Christmas had always been ours.<\/p>\n
Dwight had insisted on carving the turkey, even when Zach was old enough to do it better. Megan always brought too many desserts. The grandchildren opened presents before breakfast and spent the rest of the morning racing through the house.<\/p>\n
I wanted them there.<\/p>\n
I wanted Wendell there, too.<\/p>\n
And for the first time, I understood that I didn\u2019t have to choose between honoring my past and welcoming something new.<\/p>\n
I could invite everyone.<\/p>\n
Whether they came was their decision.<\/p>\n
So that evening, I sent a message to Zach and Megan.<\/p>\n
I told them I was hosting Christmas dinner at my home at noon.<\/p>\n
I told them Wendell would be joining us.<\/p>\n
I told them I hoped they would come.<\/p>\n
Then I put down my phone.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t beg.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t explain.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t promise to stop seeing the man I loved if they agreed to walk through my door.<\/p>\n
I simply invited them.<\/p>\n
And waited.<\/p>\n
December arrived with cold mornings and gray skies.<\/p>\n
Wendell finished the ramp two weeks before Christmas.<\/p>\n
He sanded every edge, checked the rails, and tested the surface himself. Then he stood at the bottom and looked at it with a quiet satisfaction that made my chest ache.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s done,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I walked slowly up the ramp, my hand resting on the railing.<\/p>\n
At the door, I turned around.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged, embarrassed.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just wood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s what you did with it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked away.<\/p>\n
I knew enough about grief to understand that sometimes a compliment can hurt almost as much as it comforts.<\/p>\n
So I didn\u2019t say anything else.<\/p>\n
I simply stood beside him while the wind moved through the pecan tree.<\/p>\n
That Sunday, I brought a casserole to his house and helped him arrange the kitchen for Christmas dinner.<\/p>\n
We talked about Dwight.<\/p>\n
Wendell told me about his mother, how she used to hum while she cooked, how she kept peppermint candies in a glass jar, and how she always insisted that the best part of a meal was the conversation afterward.<\/p>\n
I told him about Dwight\u2019s terrible singing, his habit of falling asleep during movies, and the way he used to sneak the grandchildren cookies before dinner.<\/p>\n
We laughed.<\/p>\n
We cried a little.<\/p>\n
And slowly, the people we\u2019d lost became part of the conversation instead of the reason we were afraid to have one.<\/p>\n
Then, three days before Christmas, Zach called.<\/p>\n
\u201cMama, are you still planning to have Wendell over?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
A pause.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we come?\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you can.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJordyn and the kids, too?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone is welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n
He cleared his throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cI owe him an apology.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt tears sting my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat would mean a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know if he\u2019ll forgive me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s for him to decide.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cMama, I\u2019m sorry for the way I\u2019ve treated you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t a complete resolution.<\/p>\n
There were still things to discuss, trust to rebuild, and boundaries to respect.<\/p>\n
But it was a beginning.<\/p>\n
Megan called the next morning.<\/p>\n
She cried before she finished saying hello.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mama. I should never have made you feel like you had to choose between us and being happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held the phone against my ear.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. I just got scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sniffled.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I bring the sweet potato casserole?\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease do. Your brother\u2019s children would probably revolt if Christmas came without it.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time in months, I felt the family gathering back together.<\/p>\n
Not because everyone suddenly agreed.<\/p>\n
Not because all our problems had disappeared.<\/p>\n
But because we were finally beginning to speak to one another as adults.<\/p>\n
Christmas morning, I woke before sunrise.<\/p>\n
I made coffee, dressed carefully, and stood for a moment beside Dwight\u2019s recliner.<\/p>\n
His favorite Christmas ornament sat on the mantel.<\/p>\n
A little wooden star he\u2019d made with Zach when our son was eight.<\/p>\n
I picked it up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI still miss you,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
Then I placed it in my handbag.<\/p>\n
I was going to take it to Wendell\u2019s house.<\/p>\n
Not to replace anything.<\/p>\n
Just to make room for one more memory.<\/p>\n
At eleven-thirty, Wendell arrived at my front door.<\/p>\n
He was wearing a clean blue shirt and carrying a pie.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought we agreed you\u2019d bring the dressing and I\u2019d bring the dessert,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI brought an extra dessert.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re going to spoil these people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the plan.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
We drove together to his house, where the yellow kitchen glowed in the winter sunlight.<\/p>\n
The table was set.<\/p>\n
The turkey rested beneath foil.<\/p>\n
The flowers I\u2019d chosen stood in a vase near the window.<\/p>\n
And beside the kitchen doorway, Wendell had placed a small framed photograph of his mother.<\/p>\n
I swallowed hard.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think she would have liked you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I touched his arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I would have liked her, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
At noon, the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n
Zach stood outside with Jordyn and the children.<\/p>\n
For a second, nobody moved.<\/p>\n
Then Zach stepped forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWendell?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, son?\u201d<\/p>\n
Zach looked uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
\u201cI owe you an apology.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell didn\u2019t interrupt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI judged you without knowing you. I accused you of wanting my mother\u2019s money when you hadn\u2019t asked her for a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
He swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I treated her like she wasn\u2019t capable of making her own decisions. I was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
The kitchen was silent.<\/p>\n
Wendell studied him for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then he nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for saying that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zach looked down.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand if you don\u2019t want me here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell glanced at me.<\/p>\n
Then back at Zach.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother invited you. That\u2019s good enough for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zach\u2019s eyes filled.<\/p>\n
He extended his hand.<\/p>\n
Wendell took it.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t a perfect reconciliation.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t a magical moment that erased every hurtful word.<\/p>\n
But it was honest.<\/p>\n
And sometimes honesty is the first thing a broken relationship needs.<\/p>\n
Megan arrived fifteen minutes later, carrying two casseroles and a pie.<\/p>\n
She hugged me so tightly I nearly lost my balance.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you ever think we don\u2019t love you, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d I whispered. \u201cBut don\u2019t you ever make me prove it by giving up my happiness.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded against my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
The grandchildren ran through the house, marveling at the ramp and the yellow kitchen.<\/p>\n
One of them pointed at the framed photograph.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell knelt beside him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s my mama.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she live here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe did.\u201d<\/p>\n
The little boy studied the photograph.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe looks nice.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then the boy ran back toward the table, where his cousins were arguing over who got the biggest dinner roll.<\/p>\n
And Wendell stood very still for a moment, watching the room fill with noise.<\/p>\n
I took his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou all right?\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded, but his eyes were shining.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just never thought I\u2019d see this house full again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I squeezed his fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeither did I.\u201d<\/p>\n
We ate until nobody could manage another bite.<\/p>\n
We told stories.<\/p>\n
We remembered Dwight.<\/p>\n
We remembered Wendell\u2019s mother.<\/p>\n
We laughed about the grandchildren, who somehow managed to get gravy on a wall that was nowhere near the dining table.<\/p>\n
And when dinner was finished, we gathered around the little Christmas tree.<\/p>\n
I took the wooden star from my handbag.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis belonged to Dwight,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Zach recognized it immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad made that with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held it out to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you like to put it on the tree?\u201d<\/p>\n
He took it carefully.<\/p>\n
For a moment, he looked like the little boy who had once stood on a chair beside his father, trying to hammer a nail straight.<\/p>\n
Then he placed the star near the top of the tree.<\/p>\n
Nobody spoke.<\/p>\n
We didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n
Because Dwight was still part of our family.<\/p>\n
He always would be.<\/p>\n
But his memory no longer had to keep us frozen in place.<\/p>\n
That evening, after everyone had gone home, Wendell and I sat in the yellow kitchen with two cups of coffee.<\/p>\n
The house was quiet again.<\/p>\n
He reached across the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for coming into my garage that day.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for not throwing me out.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed.<\/p>\n
Then his expression grew serious.<\/p>\n
\u201cWinnie, I want to ask you something. And I want you to know you can say no.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart began to beat faster.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took a breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you. I don\u2019t want to rush you, and I don\u2019t want to take the place of your husband. I just want to keep building a life with you, one day at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
At the careful hands.<\/p>\n
At the yellow walls.<\/p>\n
At the man who had built a ramp because he wanted the woman he loved to feel welcome.<\/p>\n
I thought about Dwight\u2019s recliner, still waiting by the window in my house.<\/p>\n
I thought about the years we\u2019d shared and the years I still hoped to live.<\/p>\n
Then I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you, too, Wendell.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d I added, \u201cI\u2019m keeping my own house.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed so hard he had to put down his coffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cWouldn\u2019t have it any other way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019m keeping my money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if you ever try to make decisions for me without asking, I\u2019ll put you on the porch with a cup of coffee and let you think about what you\u2019ve done.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded solemnly.<\/p>\n
\u201cFair enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
Then he kissed my forehead.<\/p>\n
Outside, the wind moved through the pecan tree.<\/p>\n
Inside, the yellow kitchen glowed beneath the warm lights.<\/p>\n
And for the first time in two years, Christmas felt like something other than a day I had to survive.<\/p>\n
It felt like a beginning.<\/p>\n
The following spring, Wendell and I settled into a rhythm.<\/p>\n
I still lived in Seagoville.<\/p>\n
He still lived out past Ferris.<\/p>\n
We spent Sundays together, sometimes at my house, sometimes at his. We went to the senior center. We planted flowers. We argued about the proper amount of pepper in cornbread and discovered that neither of us was willing to surrender.<\/p>\n
My knees improved a little with physical therapy.<\/p>\n
Wendell installed a second handrail on my porch.<\/p>\n
I paid for the materials myself.<\/p>\n
When he protested, I reminded him that I had every right to invest in my own comfort.<\/p>\n
He grinned.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zach began coming to Sunday supper again.<\/p>\n
At first, things were awkward. He and Wendell talked about the weather, the Dallas Cowboys, and repairs to the body shop. Nobody mentioned the accusations from the previous year.<\/p>\n
But slowly, the tension eased.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, Zach arrived early and found Wendell helping me carry groceries inside.<\/p>\n
He watched us for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then he walked over.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeed a hand?\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell handed him the heavier bag.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways.\u201d<\/p>\n
They carried the groceries into the kitchen together.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t a grand gesture.<\/p>\n
But I watched them from the doorway and felt a quiet gratitude I couldn\u2019t quite explain.<\/p>\n
Megan changed, too.<\/p>\n
She started calling just to talk.<\/p>\n
Sometimes she asked about Wendell. Sometimes she asked about my garden. Sometimes she told me about the children and their school projects.<\/p>\n
She no longer treated my relationship as a problem that needed solving.<\/p>\n
She began to understand that her mother could love the man who had died and still find happiness with the man who remained.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, she came to visit alone.<\/p>\n
We sat on the porch with iced tea while the grandchildren played in the yard.<\/p>\n
\u201cMama,\u201d she said, \u201ccan I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you afraid of getting old?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about it.<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat scares you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeeding help. Losing my independence. Becoming a burden to the people I love.\u201d<\/p>\n
Megan nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI worry about that, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached for her hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let\u2019s promise each other something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat we\u2019ll ask for help when we need it, and we\u2019ll respect each other\u2019s choices even when we\u2019re scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled.<\/p>\n
\u201cDeal.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sat together for a while, watching the children chase each other across the grass.<\/p>\n
Then she smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, Mama, Dad would be happy you\u2019re happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked toward the window.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I could almost hear Dwight laughing at something the children had done.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope so,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe would,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
And I believed her.<\/p>\n
That summer, Wendell and I planted a small garden outside his yellow kitchen.<\/p>\n
We put in tomatoes, peppers, marigolds, and the yellow roses I\u2019d chosen the previous year.<\/p>\n
He built a raised planter so I wouldn\u2019t have to bend too far.<\/p>\n
I brought a little ceramic bird from my own garden to place beside it.<\/p>\n
We worked slowly, taking breaks when my knees hurt and when his back complained.<\/p>\n
Sometimes we said nothing for long stretches.<\/p>\n
We had learned that silence didn\u2019t always mean loneliness.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it meant peace.<\/p>\n
One evening, as the sun lowered behind the trees, Wendell handed me a small envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething I\u2019ve been meaning to give you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inside was a photograph.<\/p>\n
It showed his mother standing in front of the house, long before the renovations. She was smiling, one hand resting on the porch rail.<\/p>\n
On the back, he\u2019d written:<\/p>\n
\u201cFor the woman who reminded me that unfinished things can still become beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed the photograph against my chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cWendell\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked embarrassed.<\/p>\n
\u201cToo much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached for his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s exactly enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
A few weeks later, Zach asked Wendell if he could help repair a damaged fence at the body shop.<\/p>\n
Wendell agreed.<\/p>\n
They spent a Saturday afternoon working together, and when Zach returned that evening, he had something tucked beneath his arm.<\/p>\n
A wooden box.<\/p>\n
\u201cI made this,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n
Inside was a little collection of photographs: Dwight holding Zach as a baby, Dwight teaching Megan to ride a bicycle, and one of our entire family gathered around a Christmas tree.<\/p>\n
At the bottom was a photograph of Wendell and me standing beside the yellow roses.<\/p>\n
Zach watched my face as I looked through them.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought maybe we could start putting new pictures in there, too,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I closed the box.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Zach.\u201d<\/p>\n
He rubbed his neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m still learning, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hugged him.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
And that was the truth.<\/p>\n
At sixty-four, I was learning things I should have understood years earlier.<\/p>\n
That love wasn\u2019t ownership.<\/p>\n
That grief didn\u2019t have an expiration date.<\/p>\n
That being a mother didn\u2019t mean surrendering every part of myself to my children.<\/p>\n
And that a person could honor a beautiful past without refusing a beautiful future.<\/p>\n
The next November marked three years since Dwight died.<\/p>\n
I visited his grave in the morning and brought yellow roses.<\/p>\n
I told him about the grandchildren, about Megan\u2019s new job, about Zach\u2019s business, and about the flowers growing beside Wendell\u2019s kitchen.<\/p>\n
I told him I still missed him.<\/p>\n
Then I told him I was happy.<\/p>\n
It was the hardest sentence to say.<\/p>\n
And the easiest to mean.<\/p>\n
That afternoon, Wendell picked me up for supper.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t ask whether I wanted to go to his house.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n
I knew the way.<\/p>\n
When we arrived, the garage door was open, and the ramp stretched toward the front door, weathered now from rain and sunshine.<\/p>\n
I walked up it slowly, one hand resting on the railing.<\/p>\n
At the top, I turned around.<\/p>\n
Wendell stood in the driveway, watching me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re staring.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I still can\u2019t believe you came.\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked back down a few steps and held out my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you\u2019d better get used to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took it.<\/p>\n
And together, we went inside.<\/p>\n
The kitchen was warm.<\/p>\n
The yellow walls glowed.<\/p>\n
The flowers outside the window moved gently in the breeze.<\/p>\n
And on the refrigerator, beneath the photograph of his mother, the old list was still there.<\/p>\n
Most of the tasks had been crossed off.<\/p>\n
The ramp.<\/p>\n
The bathroom rails.<\/p>\n
The kitchen.<\/p>\n
The back door.<\/p>\n
But the final line remained.<\/p>\n
Ask Winnie to dinner.<\/p>\n
I pointed at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never crossed that one off.\u201d<\/p>\n
Wendell looked at the list.<\/p>\n
Then at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said softly. \u201cI think I\u2019ll leave that one there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
He took my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause every time I ask you, you still say yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned against him.<\/p>\n
And I understood, at last, what that house had really been hiding.<\/p>\n
Not a wife.<\/p>\n
Not a secret fortune.<\/p>\n
Not a man waiting to take advantage of a lonely widow.<\/p>\n
It had been hiding a promise.<\/p>\n
A promise to a mother who could no longer walk through her own front door without help.<\/p>\n
A promise to a woman who had spent years believing her best days were behind her.<\/p>\n
And a promise to himself that the rest of his life would be built on kindness instead of regret.<\/p>\n
My son had been afraid someone would take something from me.<\/p>\n
But the truth was that I had almost allowed fear to take something far more precious.<\/p>\n
My chance to live.<\/p>\n
Now, when people ask how Wendell and I met, I tell them about the grief group, the coffee with two creams, and the porch light he repaired.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I tell them about the garage.<\/p>\n
And sometimes I tell them about the day I drove forty minutes down a country road because my son had convinced me the man I loved was hiding something terrible.<\/p>\n
He was hiding something, all right.<\/p>\n
He was hiding a yellow kitchen, a ramp, a garden, and a second chance.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019m glad I went looking.<\/p>\n
Because I was sixty-four years old.<\/p>\n
I was a widow.<\/p>\n
I had buried the man I thought I\u2019d grow old with.<\/p>\n
And I had learned that the heart doesn\u2019t stop needing love just because it has been broken.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it needs time.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it needs courage.<\/p>\n
And sometimes it needs a little yellow paint.<\/p>\n
Christmas had always been ours. Dwight had insisted on carving the turkey, even when Zach was old enough to do it better. Megan always brought too many desserts. The grandchildren opened presents before breakfast and spent the rest of the morning racing through the house. I wanted them there. I wanted Wendell there, too. And … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-988","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-world-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/988","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=988"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/988\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":991,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/988\/revisions\/991"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=988"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=988"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newsstorydaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=988"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}