bitterest part came two weeks later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ethan\u2019s creditors came looking for the house he had bragged would soon be his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They found nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His name was on nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The pension account had been frozen and protected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The deed was secured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The forged papers were useless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And when the final legal notice arrived, stating that Ethan had no claim, no authority, no ownership, and no access to any part of my mother\u2019s property, my mother read it once, folded it carefully, and placed it inside the same pension notebook he had tried to use against her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she took out one dollar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A single crisp bill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She put it in an envelope and wrote Ethan\u2019s name across the front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At first, I thought she meant to mail it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But she shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cThis is for later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Years from now, when Ethan walks out of prison, older, poorer, and carrying the kind of shame no fresh shirt can hide, he will receive that envelope through a lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside will be the one dollar my mother left him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And behind it, a copy of her final note:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the son who tried to steal everything before I was dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is your inheritance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do not spend it all in one place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother survived him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was her revenge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Camila remembered everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was his punishment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the house he tried to take still stands in that quiet Ohio neighborhood, with new locks on the doors, flowers under the windows, and a brown teddy bear sitting on the TV stand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Its belly is empty now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But sometimes, when sunlight hits its glass eyes just right, I still think it looks like it is watching.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201c\u2026then I\u2019ll make sure you never see a penny from me again.\u201d The room went so silent that even the air seemed afraid to move. My mother\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-8198","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8198","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=8198"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8198\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8201,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8198\/revisions\/8201"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8198"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8198"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/myanh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8198"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}