\u201cCongratulations. Mine died a long time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah didn\u2019t hang up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the other end, I heard her heavy breathing, as if she were also carrying years that weren\u2019t hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m not asking you to forgive him,\u201d she said. \u201cNot even he dares to ask for that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I let out another laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow considerate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Logan\u2026 your dad doesn\u2019t want forgiveness. He wants to give you back something your mom never knew about.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even the neighbor\u2019s dog stopped barking, or so it felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cKeep my mother\u2019s name out of your mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right. I\u2019m sorry. But if you hang up, they are going to sell everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho is \u2018they\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mom. My brother Nathan. The lawyer they brought in. They already have a buyer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I clenched my jaw.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet them sell his bed for all I care. I don\u2019t want anything from that old man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not his,\u201d Leah said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her voice cracked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Nora\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t sleep that night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat in the kitchen, the phone on the table, looking at the framed photo of my mother. She was wearing her blue shawl, the same one I buried her in, and a tired smile that still seemed to scold me to stay out of trouble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I also heard her voice from that day in front of the mirror:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m never begging a bastard who isn\u2019t worth two cents as a father again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At six in the morning, I drove down to Dallas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The city was waking up with the smell of fresh biscuits, wood smoke, and strong coffee. I drove past the old downtown farmer\u2019s market, where the diners were already setting out pans and the alleyways were starting to fill with the smell of smoked brisket. Everything was the same, and at the same time, I felt like I was on my way to unearth my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah was waiting for me outside the General Hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was younger than I had imagined. Thirty-something. Swollen eyes. A messy braid. She didn\u2019t look like Everett, and that made me angry because I couldn\u2019t hate her immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThanks for coming,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t come for him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She led me down a long hallway, filled with families holding blankets, bags of food, water bottles, and early-morning faces. In this country, public hospitals smell like bleach, fear, and stale sandwiches. Right then I understood that Everett\u2019s death wasn\u2019t going to have a soundtrack of justice. It was going to have beeping machines and people waiting their turn to suffer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before entering the room, Leah stopped me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mom and my brother don\u2019t know I called you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd why did you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause I grew up believing you were the ungrateful son who never wanted to see my dad. Yesterday I found the folder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat folder?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pulled out a canvas tote bag and handed me an old, yellow manila folder with chewed-up corners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Opening it, I saw my mother\u2019s name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nora Cross.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I saw a deed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A property in Oak Creek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A small house, with a yard and two storefronts in the front.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And a signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother\u2019s signature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Forged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew it instantly. My mom wrote her name slowly, with a large, proud \u2018N\u2019, because she always said that even letters should stand up straight. This signature was rushed, crooked, faked by someone who had never seen her wash clothes with cracked, bleeding fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah swallowed hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy dad used that house to take out a loan. Then he \u2018sold\u2019 it to a buddy. Later, he got it back under the name of an LLC where my mom is listed. They\u2019ve been renting it out for years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt the air tear at my throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother died paying rent for a damp room. She died counting pennies to buy medicine. She died without knowing she owned a house that was generating money for Everett\u2019s second family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFor how long?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah didn\u2019t want to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow long?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThirty-eight years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost grabbed the folder and ripped it up right there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But then I thought of Nora drinking salt water to trick her hunger, while that man collected rent on a house that belonged to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked into the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Everett was in a bed by the window. Thin. Yellowish. With his skin clinging to his bones and sunken eyes. He was no longer the man with polished boots. He was a pile of guilt breathing through a tube.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He saw me and cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or at least, that\u2019s what I wanted to believe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThomas,\u201d he said with a paper-thin voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Logan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The blow hurt him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t come to say goodbye,\u201d I told him. \u201cI came for Nora.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He closed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He coughed. Leah brought a small spoon of water to his lips. It burned me to see her care for him. Not because he didn\u2019t deserve care, but because my mother never had anyone holding a glass for her when her hands were too swollen to move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Everett pointed to a metal lockbox under the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEverything is in there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah pulled it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside were notebooks, receipts, bank statements, copies of deeds, a will, a life insurance policy, and an envelope with my name on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour mom didn\u2019t know,\u201d he said. \u201cOr maybe she did. I never had the courage to ask her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mother didn\u2019t know how to live off what wasn\u2019t hers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cried harder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI sold what was hers. I thought I\u2019d replace it later. Then Leah was born. Then Nathan was born. Then I was too ashamed to go back. Then it was too late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I leaned in closer to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFor my brother Ben, it was too late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Everett closed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ben died at nine years old, his lungs filled with a cough, while my mother sold her sewing machine to pay for oxygen. Everett never showed up. Not at the hospital. Not at the funeral. Not when I, at twelve years old, carried a white casket that weighed less than a father\u2019s guilt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. You didn\u2019t want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He didn\u2019t argue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That infuriated me more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wanted him to defend himself so I could hate him cleanly. But there he was, defeated, and his defeat didn\u2019t bring anything back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah placed her phone on the bed, recording the audio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDad, say it again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Everett breathed heavily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI, Everett Charles Logan, acknowledge that I forged the signature of Nora Cross to dispose of her property in Oak Creek. I acknowledge that I used the rent from that property for the benefit of myself and my second family. I acknowledge that I never paid child support for my sons Thomas and Benjamin. I want the property, the pending rent, and the life insurance to go to Thomas, as the heir of Nora and my son Benjamin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The door burst open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A woman with dyed blonde hair stormed in. Behind her was a heavy-set man in an expensive shirt with small, mean eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on here?!\u201d she yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah stood up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMom\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou traitor!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man, Nathan, looked me up and down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo you\u2019re the abandoned one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd you\u2019re the freeloader.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He lunged at me, but Leah stepped in between.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNathan, there are doctors right outside.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat house is ours!\u201d he yelled. \u201cMy dad worked for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Something inside me ignited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy mother paid for it with blood before your mom even learned how to collect rent.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The blonde woman, Ophelia, lifted her chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNora never claimed it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause she didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ophelia smiled. A tiny, ugly smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWomen who don\u2019t check their paperwork lose out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sentence was her undoing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because Leah pulled out another document.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, Mom. Nora did claim it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We all looked at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even Everett opened his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leah placed a copy on the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI found this at the County Clerk\u2019s office. A property lien for unpaid child support and real estate fraud, filed by Nora Cross twenty-six years ago. The case was archived because they couldn\u2019t locate my dad. But it was never canceled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt my chest crack open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother had<\/em> fought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Quietly. Alone. With her worn-out shoes. But she fought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia turned pale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat doesn\u2019t count.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Leah spoke with a calmness I hadn\u2019t seen in her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe lawyer already reviewed it. The retroactive child support debt can be claimed against the estate. And a forgery doesn\u2019t disappear just because it suits you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan tried to snatch the paper from her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At that moment, Mr. Sullivan walked in\u2014an estate attorney in a crisp white shirt with a serious gaze, accompanied by two witnesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo not touch someone else\u2019s documents,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan backed away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The attorney approached Everett.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMr. Logan, do you ratify your statement and your will?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett looked at Ophelia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She shook her head vigorously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time, he didn\u2019t obey her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you fully aware of the consequences?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs anyone pressuring you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I held his gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe only pressure I have is shame.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The attorney recorded everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia started crying, claiming he was medicated, that Leah was manipulating him, that I showed up like a vulture smelling an inheritance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The doctor walked in and checked his chart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe patient is lucid and competent to declare,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan punched the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not going to let this guy take what belongs to my family!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s when Leah pulled out the final piece of evidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n An audio file.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan\u2019s voice filled the room:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMake the old man sign it before he dies. If not, that Thomas guy is gonna come playing the victim. The Oak Creek house gets sold, and Leah can just shut her mouth.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Ophelia\u2019s voice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd change the insurance policy. I don\u2019t want Nora or her starving kids showing up on it.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett closed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t know if it was out of physical pain, or the pain of realizing that the cruelty he planted had fully grown inside his own house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The attorney stayed silent for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis will also be attached to the file.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia stopped crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan stopped yelling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Greed, when forced to listen to its own voice, loses its elegance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett died two days later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t call him Dad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t give him the peace he hadn\u2019t earned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But right before he left, I told him one thing:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNora didn\u2019t die begging you for anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n His eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe was better than me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlways.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no hug. No forgiveness. No background music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just a man leaving this world knowing that the woman he abandoned had been infinitely greater than his remorse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The legal battle lasted for months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia and Nathan tried to contest the will. They alleged dementia, manipulation, ingratitude\u2014whatever they could think of. But there were the recordings, the doctor, the attorney, the deeds, Nora\u2019s lien, the rental bank statements, and the insurance receipts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The policy had a history, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett had taken it out years ago, back when he still worked for a construction company. The original beneficiary: Nora Cross. He was never able to change it because he needed her signature. After her death, the right passed to her children. Ben was no longer here. Only I remained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia found out in an office, sitting across from a lawyer who didn\u2019t even offer her a glass of water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut I was his wife!\u201d she yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lawyer looked at the file.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd Nora was the beneficiary you tried to erase.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nathan lost the buyer for the house. Then he lost the truck he had put a down payment on using the rent money. After that, he was subpoenaed for attempted fraudulent disposal of assets and document forgery. Ophelia had to hand over keys, contracts, and bank accounts where, for years, money that wasn\u2019t hers had been deposited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Leah testified against them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It cost her her home. Her family. Her comfortable last name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One day she told me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t expect you to love me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know if I can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I poured her a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was the closest thing we had to a truce.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first time I stepped into the house in Oak Creek, I carried my mother\u2019s blue shawl in a bag. The facade was painted green. It had two storefronts in the front and a backyard with a dead pecan tree. Inside, it smelled of humidity, dust, and expensive neglect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On one wall, I found an old mark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A height line drawn in pencil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It read: \u201cTommy, 3 years old.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I broke down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mother had<\/em> lived there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I did<\/em> have a home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t just an idea. It wasn\u2019t just a piece of paper. It was a wall that remembered my size right before Everett left us without a roof over our heads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened up the storefronts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One of them had been rented out to a whiskey distributor. The other was empty, filled with boxes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right there, I hung a photo of Nora.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With her shawl. With her calloused hands. With her clean conscience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sold a few things, fixed up others, and decided not to live there. I couldn\u2019t. That house had too many ghosts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I turned it into something better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNora\u2019s House.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A small community kitchen for women who clean other people\u2019s homes, for single mothers, for lonely old folks, for anyone who needed to eat without having to ask for permission. It wasn\u2019t some politician\u2019s charity. It was memory served on warm ceramic plates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Leah helped with the paperwork.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I funded it with the life insurance money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And on the wall by the entrance, I had them paint:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere, no one drinks salt water to pretend they\u2019ve already eaten.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n On opening day, we made pulled pork sandwiches, baked beans, macaroni, and sweet tea. Neighbors came, ladies from the farmer\u2019s market, a small group of teenagers from the neighborhood, and even old Mr. Martin from the grocery store, pushed in a wheelchair by his grandson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour mom was a real woman,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, she was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd your father\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I raised my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe don\u2019t set a place for that name here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The old man nodded. He understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The final twist came that afternoon, when Leah handed me a box she had found behind a false panel in Everett\u2019s closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Inside was a letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The handwriting had that large \u2018N\u2019, standing tall just like she did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTommy: if you ever read this, don\u2019t think I lost everything. There are things a woman loses on paper, but not in dignity. I went to report your father. I didn\u2019t have enough time or money in this life to see him pay. But I left a record. Because one day, my boys might need to know that their mother didn\u2019t stay on her knees.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat in the backyard and cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t fill yourself with hate, my son. Hate is just another house that doesn\u2019t belong to you. Take back what is fair, and then walk away. Live somewhere it doesn\u2019t hurt to breathe.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I folded the letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Everett didn\u2019t give anything back to me out of the goodness of his heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nora had left the door of justice wide open before she died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He just arrived too late to close it, and he couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ophelia tried to erase my mother. Nathan tried to sell her house. Everett tried to buy a forgiveness he was never owed, using documents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They all lost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mother, dead and all, was the only one who ended up on her feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, every year on the anniversary of her passing, I set up a small memorial at Nora\u2019s House. Fresh flowers, sweet bread, hot coffee, and a glass of water. Not with salt. Clean water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes Leah comes by and leaves a candle. I don\u2019t chase her away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She is also paying for a legacy she didn\u2019t choose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I no longer dream of Everett walking out the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I dream of my mother walking in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With her sandals covered in dust. With her tired back. With a property deed in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And when I wake up, I no longer feel like I failed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because I kept my promise, but I understand it better now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That man never stepped foot in my life again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His debt did. His lie did. The house he stole did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And all of that was resolved with the right name painted on the door:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nora.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mother died without seeing him pay a single dime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But she didn\u2019t die defeated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She left a signature, a legal claim, a hidden truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And forty-nine years later, when everyone thought Everett had come to give us something back, we discovered the ultimate justice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n What was finally placed back in my hands was never his to give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was always hers.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cCongratulations. Mine died a long time ago.\u201d Leah didn\u2019t hang up. On the other end, I heard her heavy breathing, as if she were also carrying years… <\/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-492","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/492","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=492"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/492\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":495,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/492\/revisions\/495"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=492"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=492"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ustinh.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=492"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}