\u201cThat\u2019s strange,\u201d<\/strong> I told him. \u201cI was just starting to get a taste for it.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad just stared at me as if I had thrown boiling water at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t yell at first. That was his thing: clenching his jaw, playing the victim, and waiting for me to come running to apologize. But that night, I was no longer the Lucy who begged for his attention with a hot dinner and tired eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t play games with me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMe? Brad, you brought the game into this house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood up abruptly. \u201cIt\u2019s one thing to open the relationship, and another for you to parade yourself around like a cheap woman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There it was. Freedom had invisible clauses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He could go out, sleep with whoever he wanted, come home smelling of cheap perfume, and say he was \u201cexploring.\u201d But I couldn\u2019t dance with a man who treated me like a person because then I was a cheap woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked over to the coffee table and picked up my ring. I didn\u2019t put it on. I dropped it into the drawer where we keep the keys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll talk calmly tomorrow. I don\u2019t feel like educating you tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad let out a bitter laugh. \u201cYou? Educate me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. Let\u2019s start with the basics: a wife is not a piece of furniture. And when you open a door, you can\u2019t get mad when she walks out of it, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I went upstairs to check on the kids. Sophia was asleep, hugging her unicorn. Matthew was sprawled across his bed, wearing one sock with the other nowhere in sight. I stood in the dim light looking at them, my heart tight, pierced by a single question:<\/p>\n\n\n\n How long had I been teaching them that a woman had to endure everything just to keep the family together?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The next morning, Brad didn\u2019t eat breakfast. He poured himself coffee, made a lot of noise with his mug, and waited for my reaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I made scrambled eggs and toast for the kids, signed Sophia\u2019s homework, and packed their lunches in their backpacks. I didn\u2019t ask him if he wanted any toast. I didn\u2019t ask if he was running late. I didn\u2019t ask him anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That made him desperate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe need to set some ground rules,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He adjusted his collar. \u201cI don\u2019t want you seeing that guy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEvan?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He clenched his jaw. \u201cDon\u2019t say his name in my kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked around. My<\/em> kitchen. The one I cleaned. The one I filled with groceries I bought by stretching every single dollar. The one he only stepped into to grab a beer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBrad, this kitchen doesn\u2019t get offended by names. It gets offended by hypocrisy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He slammed his fist on the table. Matthew jumped. Right then, my patience ran out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTone it down,\u201d I said, my voice so deadly serious I barely recognized myself. \u201cNot in front of my kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia grabbed her brother\u2019s hand. Brad looked at the kids and faked a smile. \u201cEverything\u2019s fine, champions. Your mom\u2019s just a little sensitive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sensitive.<\/em> Another word for not saying awake<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That day, I dropped the kids off at school and didn\u2019t go to dance class. I went to the bank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened an account in my name, separate from Brad\u2019s. I transferred the little bit I had saved from old nail salon jobs, deposits from former clients who still sought me out, and a rainy-day fund my mom had given me \u201cfor emergencies.\u201d I never thought the emergency would be my marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I went to an office supply store and bought a purple binder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The cashier asked me: \u201cLetter size?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNew life size,\u201d I replied without thinking. She laughed. So did I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That binder became my shield. I put in tuition receipts, mortgage statements, grocery bills, bank records, text messages from Brad, and screenshots of his late-night outings. Not for revenge. But to remember that reality also needs evidence when a man is used to twisting it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My sister Charlotte accompanied me to the local Women\u2019s Justice Center.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t want to go. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t hit me,\u201d I told her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Charlotte looked at me like she wanted to hug me and slap me at the same time. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t have to hit you to crush you, Lucy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the center, they educated me on psychological, economic, and financial abuse. They gave me legal advice and set up an appointment with a therapist. The counselor who helped me, Nora, didn\u2019t promise miracles. She promised order.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you decide to get a divorce, you can request orders regarding the house, child support, regulated visitation, and a restraining order if there are threats. But do not leave your home without a strategy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That phrase opened my eyes. Brad had been telling me for weeks to \u201cgo clear my head at my mom\u2019s house.\u201d It wasn\u2019t for peace. It was for the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That very night, I found the proof. I was looking for Matthew\u2019s tablet charger in the study when I saw a blue folder in Brad\u2019s drawer. It wasn\u2019t even hidden. That was his mistake: he always believed I didn\u2019t check anything because I didn\u2019t understand anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inside was a draft of a settlement agreement. No-fault divorce. Joint custody, but with primary residence at the house. Administration of the property going to Brad. My waiver of alimony because, according to him, I \u201chad freely accepted an open relationship and abandoned household duties.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat on the floor. The room suddenly felt very small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were also printouts of photos of me dancing. Screenshots of my social media stories. An image of Evan with his hand on my waist. Messages from Brad to a lawyer: \u201cI need it to look like she neglected the kids to go out partying.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And further down: \u201cThe house is in my name, but she paid part of the mortgage from her account. Can that be erased?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n My fingers went ice cold. The house. I had sold my nail salon business to make the down payment on that house. Brad promised to put it in both our names, but there was always some pending paperwork, some delay, a trip to the notary that never happened. He was the only one on the deed because \u201cit was easier for the loan with his W-2.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Easier. To leave me out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t cry. I took pictures of everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next day, I took the blue folder to Nora. She reviewed it and took a deep breath. \u201cLucy, your husband didn\u2019t want an open relationship. He wanted to manufacture a narrative.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo take my kids away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo use your kids to pressure you and keep the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt rage. But also clarity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nora recommended a family lawyer. Her name was Patricia Underwood, and her office was near downtown, on a street that smelled like warm donuts, fresh photocopies, and strong diner coffee. Patricia looked at my documents and said something I never forgot:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLove is debatable. Deeds are investigated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We investigated. And something else popped up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad had taken out a life insurance policy in my name eight months ago. He told me it was family insurance, that \u201cjust in case something happened,\u201d the kids would be protected. But the primary beneficiary was him. Not the kids. Him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And there was another policy on the house, tied to the mortgage. If I were gone, Brad could claim the payout and be completely debt-free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It sickened me to remember how many times he told me I was depressed, that I no longer dressed up, that I seemed to be fading away. Fading away.<\/em> As if he were preparing everyone to believe it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia was clear: \u201cDo not eat or drink anything he prepares for you. Do not sign anything. Do not argue with him alone. Put everything in writing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, Brad came home with flowers. Flowers. After months of telling me I didn\u2019t provoke anything in him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLucy,\u201d he said softly, \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I got scared. I saw you with that instructor and it hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was in the kitchen, washing grapes for the kids. \u201cHow funny. You hurt me for two years and you never got scared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stepped closer. \u201cLet\u2019s close the relationship. Let\u2019s start over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at the flowers. Then at his face. \u201cStart over to what? To you going out while I ask fewer questions? To you calling me old when I dress comfortably and ridiculous when I dress up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His gaze hardened. \u201cThat Evan guy has been filling your head with garbage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. Evan taught me how to spin. You\u2019re the one who filled my head with evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad caught on too late. \u201cWhat evidence?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled at him. \u201cEnough so you can stop talking to me like I\u2019m an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next day, we filed the lawsuit. Divorce. Child support for Sophia and Matthew. Recognition of my financial contributions to the household and the mortgage. An injunction so Brad couldn\u2019t sell or borrow against the house. And supervised visitation while his threats and text messages were reviewed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When he was served with the papers, he lost his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n First, he called me thirty times. Then he sent messages: \u201cI\u2019m going to take the kids away from you.\u201d<\/em> \u201cNo one is going to believe some woman who goes out dancing with another guy.\u201d<\/em> \u201cThat house is mine.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Screenshot. Screenshot. Screenshot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then he did what cowards do when they lose control: he went to my mother-in-law. Eleanor showed up at my house with her rosary, a canvas tote bag, and a sharp tongue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLucy, a decent woman takes care of her marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd a decent man doesn\u2019t prepare a legal dossier to destroy the mother of his children.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She crossed herself. \u201cThe devil put that nonsense in your head.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, ma\u2019am. I found it in your son\u2019s drawer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I left her sitting there with a cup of coffee and placed the photocopies in front of her. She read in silence. When she got to the message where Brad asked how to \u201cerase\u201d my payments, she took off her reading glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis boy turned out exactly like his father,\u201d she murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was the first time I realized Brad wasn\u2019t a surprise. He was an inheritance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The preliminary hearing was on a Tuesday. I arrived with Patricia, my purple binder, and a blue blouse that Sophia picked out because, according to her, it made me look \u201clike a boss.\u201d Brad arrived wearing a suit, cologne, and playing the martyr.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His lawyer spoke about my \u201cinappropriate conduct.\u201d He claimed I had agreed to an open relationship and then used it to humiliate Brad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia asked for the floor. \u201cYour Honor, my client is not here to litigate jealousy. She is here because Mr. Brad used a supposed \u2018open relationship\u2019 to manufacture evidence, threaten to take away her children, attempt to erase her financial contributions, and hide insurance policies.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The judge reviewed the messages. Brad shifted in his chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Patricia placed the receipts of my mortgage wire transfers on the table. Month by month. Year by year. Also, the records from the sale of my salon to pay the down payment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis house wasn\u2019t built on a W-2 alone,\u201d Patricia said. \u201cIt was also built on unpaid domestic labor, career sacrifices, and direct financial contributions from my client.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt something straighten up inside me. For the first time, someone had said out loud that my life counted as work, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The judge issued temporary orders. The kids would stay with me in the family home. Brad had to pay child support. He couldn\u2019t sell, rent, or leverage the house. Visitation would be strictly regulated. And he would have to surrender all information regarding insurance policies, bank accounts, and lines of credit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad lowered his head. Not out of guilt. Out of a failed calculation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On our way out, he caught up to me in the hallway. \u201cLucy, you\u2019re destroying the family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at him. \u201cNo. I\u2019m just no longer the floor you stepped on to pretend you were standing tall.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Evan wasn\u2019t my savior. I want to make that clear. He remained my dance instructor, my friend, the man who reminded me to breathe when the music started. He bought me coffee, yes. He looked at me sweetly, too. But he never asked me to run to him to escape Brad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One afternoon, after class, he told me: \u201cYou don\u2019t need to fall in love with someone to know you deserve respect.\u201d That made me cry harder than any compliment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over time, I went back to doing nails. I started at the dining room table, with a UV lamp I bought on an installment plan and polishes I had kept from before. The neighbors came first. Then friends of friends. Then a teacher from Sophia\u2019s school asked me for designs for her daughter\u2019s Sweet Sixteen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every payment went into my account. Every client who left happy handed me back a piece of the woman Brad had left to gather dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I put a small sign in the window: \u201cLucy\u2019s Nails. Text to book.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Matthew asked me: \u201cAre you a boss now, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kissed his forehead. \u201cI always was. I had just forgotten.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad, meanwhile, drowned in his own freedom. The young girl from the patio stopped texting him when she found out about the child support. His \u201cmodern\u201d buddies vanished into thin air the second he started asking to borrow money. At work, he got called into Human Resources for using the corporate card at hotels and bars where he supposedly had \u201cclient dinners.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The proof came from his own bank statements. The exact ones the judge had ordered him to turn over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The final blow came with the insurance company. Patricia called me one morning. \u201cLucy, I need you to come in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I went with a knot in my stomach. In her office, there was a new document. A request to change the beneficiaries on my life insurance, supposedly signed by me. It was dated the week before Brad proposed opening up our relationship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My signature was forged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The beneficiary wasn\u2019t just Brad. There was also a woman named Karen. The young girl from the patio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I went cold. \u201cWhy her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia pointed to another sheet of paper. \u201cBecause Brad had promised to open a business with her using that money if you ever \u2018got out of the way.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t understand. \u201cGot out of what way?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Patricia didn\u2019t sugarcoat it. \u201cKaren gave a sworn statement. She says Brad told her you were severely depressed, that you couldn\u2019t handle the separation, and that maybe \u2018one day you\u2019d do something crazy.\u2019 She got terrified when she found out there was actually a life insurance policy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt nauseous. It wasn\u2019t just about wanting to leave me. It wasn\u2019t just about wanting to take the house. Brad had been planting the idea of my mental collapse so he could harvest the cash if something happened to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t sleep that night. I watched my children breathe and realized that my intuition had saved me before my brain even had all the evidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Karen testified. Not out of goodness. Out of fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She handed over text messages where Brad said: \u201cLucy is unstable. If she kills herself, everyone is going to say it was because of our affair.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The word shattered me. Not because it was true. But because he had wanted to manufacture a possible death using the very same humiliations he used to call a marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The criminal complaint escalated. The case grew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mother-in-law, against all odds, testified that Brad had manipulated the paperwork and that I had paid the down payment. Eleanor cried as she walked out of the courthouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cForgive me, Lucy. I was the one who told you to endure it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hugged her. Not because the slate was wiped clean. But because sometimes an older woman needs to see her own son fall in order to stop defending the abuse that raised her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The divorce was finalized months later. The house was settled: I kept the use of the property with the kids, and Brad was forced to legally recognize my financial contributions. Child support was garnished directly from his paycheck. The insurance policies were canceled or modified strictly in favor of Sophia and Matthew, with a court-supervised trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad lost the house as his throne. He lost his corporate card. He lost Karen. He lost his buddies with their modern speeches. And he lost what he protected most: the version of himself where he was always the desirable man and never the one to blame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The last time I saw him was at a hearing. He showed up skinnier, with a poorly trimmed beard and a wrinkled shirt. He looked at me as if I had stolen something from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou changed,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smiled. \u201cNo. I just stopped folding myself in half so you could look tall.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He pressed his lips together. \u201cEvan is going to leave you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMaybe,\u201d I said. \u201cBut you\u2019re no longer my punishment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He didn\u2019t answer. Because the truth didn\u2019t leave him any room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night I went dancing. Not just with Evan. With my classmates, with divorced women, widows, married women, single women, tired women, reborn women. We danced swing in a hall that smelled like perfume, scuffed heels, and reclaimed life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When the song started, Evan offered me his hand. I took it. I did a spin. Then another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This time, I didn\u2019t look to see if anyone was watching me. I watched myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I got home, Sophia was awake. \u201cMom, are you happy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat next to her. \u201cI\u2019m learning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo dance?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I smoothed her hair. \u201cTo stay where I\u2019m loved properly. And to leave where I\u2019m not.\u201d She hugged me tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next day, while cleaning out the drawer where I used to keep my ring, I found a folded piece of paper. It was a note from Brad, old, written in his rushed handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t for me. It was for his lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf Lucy agrees to open the relationship, we press her later. With photos of her going out, we demand custody and the house. She doesn\u2019t have a strong income. She\u2019ll sign.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at the paper. I thought I already knew everything. But at the bottom, there was one more line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBesides, my dad did it to my mom and it worked.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a blow to my chest. Eleanor. The woman who told me to endure it because she, too, had been forced to endure it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I put the note away. Not to destroy anything else. To break the cycle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That afternoon, I went to see her. I put the paper in front of her. Eleanor read it and started crying like a little girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI signed away the house out of fear,\u201d she said. \u201cHis father left me with nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I took her hand. \u201cThen we\u2019re going to look for your papers, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked at me as if I had opened a window for her after forty years. And that was the plot twist Brad never imagined. His own master plan didn\u2019t just wake me up. It woke his mother up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Months later, Eleanor recovered a portion of the property her husband had tricked her out of. It wasn\u2019t everything. But it was enough to move into a small apartment, put plants on her windowsill, and stop asking for permission to breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad also lost his childhood home. Not because of me. Because of the truth he wrote down himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One Sunday, my kids, my mother-in-law, and I had a BBQ at the house. Yes, my mother-in-law. Life takes weird turns. She brought the potato salad, and I made the brisket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia asked: \u201cIs Dad coming?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot today,\u201d I said. \u201cToday is a peaceful day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matthew raised his glass of water. \u201cTo peaceful days.\u201d We clinked our glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked at my house, my table, my freshly painted nails, my kids laughing, and Eleanor wiping away a tear without any shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Brad wanted to open the relationship to feel free. But he confused freedom with permission to use me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What he never calculated was that, by letting me off the leash, I was going to find the keys to my business, my bank account, my house, my children, and even his mother\u2019s buried history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, I put on the red dress again. Not for Brad. Not for Evan. For me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And when I left, I left the ring in the drawer, right next to the note that condemned him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because there are men who open a door thinking a woman is only going to look outside. Brad opened mine. And I didn\u2019t look. I walked out.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My husband wanted to \u201cgive us freedom\u201d because he said I didn\u2019t provoke anything in him anymore\u2026 and I ended up being the woman everyone turned to… <\/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-2962","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2962","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2962"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2962\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2971,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2962\/revisions\/2971"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2962"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2962"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2962"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}