\u201cShe asked him for money. Quite a lot of money. He gave her some. He was a generous man. But she came back again and again. Each time there was a crisis, a bad investment, a failed business, a boyfriend who\u2019d stolen from her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bradley, I thought. That was when she was still married to Bradley.<\/p>\n
\u201cEventually, he realized she was lying, manufacturing crises to extract money from him. He cut her off.\u201d Whitmore looked at me. \u201cAfter that, he changed his will. Left everything to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I never contacted him. I never even knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s exactly why.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time, Whitmore smiled slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said that Karine was her mother\u2019s daughter. But you, he remembered you differently. The last time he saw you, you were 12 years old, and you\u2019d just won a spelling bee at school. You spelled conscientious. He drilled you on it for weeks. He was so proud.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remembered.<\/p>\n
I remembered him sitting at the kitchen table, quizzing me from a list, pretending to be the judge. I remembered the way he\u2019d cheered when I got the trophy. I remembered that 3 weeks later he was gone.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d I asked. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. \u201cHow much did he leave me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Whitmore named a number.<\/p>\n
I had to grip the edge of the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cKarine,\u201d I said after a long silence. \u201cDoes she know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe contested the will shortly after your father died. Claimed he was mentally unfit when he changed it. The court dismissed her challenge. Your father had documented everything, including her prior contact with him and her pattern of financial requests. But yes, she knew she\u2019d been disinherited.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she know who got it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe will named you specifically. So yes, she\u2019s known for 3 years that you\u2019re the sole beneficiary.\u201d<\/p>\n
3 years.<\/p>\n
Karine had known for 3 years that I was going to inherit everything, and she\u2019d never said a word. She\u2019d stayed in my guest room, drunk my wine, listened to me talk about my marriage and my dreams. Then she\u2019d taken my husband, cleaned out my accounts, and disappeared.<\/p>\n
She wasn\u2019t just taking what she could get.<\/p>\n
She was punishing me for having what she wanted.<\/p>\n
The next few hours were a blur of paperwork. There were complications, Whitmore explained. The estate had been in probate. There were taxes to consider, investments to transfer, documents to sign. It would take time, weeks, maybe months, before I\u2019d have access to the full amount.<\/p>\n
But in the meantime, he could advance me enough to get out of the shelter, find an apartment, start rebuilding.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father wanted you to have a life,\u201d he said. \u201cThat was the whole point. Not a windfall that would disappear in a few years, but real stability, real security.\u201d<\/p>\n
I signed the papers in a daze.<\/p>\n
Whitmore gave me his card, told me his office would be in touch, shook my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne more thing,\u201d he said at the door. \u201cYour father kept a letter for you. He wrote it about a year before he died, when he was first diagnosed. He asked me to deliver it to you personally once you were found.\u201d<\/p>\n
He handed me an envelope yellowed with age, my name written on the front in that familiar handwriting.<\/p>\n
Margaret.<\/p>\n
Not Maggie like everyone else called me. Margaret like he\u2019d always called me when he was being serious.<\/p>\n
I held the envelope in both hands and didn\u2019t open it. Not yet. Not here.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t know what else to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSay you\u2019ll use it well,\u201d Whitmore said. \u201cThat\u2019s what he would have wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went back to the shelter that night. I sat on my bed, Carla out somewhere, the room quiet, and opened my father\u2019s letter. It was 3 pages, handwritten.<\/p>\n
He told me about his life after he left. The years of struggling, the loneliness, the slow climb back to something resembling success. He told me about the company, how it started in a garage and grew into something real. He told me he\u2019d thought about me every day, that he tried everything he could to reach me, that losing me and Karine was the greatest regret of his life.<\/p>\n
I know your mother told you a different story, he wrote. I won\u2019t ask you to hate her for it. That\u2019s not who you are. But I want you to know the truth, even if it comes too late. I never chose to leave. I would have stayed forever if I could. Every day I wasn\u2019t there, I was thinking of you. Every success I had, I wished you could see it. I hope someday you find this letter and understand.<\/p>\n
You are my favorite person in the world, Maggie. You still are.<\/p>\n
I love you, Dad.<\/p>\n
I read the letter four times. Then I folded it carefully and put it in my suitcase in the pocket with the photograph I\u2019d kept of him all these years, the only one my mother hadn\u2019t thrown away. Him holding me at my third birthday party. Both of us laughing at something I couldn\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n
For the first time in months, I cried.<\/p>\n
The money took 8 weeks to fully transfer. In the meantime, Whitmore\u2019s office arranged for an advance, enough to rent an apartment, buy furniture, replace the clothes I\u2019d left behind when I fled the foreclosed house.<\/p>\n
I found a place in Durham, not far from the university, a one-bedroom with good light and neighbors who minded their own business. I got a job at a veterinary clinic, different from the old one, but close enough. Dr. Patel, who owned it, was patient and kind and didn\u2019t ask questions about why a 33-year-old woman was starting over with almost nothing on her r\u00e9sum\u00e9.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t tell anyone about the inheritance. Not yet.<\/p>\n
The first person who reached out was my mother. She called on a Sunday, 4 weeks after I\u2019d left the shelter. I let it go to voicemail. She called again the next day and the next. Finally, I answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere have you been?\u201d she demanded. \u201cI\u2019ve been trying to reach you for weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI moved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMoved where? Why didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said I couldn\u2019t stay with you, so I figured out something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was different, softer almost.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie, I\u2019ve been worried about you. I was harsh on the phone that day. I know that. It was the shock of everything. I didn\u2019t mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said I was dumb. You said I was like Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was upset. Karine had just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
She stopped herself.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, come home. We can talk about this properly. You shouldn\u2019t be alone right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean? Is there someone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means I\u2019m fine, Mom, which is more than you bothered to check on for the last 2 months.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not fair.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence on the line. I could picture her in the living room surrounded by all those Richardson antiques, trying to figure out how to spin this conversation in her favor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want me to say, Margaret?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want you to say anything. I want you to tell me why you lied about Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
The silence stretched longer this time.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally? Because a lawyer named George Whitmore says otherwise. He says Dad didn\u2019t leave us. He says you took full custody and got a restraining order. He says Dad spent 20 years trying to contact us and you sent every letter back.\u201d<\/p>\n
I heard her intake of breath. Sharp. Involuntary.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho have you been talking to?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe executor of Dad\u2019s estate. He died 3 years ago. Left everything to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The line went dead.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d hung up.<\/p>\n
Karine called 2 days later. I didn\u2019t answer, but she left a voicemail. Her voice was the same as always, light, musical, like she was doing you a favor by talking to you.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie. Hi, it\u2019s me. Mom told me you\u2019ve been going through some things. I know we haven\u2019t talked since, well, since everything, but I want you to know I\u2019m not angry. Whatever happened with Nathan, we can get past it. We\u2019re family. Call me back, okay? I want to help.\u201d<\/p>\n
I played the message three times.<\/p>\n
Then I deleted it.<\/p>\n
The months that followed were strange. I went to work. I came home. I learned how to live alone, really alone, without the constant presence of a husband or the looming obligation of family dinners. I read books I\u2019d never had time for. I adopted a cat from the clinic, a tabby named Walter, who\u2019d been surrendered when his owner moved overseas. He slept at the foot of my bed and knocked things off counters and made the apartment feel less empty.<\/p>\n
I thought about what to do with the money. My father\u2019s will had included instructions. He\u2019d wanted me to invest most of it, live off the returns, build something sustainable. Whitmore connected me with a financial adviser who specialized in this kind of thing. And I sat through meetings about portfolios and diversification and tax strategies until my head spun. I was learning a language I\u2019d never been taught.<\/p>\n
But I also wanted something now, something concrete, something that meant I was never going back to that shelter, to that feeling of having nothing and no one to fall back on.<\/p>\n
I bought a house.<\/p>\n
It was small, a Craftsman bungalow in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Durham, but it was mine. The deed was in my name only. The mortgage was paid off in full. No one could take it from me. No one could drain its value while I slept.<\/p>\n
I moved in on a Saturday in late November. I spent the whole weekend unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, hanging pictures on walls that belonged to me.<\/p>\n
My mother showed up in February.<\/p>\n
I came home from work to find her car in my driveway, the same silver Mercedes she\u2019d driven for 15 years. She was standing on my porch, arms crossed, looking at my house.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, this is where you\u2019ve been hiding,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I unlocked the front door but didn\u2019t invite her in.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did you find me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t hard. Your clinic is listed online. I asked the receptionist.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d have to talk to Dr. Patel about that.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo talk.\u201d She looked past me into the house. \u201cCan I come in?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about saying no, but I\u2019d been waiting for this conversation for months.<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
She walked past me into the living room, looking around at the furniture, the photographs, the cat watching her from his spot on the windowsill. I saw her taking mental inventory.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve done well for yourself,\u201d she said. \u201cConsidering.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cConsidering what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cConsidering you had nothing 6 months ago. Where did this come from, Maggie? Did you meet someone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a lot you don\u2019t know about.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sat down on the couch uninvited. I stayed standing.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were very cruel on the phone,\u201d she said, accusing me of lying about your father. \u201cAfter everything I did to protect you from him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProtect me from what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom the truth. From who he really was.\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father was a weak man, Maggie. He couldn\u2019t handle responsibility. Couldn\u2019t provide for his family. When things got hard, he ran.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou weren\u2019t there. You don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve seen the letters. The ones he sent. The ones you returned.\u201d I watched her face, looking for something, shame maybe, or regret. I didn\u2019t find either. \u201cI\u2019ve talked to his lawyer. I know about the custody battle. I know about the restraining order. I know you kept us from him for 20 years.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood up, smoothing her skirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did what I had to do. Your father was dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, he wasn\u2019t. The lawyer showed me the court records. There was no evidence of violence. No police reports, no witnesses. You made it up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI had to protect my daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou had to protect your pride. You couldn\u2019t stand that he wanted to leave you, so you made sure he never got to see us again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I kept my voice even, steady.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know what he was doing all those years? While you were telling us he\u2019d abandoned us, he was building a life, a company. He was waiting for a chance to reconnect with his children, and you made sure it never happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her expression hardened.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I suppose he told you all about his wonderful success while leaving you nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe left me everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words hung in the air.<\/p>\n
My mother\u2019s face went pale. She sat back down slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything. His company, his investments, all of it. He left nothing to Karine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKarine lied, just like she always does.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down in the chair across from her.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe found Dad years ago. She showed up asking for money and he gave her some because that\u2019s who he was. And then she kept coming back, making up crisis after crisis, taking everything she could until he finally saw through it and cut her off.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mother\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf that\u2019s true\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is true. It\u2019s all in the court records from when she tried to contest the will.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know when Karine was bleeding him dry? Did you know what she was doing? Did you help her find him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow dare you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause she knew about the inheritance 3 years ago. She knew I was the beneficiary. And she still moved into my guest room. She still took my husband. She still cleaned out my bank accounts.\u201d<\/p>\n
I paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was trying to hurt me because I got what she wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mother\u2019s face was a mask.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to leave,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMargaret\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stood, gathered her purse, walked to the door. Then she turned, and for just a moment, I saw something flicker in her eyes. The look of someone who\u2019d been outmaneuvered and couldn\u2019t figure out how.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t over,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, it is.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed the door.<\/p>\n
6 months later, I learned what happened to Nathan. I wasn\u2019t looking for the information. I\u2019d done my best to cut off contact with anyone who might tell me about him or Karine. But Amy, my friend from Raleigh, called me one afternoon with news.<\/p>\n
\u201cRemember Bradley, her first husband?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s suing both of them, Nathan and Karine, for fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n
Apparently, they borrowed a huge amount of money from him right after they left North Carolina, some investment scheme, something about cryptocurrency, and it collapsed. He wants everything back with interest, and they don\u2019t have it.<\/p>\n
I sat on my porch watching the sun filter through the trees.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy fianc\u00e9\u2019s cousin works at the courthouse in Charlotte,\u201d Amy continued. \u201cThe whole thing\u2019s a mess. Nathan tried to run again, bought a plane ticket to Costa Rica, but Bradley\u2019s lawyers got a freeze on his passport. He\u2019s stuck. And Karine\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
She paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cKarine\u2019s been living in a motel off I-77 for the past 2 months. Credit cards maxed out. Can\u2019t even afford a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Good.<\/p>\n
Amy was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you\u2019d want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up and sat there for a while thinking. Nathan, who\u2019d charmed his way through life, trapped in a country he was trying to flee. Karine, who\u2019d spent her whole life chasing other people\u2019s money, finally running out of people to take from.<\/p>\n
I waited to feel something. Triumph. Maybe satisfaction.<\/p>\n
What I felt was tired. But also, underneath that, something else. Something that felt like the ground finally being solid under my feet.<\/p>\n
The next spring, Karine found me.<\/p>\n
I came home from work to see a rental car in my driveway. She was leaning against it, arms crossed, looking at my house. She was thinner than the last time I\u2019d seen her. Her clothes were expensive but worn. There were lines around her eyes that hadn\u2019t been there before.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie,\u201d she said. \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t stop walking toward my front door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI came to talk. Can we go inside?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
She blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Whatever you came here to say, you can say it from there.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a long moment, she just looked at me. I could see her adjusting her approach.<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d She took a step closer. \u201cI know you\u2019ve heard about the situation with Bradley, about the lawsuit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve heard enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you know I\u2019m in trouble. Real trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice dropped, softer, pleading.<\/p>\n
\u201cI made mistakes, Maggie. I know that. But I never meant for any of this to happen. Nathan\u2014he manipulated me just like he manipulated you. I was a victim too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were a victim.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s true. He saw how vulnerable I was after Bradley left, and he\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held up my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not doing this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoing what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe speech. The tearful apology where you explain how everything was someone else\u2019s fault. I\u2019ve seen you do this to everyone in your life. You did it to Bradley. You did it to Dad for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her face went still.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t know anything about that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know everything about it. I\u2019ve read his letters, all of them. I\u2019ve talked to his lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a step toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you showed up with a new crisis every few months until he finally cut you off. I know that\u2019s why you came after Nathan. You knew about the will. You knew the inheritance was coming to me. And you thought if you couldn\u2019t have the money, you\u2019d at least make sure I didn\u2019t get to enjoy it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd when you realized I\u2019d still get it anyway, you took what you could and ran, thinking it would be enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s never enough, is it? Because you don\u2019t know how to build anything, Karine. You only know how to take.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was crying now, or trying to cry. Her eyes stayed dry.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie, please. I have nothing. Nathan\u2019s gone. The money\u2019s gone. Bradley\u2019s lawyers are going to destroy me. I just need a little help. Just enough to get back on my feet. Like you helped me when I had nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was different.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was it different?\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt my heart pounding but kept my voice steady.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I called Mom, desperate, with $46 to my name, she told me I couldn\u2019t come home. She said I was dumb, just like Dad. And you? You were already gone with my husband and my money and not a single thought for what you\u2019d left behind.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karine wiped her eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I\u2019m so sorry, Maggie. If I could take it back\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t. And even if you could, you wouldn\u2019t, because you\u2019d do it all again if you thought you could get away with it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned and walked toward my front door.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie, wait, please. We\u2019re family.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped with my hand on the doorknob, looked back at her one last time.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went inside and locked the door behind me.<\/p>\n
Through the window, I watched her stand in my driveway for a long time, looking at the house she couldn\u2019t enter. Then she got back in her rental car and drove away.<\/p>\n
That summer, the lawsuit went to judgment. Amy sent me a link to the local news article. Bradley won. The court ordered Nathan and Karine to pay restitution. They\u2019d never be able to afford over $400,000 between them. Nathan\u2019s assets were seized. Karine filed for bankruptcy.<\/p>\n
There was a photo in the article taken outside the courthouse. Nathan in a wrinkled suit, looking smaller than I remembered. Karine beside him, her face turned away from the camera.<\/p>\n
I looked at them for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then I closed the browser and went outside to water my garden.<\/p>\n
The phone rang one evening in September just as the light was starting to fade. I didn\u2019t recognize the number.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Caldwell. This is George Whitmore.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down on my porch steps.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Whitmore, is something wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, nothing wrong. I just wanted to let you know the final transfers have been completed. The estate is fully settled.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father would have been glad to know you\u2019re doing well.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne more thing. When we were closing out the files, we found something in your father\u2019s papers. A note he\u2019d written to himself years ago. I thought you might want to hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt says, Margaret will understand someday. She always understood the things that mattered.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t say anything for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I finally managed. \u201cFor telling me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
After we hung up, I sat on my porch as the sun went down. Walter came out and wound around my ankles, then settled beside me, purring.<\/p>\n
I thought about my father alone in San Diego writing notes to himself about a daughter he couldn\u2019t reach. I thought about the life he\u2019d built, the company he\u2019d started from nothing. I thought about the letters my mother had sent back year after year without ever telling us they existed.<\/p>\n
And I thought about the 12-year-old girl who\u2019d won a spelling bee, who\u2019d watched her father cheer from the audience, who\u2019d believed he\u2019d abandoned her 3 weeks later.<\/p>\n
She would have been glad to know the truth.<\/p>\n
I reached down and scratched Walter behind the ears. The crickets were starting up in the yard. Somewhere down the street, a neighbor\u2019s sprinkler kicked on.<\/p>\n
I got up and went inside to make dinner.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cShe asked him for money. Quite a lot of money. He gave her some. He was a generous man. But she came back again and again. Each time there was … <\/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":[5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18],"class_list":["post-271","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-story","tag-aita","tag-diamond-ring","tag-diamonds","tag-engagement","tag-engagement-ring","tag-fiance","tag-fiancee","tag-lab-grown-diamonds","tag-photo","tag-picture","tag-reddit","tag-relationships","tag-top","tag-wedding"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/271","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=271"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/271\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":274,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/271\/revisions\/274"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=271"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=271"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=271"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}