\u201cYes, you can,\u201d he shot back. \u201cYou\u2019ve done it a hundred times.\u201d<\/p>\n
I opened my eyes. \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m not doing it anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
The line went quiet.<\/p>\n
When he spoke again, his voice had changed. Harder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re being vindictive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
That word hung there. Vindictive.<\/p>\n
I let out a slow breath. \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m being done.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t like that. I could hear it.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise, don\u2019t start something you can\u2019t finish,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I thought about that. Then I said, \u201cI already did,\u201d and I hung up.<\/p>\n
The rest of Sunday moved slowly, too slowly. That\u2019s the thing about not fixing things. Time stretches. You notice every minute, every thought, every second you might have filled before with action.<\/p>\n
Paula kept me busy. Grocery run, folding laundry, small things. But my mind kept drifting back to the office, to the people, to what Monday would look like.<\/p>\n
That night, I sat on the couch with my phone in my hand. Another message came in.<\/p>\n
This is getting out of hand.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later: The supplier\u2019s asking for confirmation. I don\u2019t know what they\u2019re talking about.<\/p>\n
I stared at the message.<\/p>\n
Then I set the phone face down again.<\/p>\n
Around nine, my phone rang. This time it wasn\u2019t Greg. It was Evan.<\/p>\n
I answered on the first ring. \u201cHey, sweetheart,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom,\u201d he said, and I could hear something in his voice I hadn\u2019t heard in a while. Not panic, but not calm either.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou okay?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
There was a pause. \u201cI heard from Dad,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\u2019s\u2026 he\u2019s kind of losing it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes for a second. \u201cYeah,\u201d I said softly. \u201cI figured.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another pause.<\/p>\n
Then he said, quieter, \u201cI know about her.\u201d<\/p>\n
My chest tightened. \u201cHow long?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLong enough,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
That hurt more than I expected. Not that he knew. That he hadn\u2019t felt like he could tell me.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t say anything, because he trailed off.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you didn\u2019t want to make it worse,\u201d I finished for him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sat in that for a second.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cHe\u2019s yelling at someone about money. Something about the bank. I don\u2019t think he really knows what he\u2019s doing.\u201d<\/p>\n
I let out a small breath. \u201cI know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Another pause.<\/p>\n
Then, softer, \u201cI\u2019m with you, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
That landed right in the center of my chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, and I meant it.<\/p>\n
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, phone in my lap, house quiet around me. I thought about everything. The years. The small moments. The things I had fixed without being asked. The things I had swallowed to keep the peace.<\/p>\n
And for the first time, I didn\u2019t feel like I needed to go back and do it again.<\/p>\n
Monday morning came, and with it the beginning of what I had finally stopped holding together.<\/p>\n
Monday morning started like any other. That was the strange part. The sun came up the same way. The air was already warm by eight. Somewhere down the street, a neighbor slammed a car door and started their day like nothing in the world had shifted.<\/p>\n
But it had.<\/p>\n
I could feel it.<\/p>\n
Even sitting at Paula\u2019s kitchen table, coffee in my hands, I could feel something unraveling somewhere else. I didn\u2019t have to see it to know.<\/p>\n
My phone buzzed before I even took my first sip.<\/p>\n
I glanced at the screen. Greg, of course.<\/p>\n
I let it ring twice. Three times. Then I flipped it over.<\/p>\n
Paula watched me from across the table. \u201cYou going to answer that?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded like she already knew. \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
By midmorning, the texts started stacking up. I didn\u2019t open them right away. I let them sit there. Let them exist without me jumping in to manage them.<\/p>\n
That alone felt unnatural.<\/p>\n
For years, my reflex had been immediate. Solve it. Smooth it. Fix it before it got bigger.<\/p>\n
Now I just watched.<\/p>\n
Around ten, I picked up the phone and scrolled.<\/p>\n
The supplier\u2019s holding delivery. What did you tell them?<\/p>\n
A few minutes later: The bank called again. They\u2019re asking for documents I don\u2019t have.<\/p>\n
Then: Denise, this is getting ridiculous.<\/p>\n
I read them, set the phone back down, did nothing.<\/p>\n
Around noon, it rang again. I let it go to voicemail. A minute later, the notification popped up. I hesitated, then I pressed play.<\/p>\n
Greg\u2019s voice came through louder than usual, tight with something he wasn\u2019t quite controlling anymore.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise, I don\u2019t know what game you think you\u2019re playing, but this isn\u2019t funny. The payroll service is saying there\u2019s an issue, and Mary\u2019s already called me twice. People are asking where their checks are. Call me back.\u201d<\/p>\n
The message cut off with a sharp click.<\/p>\n
I stared at the phone.<\/p>\n
Mary. There it was again. That small human piece in the middle of everything. I pictured her sitting at her desk, her glasses sliding down her nose the way they always did. Her little notebook open, pen tapping the page when something didn\u2019t add up. Waiting.<\/p>\n
My chest tightened.<\/p>\n
I picked up the phone. For a second, I almost dialed the number. Almost called the payroll service myself. Almost stepped right back into the place I had lived in for twenty years.<\/p>\n
Paula\u2019s hand landed gently on my wrist. \u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I looked up at her. \u201cThey didn\u2019t do anything wrong,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d she said. Her voice was soft, but firm. \u201cBut this isn\u2019t yours to carry anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
I swallowed. It didn\u2019t feel that simple.<\/p>\n
But I nodded anyway, and I set the phone back down.<\/p>\n
By late afternoon, the tone of Greg\u2019s messages had changed. The edge was gone, replaced by something else.<\/p>\n
Just tell me what I need to send the bank.<\/p>\n
Then: I don\u2019t have the files you\u2019re talking about.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later: Where are the backups?<\/p>\n
I read that one twice.<\/p>\n
Then I set the phone down again.<\/p>\n
Tuesday morning, it got worse.<\/p>\n
You could hear it in the silence. That sounds strange, I know, but there\u2019s a kind of quiet that feels normal. And then there\u2019s the kind that feels like something\u2019s about to break.<\/p>\n
Paula had the news on low in the background. Some segment about local development projects, new builds, renovations, contracts being handed out. The kind of thing Greg used to get excited about. Used to talk about like he was building something bigger than himself.<\/p>\n
My phone buzzed again.<\/p>\n
I picked it up this time. A text from a number I didn\u2019t recognize.<\/p>\n
I opened it.<\/p>\n
I think you\u2019re taking this too far.<\/p>\n
I stared at the screen.<\/p>\n
Then another message came in.<\/p>\n
Greg\u2019s under a lot of pressure right now. You\u2019re making things worse.<\/p>\n
I let out a slow breath.<\/p>\n
There it was. Still the same. Still thinking I was the one creating the problem.<\/p>\n
I typed nothing. Didn\u2019t respond. Set the phone down.<\/p>\n
An hour later, it rang again.<\/p>\n
Greg.<\/p>\n
I answered.<\/p>\n
This time, his voice was different. Not sharp, not demanding. Afraid.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise,\u201d he said, and there was a strain there I had never heard before. \u201cThe bank\u2019s asking about the line of credit. They\u2019re saying the documentation doesn\u2019t match.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey want clarification,\u201d he went on. \u201cThey\u2019re talking about freezing things until it\u2019s sorted.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes. Not in panic. Just listening.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need you to tell me what you submitted,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
There was a pause, then quieter: \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n
That word landed. But it didn\u2019t move me the way it used to.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not part of the business anymore, Greg. I told you that,\u201d I said, still calm.<\/p>\n
He exhaled hard. \u201cYou can\u2019t just walk away like this,\u201d he said. \u201cThere are things tied to you. Your name is on\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve already spoken to my attorney,\u201d I said, cutting in gently.<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
Then, sharper: \u201cYou went to a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another pause. Longer this time.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did they tell you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat I don\u2019t have to fix what isn\u2019t mine to fix.\u201d<\/p>\n
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. \u201cThis is unbelievable,\u201d he said. \u201cAfter everything\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter everything,\u201d I repeated quietly.<\/p>\n
And for a second, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then I said, \u201cI have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
And I hung up.<\/p>\n
Wednesday morning came fast, faster than the days before. Like everything had been building toward something, and now it was here.<\/p>\n
Paula stood in the doorway of the guest room while I got dressed. \u201cYou sure you want to go?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cI\u2019m not going for him,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m going for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She studied me for a second. Then she smiled just a little. \u201cThat\u2019s new,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I almost smiled back.<\/p>\n
The Chamber of Commerce breakfast was held at a hotel just off Polaris Parkway. I had been to events like this before, years ago, back when Greg still liked introducing me as the one who keeps everything running. Back when it felt like a compliment. Now it just sounded like something he had relied on.<\/p>\n
The ballroom was already half full when I walked in. Round tables, white tablecloths, coffee stations set up along the side, the low hum of conversation.<\/p>\n
I spotted Greg almost immediately. He was near the front talking to a man in a gray suit. His posture straight, smile in place, like nothing had changed, like everything was under control.<\/p>\n
Tessa stood beside him. Perfect again. Hair done, dress fitted, phone in hand already angled slightly, like she was choosing what parts of the morning were worth showing.<\/p>\n
I felt something settle in me. Not anger. Just distance.<\/p>\n
I walked in quietly, took a seat at a table near the middle. A few people glanced my way, recognized me. One of them leaned over slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise, right?\u201d she said. \u201cYou used to handle things for Harlo Home Solutions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUsed to.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled. \u201cWell, you were always the one who knew what was going on,\u201d she said. \u201cGreg\u2019s a lucky man.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t respond to that. I just took a sip of my coffee.<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t take long. The cracks were already there. I saw it in the way Greg\u2019s smile tightened when someone asked a question. In the way he glanced at his phone more often than usual. In the way the man in the gray suit\u2019s expression shifted from polite interest to something else.<\/p>\n
Concern.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s Denise these days?\u201d someone asked casually.<\/p>\n
Greg laughed. \u201cShe\u2019s taking a little time off,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve got everything handled.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost admired how easily he said it.<\/p>\n
Almost.<\/p>\n
Then it happened. A man from one of the supply companies stepped closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreg,\u201d he said, \u201cwe\u2019ve got a delivery on hold. We haven\u2019t received confirmation.\u201d<\/p>\n
Greg nodded quickly. \u201cYeah, yeah, I\u2019m on that,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat confirmation?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n
Greg hesitated. Just a second. But it was enough.<\/p>\n
I saw it. That tiny gap. The moment where he didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise usually\u2014\u201d the man started, and then stopped because he saw me sitting there watching, not interfering.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later, it got worse.<\/p>\n
Greg opened his laptop at the table, fingers moving faster now. \u201cI just need to pull up a file,\u201d he muttered.<\/p>\n
The screen blinked.<\/p>\n
He frowned. \u201cWhere is it?\u201d he said under his breath, then louder. \u201cWhere\u2019s that Excel file?\u201d<\/p>\n
No one answered.<\/p>\n
He looked around, and his eyes landed on me.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise,\u201d he said, like it was automatic. \u201cDo you have a copy of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I met his gaze, and for the first time, I didn\u2019t step in.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sure Tessa can help,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cShe\u2019s building your future, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
The words weren\u2019t loud, but they carried.<\/p>\n
A couple of people at nearby tables went quiet.<\/p>\n
Tessa stiffened beside him. \u201cI\u2014\u201d she started, then stopped because she didn\u2019t know. Not really.<\/p>\n
The room shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough. The kind of shift people feel before something becomes obvious.<\/p>\n
Greg\u2019s face changed.<\/p>\n
Not anger. Not yet.<\/p>\n
Something closer to realization.<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t end there.<\/p>\n
Outside in the parking lot, the sun was already high, the heat rising off the pavement in soft waves. I had just reached my car when I heard my name.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned.<\/p>\n
Greg was walking toward me fast. Tessa just behind him.<\/p>\n
Up close, he looked different. Less controlled. Less certain.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust wait a second,\u201d he said, catching his breath slightly.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
I held his gaze. \u201cI told you,\u201d I said. \u201cI stepped away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t stepping away,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is\u2026 this is sabotage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said quietly. \u201cIt\u2019s not.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tessa stepped forward. Her voice wasn\u2019t sharp anymore. It was shaky.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t know everything depended on you like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at her. Really looked.<\/p>\n
And for the first time, the smirk was gone.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t make anything depend on me,\u201d I said. \u201cI just stopped giving it for free.\u201d<\/p>\n
Greg ran a hand through his hair. \u201cDenise, just come back,\u201d he said. \u201cFor a week. Just help me get things straight.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
The ask.<\/p>\n
Finally.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at me like he still thought I might change my mind.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t ruin your life,\u201d I said. My voice was steady. \u201cI just stopped carrying it.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a second, no one spoke.<\/p>\n
Then I turned, opened my car door, and got in.<\/p>\n
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw them in the rearview mirror, standing there together, but not like they had been before.<\/p>\n
Two months later, I was standing in a kitchen that wasn\u2019t mine. Not the old one. This one was smaller, narrow counters, a single window over the sink that looked out onto a row of identical townhouses in Worthington. Beige siding, trimmed hedges, nothing fancy.<\/p>\n
But it was quiet.<\/p>\n
Not the kind of quiet that feels like something\u2019s missing. The kind that feels like something\u2019s finally settled.<\/p>\n
I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, letting the sunlight hit the edge of the mug. It was early, just after seven. The air still cool before the day warmed up.<\/p>\n
For the first time in years, I didn\u2019t have a list running in my head. No supplier to call. No invoice to fix. No problem waiting for me before I even finished my first sip.<\/p>\n
Just morning.<\/p>\n
I took a breath and let it out slowly.<\/p>\n
The job at the dental office had come together quicker than I expected. Columbus Dental Care. Same building I had worked in when I was twenty-one. The carpet had been replaced. The front desk updated. But the layout was the same.<\/p>\n
Dr. Patel recognized me right away.<\/p>\n
\u201cDenise,\u201d he said, stepping out from one of the exam rooms. \u201cDenise Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t heard that name in a long time.<\/p>\n
I smiled. \u201cStill me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He shook his head, smiling back. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll be,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat brings you back here?\u201d<\/p>\n
I could have given him a long answer. Explained everything.<\/p>\n
But I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m looking for work,\u201d I said simply.<\/p>\n
He studied me for a second, then nodded. \u201cWe could use someone who actually knows what they\u2019re doing,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
That was it. No drama. No history. Just a clean start.<\/p>\n
The work felt familiar. Answering phones, scheduling patients, keeping things moving. Only this time, it was different. I wasn\u2019t helping out. I was hired, paid, respected. When I fixed something, it was acknowledged. When I left at the end of the day, it stayed there.<\/p>\n
That alone felt like something I hadn\u2019t had in years.<\/p>\n
Evan came by one Saturday afternoon. He stood in the doorway for a second, taking in the place.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is nice,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I laughed softly. \u201cIt\u2019s small,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s calm,\u201d he corrected.<\/p>\n
That landed.<\/p>\n
We sat at the kitchen table. Same sunlight, same quiet. He told me about school, about a job interview he had lined up, about things that didn\u2019t feel heavy.<\/p>\n
Then after a while, he said, \u201cI saw Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cHow is he?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Evan shrugged. \u201cStill saying it\u2019s not his fault,\u201d he said. \u201cSays you overreacted.\u201d<\/p>\n
I let out a small breath. \u201cThat sounds like him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s having trouble keeping things together,\u201d Evan added. \u201cA couple of the guys left, said it\u2019s too unstable.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t respond right away. Not because I didn\u2019t care, but because I no longer felt responsible.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s hard,\u201d I said. And I meant it. Just not in the way I would have before.<\/p>\n
Evan watched me for a second. \u201cYou okay?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I thought about that. About everything. The house, the marriage, the business, the moment in the backyard, the drive, the silence, the choice.<\/p>\n
And I realized something.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
And for the first time, it didn\u2019t feel like something I was trying to convince myself of. It felt true.<\/p>\n
The divorce was moving forward. Slow paperwork, meetings, lawyers going back and forth over details that used to feel like everything. Now they just felt like steps.<\/p>\n
Greg had tried to reach out a few times. Messages passed through attorneys. A voicemail once late at night that I didn\u2019t return. Not out of anger. Just because there was nothing left to say.<\/p>\n
Tessa, from what I heard, didn\u2019t stay.<\/p>\n
That didn\u2019t surprise me.<\/p>\n
Some things only work when someone else is holding them up.<\/p>\n
One evening after work, I stopped by a Kroger on my way home. Same one I had been going to for years. I grabbed a few things. Milk, bread, coffee. Normal.<\/p>\n
At the checkout, the cashier smiled. \u201cHow\u2019s your day going?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
And again, I meant it.<\/p>\n
Back home, I set the groceries on the counter and unpacked them slowly. No rush, no background noise, just the sound of plastic bags crinkling and the hum of the refrigerator.<\/p>\n
I poured myself another cup of coffee and stood by the window. The sun was starting to go down now. Soft light stretching across the pavement outside.<\/p>\n
I thought about everything. Not in a heavy way. Just noticing.<\/p>\n
For a long time, I had believed something without ever saying it out loud. That if I stopped holding everything together, everything would fall apart.<\/p>\n
And maybe it did.<\/p>\n
But not in the way I feared.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t fall apart.<\/p>\n
I stood up.<\/p>\n
Those five words I said that night, they weren\u2019t clever. They weren\u2019t powerful on their own. They were just late. Late to a truth I had been living around for years.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t need him to collapse. I didn\u2019t need anything dramatic.<\/p>\n
I just needed to stop kneeling.<\/p>\n
If you\u2019ve ever been the one keeping everything running, the one people rely on without noticing, you\u2019re not alone. And if there\u2019s a moment when you finally decide you\u2019ve had enough, that moment matters.<\/p>\n
Thank you for listening.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you can,\u201d he shot back. \u201cYou\u2019ve done it a hundred times.\u201d I opened my eyes. \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m not doing it anymore.\u201d The line went quiet. When he … <\/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-280","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\/280","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=280"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/280\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":282,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/280\/revisions\/282"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=280"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=280"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=280"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}