The roses had become mine to care for.<\/p>\n
That realization annoyed me more than it should have.<\/p>\n
Rachel had planted them twelve years earlier along the back fence, choosing varieties according to a system I never understood. She knew which branches to cut, which leaves meant trouble, when to fertilize, and why one stubborn bush always produced fewer flowers than the others. I had spent most of those twelve years considering them attractive obstacles between the lawn mower and the fence.<\/p>\n
Now I stood in the yard on a Saturday morning with pruning shears in one hand and Rachel\u2019s gardening notebook in the other.<\/p>\n
Her wedding ring hung beneath my shirt.<\/p>\n
According to the notebook, I was supposed to remove dead growth at an angle.<\/p>\n
According to common sense, plants should not care about geometry.<\/p>\n
I cut one branch.<\/p>\n
Then another.<\/p>\n
\u201cRachel, this is ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n
A breeze moved through the leaves.<\/p>\n
No answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cForty-five degrees. Honestly.\u201d<\/p>\n
I checked the notebook again.<\/p>\n
Her handwriting covered the margins.<\/p>\n
Feed after first bloom.<\/p>\n
Watch for black spot.<\/p>\n
Danny will overwater if allowed near hose.<\/p>\n
I stared at that sentence.<\/p>\n
Then I laughed.<\/p>\n
It came easily.<\/p>\n
That surprised me less than it would have six months earlier.<\/p>\n
Grief had changed. It had not become smaller exactly. It had become less sharp around the edges, like a stone carried long enough in a pocket. Some mornings still hurt immediately. Others did not hurt until something ordinary happened\u2014a song in the hardware store, her brand of tea on a grocery shelf, someone complaining about orange curtains.<\/p>\n
But I had stopped treating every painless hour as evidence of disloyalty.<\/p>\n
Rachel had been dead nearly a year.<\/p>\n
I had learned that surviving someone did not happen once. You survived breakfast. Then Tuesday. Then a birthday. Then Christmas. Then the anniversary of a diagnosis. Then the day you remarried. Eventually the calendar stopped being an enemy and returned to what it had always been: days arriving whether you were ready or not.<\/p>\n
Karen came through the side gate carrying two coffees.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re gardening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m cutting things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is generally part of gardening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m following instructions.\u201d<\/p>\n
She noticed the notebook.<\/p>\n
Her expression softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wrote about you overwatering.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDefamation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou once drowned a cactus.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was defective.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karen handed me a coffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou coming tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo what?\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur anniversary dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds like an event for you and your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re invited.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you nearly destroyed our wedding reception by having an emotional crisis.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou participated.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a drink.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou already said yes last week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why ask?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI enjoy giving you the illusion of choice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRachel would approve.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karen smiled.<\/p>\n
The smile faded slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cTomorrow is a year.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked toward the roses.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want company?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s allowed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to the cemetery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen maybe the lake.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know after that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlso okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve become irritatingly reasonable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTherapy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n
After she left, I continued trimming the roses.<\/p>\n
At the far end of the bed, beneath one bush, I found a small ceramic marker half buried in the soil. Dirt filled the engraved letters. I rubbed my thumb across it until the words appeared.<\/p>\n
PLANT SOMETHING THAT OUTLIVES YOUR BAD MOOD.<\/p>\n
I sat on the grass and laughed until my eyes watered.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds like you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The next morning I went to the cemetery alone.<\/p>\n
I brought no flowers.<\/p>\n
Rachel would have considered buying roses while her own were blooming financially irresponsible.<\/p>\n
I sat beside the stone.<\/p>\n
Her name still looked strange carved permanently into granite.<\/p>\n
Rachel Whitmore.<\/p>\n
The second marriage had restored the surname she had once surrendered.<\/p>\n
I touched the letters.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne year.\u201d<\/p>\n
Birds moved in the trees.<\/p>\n
\u201cI kept the roses alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
I paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cMostly.\u201d<\/p>\n
A groundskeeper passed at a distance pushing a cart.<\/p>\n
I waited until he was gone.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m doing okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sentence felt almost disloyal even now.<\/p>\n
So I said it again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m doing okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I told her about the shop.<\/p>\n
Paul had promoted one of the younger mechanics.<\/p>\n
Karen and her husband were arguing about remodeling their kitchen.<\/p>\n
Michael called every Sunday whether either of us had anything to say.<\/p>\n
I told Rachel I still hated her meatloaf.<\/p>\n
Then I corrected myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not true. I hated the ketchup glaze.\u201d<\/p>\n
The wind moved through the grass.<\/p>\n
I sat there until my legs stiffened.<\/p>\n
Before leaving, I touched the ring under my shirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to the lake.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited as though she might object.<\/p>\n
Then I stood.<\/p>\n
The lake was crowded because it was warm.<\/p>\n
Children splashed near the shore. Two men argued over a boat trailer. A family had claimed the bench where Rachel and I had sat during her final months.<\/p>\n
I almost left.<\/p>\n
Then I heard her voice in my memory.<\/p>\n
Choose.<\/p>\n
So I found another bench.<\/p>\n
The view was worse.<\/p>\n
That felt appropriate.<\/p>\n
I drank bad coffee and watched the water.<\/p>\n
A woman nearby was trying to untangle fishing line from a child\u2019s jacket. The boy kept twisting, making the problem worse.<\/p>\n
\u201cHold still,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are literally rotating.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m bored.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel would have laughed.<\/p>\n
I did.<\/p>\n
The woman looked over.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I\u2019ve seen worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy frowned.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomeone standing in a canoe because she saw a spider.\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman laughed.<\/p>\n
The boy looked interested.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she fall?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe both did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWas the spider okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
I had never considered that.<\/p>\n
\u201cI assume so.\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy nodded solemnly.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
They returned to the fishing line.<\/p>\n
I looked across the lake and realized I had told a story about Rachel without feeling destroyed afterward.<\/p>\n
That mattered.<\/p>\n
When I got home, a message from Michael waited.<\/p>\n
Call me when you have a minute. Found something.<\/p>\n
I called immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds friendly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you found something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA storage box.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf whose?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRachel\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood in the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt Dad\u2019s old place.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned.<\/p>\n
Their father\u2019s house had been sold years ago.<\/p>\n
Michael explained that a small commercial storage unit remained in his name, mostly filled with family belongings nobody had wanted to sort. He had finally started clearing it.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a box labeled Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom when?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s in it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t open everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are notebooks. Some photographs. An old cassette tape. Letters.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened automatically.<\/p>\n
\u201cLetters?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot sealed ones. Mostly drafts.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think plans.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlans for what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Michael paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you should see it yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
Three days later, the box arrived.<\/p>\n
I left it unopened on the dining table until evening.<\/p>\n
Old fear had returned unexpectedly.<\/p>\n
Rachel had spent years leaving explanations in envelopes.<\/p>\n
What if this box contained another version of her I had never known?<\/p>\n
What if there were secrets even death had not finished revealing?<\/p>\n
I nearly called Karen.<\/p>\n
Instead I remembered Rachel\u2019s last letter.<\/p>\n
Choose.<\/p>\n
So I cut the tape.<\/p>\n
On top lay photographs from before we married.<\/p>\n
Rachel at nineteen with enormous hair.<\/p>\n
Rachel and Michael beside their mother.<\/p>\n
Their father standing behind them looking younger than I had ever known him.<\/p>\n
Beneath those were journals.<\/p>\n
Not diaries exactly.<\/p>\n
Lists.<\/p>\n
Budgets.<\/p>\n
Trip ideas.<\/p>\n
Restaurant names.<\/p>\n
Home repairs.<\/p>\n
Rachel had always planned on paper.<\/p>\n
I opened a notebook dated seven years before our divorce.<\/p>\n
The first page contained a heading.<\/p>\n
FUTURE.<\/p>\n
Underneath were ordinary things.<\/p>\n
Pay off house.<\/p>\n
Take Danny to Seattle because he claims rain does not bother him.<\/p>\n
Replace upstairs carpet.<\/p>\n
Grow tomatoes properly.<\/p>\n
Convince Danny that retirement does not mean opening a second repair shop.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
Then I turned the page.<\/p>\n
A list of places.<\/p>\n
Maine.<\/p>\n
Colorado.<\/p>\n
Vancouver.<\/p>\n
A train trip through the mountains.<\/p>\n
Beside several destinations Rachel had calculated costs.<\/p>\n
She had been planning years ahead.<\/p>\n
The dates mattered.<\/p>\n
Some entries were written after her first symptoms began.<\/p>\n
I continued.<\/p>\n
Another notebook.<\/p>\n
This one dated the year before the divorce.<\/p>\n
The handwriting changed halfway through.<\/p>\n
The lists became shorter.<\/p>\n
Medical appointments appeared among grocery notes.<\/p>\n
Questions for doctor.<\/p>\n
Treatment options.<\/p>\n
What happens if surgery fails?<\/p>\n
How much time?<\/p>\n
Then, beneath those questions:<\/p>\n
Do not tell Danny until I understand what this means.<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
The beginning.<\/p>\n
The moment secrecy became strategy.<\/p>\n
I turned several pages.<\/p>\n
Possible outcomes.<\/p>\n
Continue treatment.<\/p>\n
Tell Danny.<\/p>\n
Don\u2019t tell Danny.<\/p>\n
Leave.<\/p>\n
Beside leave, she had written:<\/p>\n
Cruel.<\/p>\n
Then beneath it:<\/p>\n
Maybe necessary.<\/p>\n
I pressed my thumb against the page.<\/p>\n
Rachel had not decided quickly.<\/p>\n
That surprised me.<\/p>\n
In my mind, she had received the diagnosis and transformed fear into a plan.<\/p>\n
The notebooks showed something messier.<\/p>\n
Weeks of indecision.<\/p>\n
Arguments written with herself.<\/p>\n
One page said:<\/p>\n
He deserves the truth.<\/p>\n
The next:<\/p>\n
If he knows, he stays.<\/p>\n
Then:<\/p>\n
Why am I afraid he\u2019ll stay?<\/p>\n
Further down:<\/p>\n
Because I know what staying costs.<\/p>\n
Then, in darker ink:<\/p>\n
That is Dad talking.<\/p>\n
I sat back.<\/p>\n
Rachel had recognized it.<\/p>\n
Even then.<\/p>\n
She had known her father\u2019s story was shaping her fear.<\/p>\n
But knowing and escaping were different things.<\/p>\n
Another notebook contained financial calculations.<\/p>\n
If Danny keeps shop.<\/p>\n
If I move out.<\/p>\n
Insurance.<\/p>\n
Rent.<\/p>\n
Treatment.<\/p>\n
She had built an entire logistics plan for disappearing.<\/p>\n
Then I found something that stopped me.<\/p>\n
A page titled AFTER.<\/p>\n
Not after death.<\/p>\n
After treatment.<\/p>\n
If stable after one year, tell Danny?<\/p>\n
If stable after two years?<\/p>\n
Maybe ask forgiveness.<\/p>\n
Maybe too late.<\/p>\n
She had not planned permanent exile.<\/p>\n
Not at first.<\/p>\n
She imagined returning.<\/p>\n
The realization hurt in an entirely new direction.<\/p>\n
Rachel had left believing there might be a future moment when she could undo it.<\/p>\n
But illness continued.<\/p>\n
One year became two.<\/p>\n
Shame grew.<\/p>\n
Then three.<\/p>\n
I turned the page.<\/p>\n
The handwriting was shakier.<\/p>\n
Karen says I\u2019m making this worse.<\/p>\n
She is right.<\/p>\n
I still can\u2019t call him.<\/p>\n
If he sounds happy, I will have to know he is better without me.<\/p>\n
If he sounds unhappy, I will know I did this for nothing.<\/p>\n
I closed the notebook.<\/p>\n
For several minutes, I sat in silence.<\/p>\n
That was the trap.<\/p>\n
Rachel had believed leaving would save me.<\/p>\n
Then she became afraid to discover whether it had.<\/p>\n
I opened another folder.<\/p>\n
Inside were retirement brochures.<\/p>\n
Travel advertisements.<\/p>\n
A crude sketch of our backyard with a larger patio.<\/p>\n
At the bottom was a printed floor plan for a small cabin.<\/p>\n
Across the top, Rachel had written:<\/p>\n
Someday?<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
She had mocked the leaking cabin for decades and apparently wanted another one.<\/p>\n
Then I noticed a second word.<\/p>\n
With Danny.<\/p>\n
The page was dated six months before she asked for the divorce.<\/p>\n
My eyes burned.<\/p>\n
This box was not a goodbye.<\/p>\n
It was evidence of a future Rachel had wanted before fear convinced her she had no right to want it.<\/p>\n
The final item was a sealed plastic envelope containing a cassette tape.<\/p>\n
A label read:<\/p>\n
MOM \u2014 1998.<\/p>\n
I did not own a cassette player.<\/p>\n
Karen did.<\/p>\n
Of course she did.<\/p>\n
She arrived thirty minutes later carrying an ancient portable stereo.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you own this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI believe in technology preservation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hoard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSemantics.\u201d<\/p>\n
We put the tape in.<\/p>\n
Static.<\/p>\n
Then a woman\u2019s voice filled the room.<\/p>\n
Rachel\u2019s mother.<\/p>\n
I had not heard her voice in more than twenty years.<\/p>\n
She sounded stronger than I remembered.<\/p>\n
She was speaking to Rachel.<\/p>\n
Not recording a message exactly.<\/p>\n
Someone had captured a conversation.<\/p>\n
Rachel\u2019s younger voice came faintly through.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can stay tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother replied, \u201cYou have school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can miss.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDad needs help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father needs to accept help.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room changed.<\/p>\n
Karen looked at me.<\/p>\n
On the tape, Rachel said, \u201cHe says he\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother laughed weakly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father thinks asking for help is the same as surrendering.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel responded, \u201cHe loves you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then her mother said something that made me lean closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cLove should make the room bigger, Rachel. Not smaller.\u201d<\/p>\n
Static crackled.<\/p>\n
Rachel\u2019s young voice asked, \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means if love leaves no room for anyone else, something has gone wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karen covered her mouth.<\/p>\n
I stared at the stereo.<\/p>\n
Rachel had spent decades remembering her father\u2019s devotion.<\/p>\n
She had forgotten\u2014or buried\u2014her mother\u2019s warning.<\/p>\n
The tape continued only a few minutes.<\/p>\n
At the end, Rachel promised to go to school.<\/p>\n
Her mother told her to stop worrying.<\/p>\n
The recording clicked off.<\/p>\n
Neither Karen nor I spoke.<\/p>\n
Eventually she said, \u201cDo you think Rachel listened to this again?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
The cassette had been packed away.<\/p>\n
Maybe she had forgotten it existed.<\/p>\n
Maybe memory had chosen the part of childhood that matched her fear and erased the rest.<\/p>\n
I looked at the notebooks spread across the table.<\/p>\n
Plans for trips.<\/p>\n
Plans for retirement.<\/p>\n
Plans for a cabin.<\/p>\n
Plans for leaving.<\/p>\n
All of them belonged to the same woman.<\/p>\n
Karen touched one page.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wanted a future.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven when she told herself she didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
That mattered too.<\/p>\n
For a year, I had thought Rachel\u2019s final lesson was about accepting death.<\/p>\n
Now I saw something else.<\/p>\n
The tragedy was not simply that she became sick.<\/p>\n
It was that fear had convinced her to abandon a life she still wanted.<\/p>\n
I gathered the papers.<\/p>\n
Karen asked, \u201cWhat are you going to do with them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could put them away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could keep them out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
She waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cOr?\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked up the cabin sketch.<\/p>\n
Rachel had drawn a crooked square beside the porch.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably a grill.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt looks like a tombstone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRachel couldn\u2019t draw.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the word Someday.<\/p>\n
Then at With Danny.<\/p>\n
An idea formed.<\/p>\n
It was ridiculous.<\/p>\n
Possibly expensive.<\/p>\n
Definitely impractical.<\/p>\n
Which meant Rachel would have objected for at least twenty minutes before becoming enthusiastic.<\/p>\n
I folded the page carefully.<\/p>\n
Karen watched me.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat face worries me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat face?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe one you make before buying something unnecessary.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n
I touched the cabin drawing.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout whether someday is still allowed to happen when one of the people who planned it is gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karen studied me.<\/p>\n
Then she smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think Rachel already answered that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I knew what she meant.<\/p>\n
Choose.<\/p>\n
That night I returned the notebooks to the box.<\/p>\n
But I kept the cabin sketch on the kitchen table.<\/p>\n
For the first time since Rachel died, I found myself thinking about a future that was not merely the absence of her.<\/p>\n
And instead of guilt, what I felt was curiosity.<\/p>\n
The roses had become mine to care for. That realization annoyed me more than it should have. Rachel had planted them twelve years earlier along the back fence, choosing varieties … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10898,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10911","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-insightdrama"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10911","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10911"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10911\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10931,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10911\/revisions\/10931"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10898"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10911"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10911"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10911"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}