{"id":1042,"date":"2026-06-03T16:00:48","date_gmt":"2026-06-03T16:00:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/?p=1042"},"modified":"2026-06-03T16:13:06","modified_gmt":"2026-06-03T16:13:06","slug":"my-mil-poured-wine-all-over-my-dress-and-m0cked-me-saying-look-this-cheap-dress-got-wet-everyone-froze-but-then-a-sudden-loud-noise-came-from-behind-us-when-he-turned-to-see-wh","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/?p=1042","title":{"rendered":"Part2: My MIL poured wine all over my dress and m0cked me, saying, \u201cLook, this cheap dress got wet.\u201d Everyone froze, but then a sudden loud noise came from behind us. When he turned to see what happened, my MIL\u2019s confident smile vanished instantly."},"content":{"rendered":"

The first sound I heard was laughter.<\/strong><\/h1>\n

Not warm laughter. Not the kind that comes from happiness or surprise. This was sharp, polished laughter\u2014the kind that swept across the marble floor of the Sterling Grand Hotel ballroom and found every vulnerable place inside my chest.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

I stood beneath the golden chandeliers in my ivory dress, my hair carefully pinned, my hands frozen at my sides. Around me, nearly two hundred guests had gone silent. Forks paused above plates. Phones rose quietly. Faces turned toward me.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

And there, in front of everyone, stood my mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, holding an empty wine bottle upside down over my head.<\/p>\n

Red wine streamed through my hair, down my cheeks, and across the bodice of the dress I had saved three months to buy. The fabric stuck to my skin. The smell of alcohol wrapped around me. My breath caught, but I refused to cry.<\/p>\n

Margaret smiled like she had just delivered the cleverest joke of the evening.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cLook,\u201d she said loudly, her voice carrying through the stunned room. \u201cThis cheap dress got wet.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few guests gasped. Someone whispered my name.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

My husband, Daniel, stood beside me, pale and frozen. For one awful second, I waited for him to defend me. I waited for the man who had promised only hours earlier that tonight would finally show I belonged in his family.<\/p>\n

But Daniel only looked at his mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d he said weakly, \u201cthat\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret turned to him with a graceful little shrug. \u201cOh, don\u2019t be dramatic. I was simply proving a point. Some women can wear elegance. Others only borrow the appearance of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her words hurt more than the wine.<\/p>\n

It was our first anniversary party, though Margaret had arranged it more like a Whitmore family showcase. She chose the venue, approved the menu, invited her wealthy friends, and quietly made sure my family sat at the farthest tables near the service doors.<\/p>\n

I had smiled through all of it.<\/p>\n

Until now.<\/p>\n

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say a word, a loud crash burst from behind us.<\/strong><\/h1>\n

Everyone turned.<\/p>\n

Near the entrance, one of the tall decorative champagne towers had shattered across the floor. Glass scattered like ice beneath the lights. In the middle of the chaos stood a man in a dark navy suit, his face tight with anger.<\/p>\n

Robert Whitmore.<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s husband.<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s father.<\/p>\n

A man who had been silent all evening.<\/p>\n

He held a black leather folder in one hand, and his expression was colder than anything I had ever seen.<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s smug smile disappeared.<\/p>\n

Her face went white.<\/p>\n

Robert stepped forward slowly, his shoes crunching over broken glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cMargaret,\u201d he said, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear, \u201cput the bottle down. You humiliated the wrong woman tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s hand trembled around the bottle\u2019s neck. For a second, she looked almost unfamiliar, as if the woman who had controlled every dinner, every vacation, and every whispered judgment had been stripped of her costume under the lights.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert,\u201d she said, forcing a laugh. \u201cDon\u2019t make a scene.\u201d<\/p>\n

The irony of those words moved through the ballroom like a spark.<\/p>\n

Robert did not laugh.<\/p>\n

He looked at me first. Not at my ruined dress. Not at the wine dripping from my hair. At my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said carefully, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Those two words almost broke me. Not because they fixed anything, but because they were the first decent words anyone in Daniel\u2019s family had said to me all night.<\/p>\n

Daniel shifted beside me. \u201cDad, maybe we should talk about this privately.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert turned toward him.<\/p>\n

\u201cPrivately?\u201d he repeated. \u201cYour wife was degraded in front of your relatives, friends, and colleagues. You stood beside her and tried to manage the tone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s face flushed. \u201cI was trying not to make it worse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Robert said. \u201cYou were trying not to choose.\u201d<\/p>\n

A silence fell so heavy that even the staff stopped moving.<\/p>\n

Margaret lifted her chin. \u201cThis is ridiculous. Emily is sensitive. I teased her. That\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert raised the black leather folder.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Margaret. That is not all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes moved to the folder, and something in her posture changed. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Her mouth tightened.<\/p>\n

I noticed because I had spent a year studying her moods\u2014learning when to speak, when to stay quiet, and when to pretend I had not heard her call me \u201ctemporary,\u201d \u201cplain,\u201d or \u201ca girl Daniel rescued from mediocrity.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert opened the folder.<\/p>\n

\u201cI planned to wait until Monday,\u201d he said. \u201cBut since you enjoy public performances, let\u2019s finish yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert,\u201d Margaret warned.<\/p>\n

He pulled out several printed pages.<\/p>\n

\u201cSix months ago, I asked our financial office to review household charitable expenses. I noticed donations made under my name to organizations I had never heard of. That review expanded. Then it became an audit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s face turned even paler.<\/p>\n

Daniel stared at him. \u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert kept his eyes on Margaret.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m talking about your mother moving money from my private accounts into shell foundations controlled by her brother. I\u2019m talking about forged signatures, false invoices, and more than eight hundred thousand dollars transferred without permission.\u201d<\/p>\n

Whispers exploded across the ballroom.<\/p>\n

Margaret snapped, \u201cLower your voice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor thirty-one years,\u201d Robert continued, \u201cI lowered my voice. At dinners. In boardrooms. In front of our son. In front of every person you decided was beneath you. Tonight, you poured wine over my daughter-in-law because you believed no one here would dare stand against you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He paused.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret looked around, searching for support. Her friends avoided her eyes. Her sister adjusted her bracelet. Daniel stood completely still.<\/p>\n

Then Robert turned back to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily, there\u2019s a private suite upstairs. My assistant will take you there. A stylist is already on the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blinked. \u201cA stylist?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded once. \u201cI invited one after I heard what Margaret told the dress shop yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart stopped.<\/p>\n

Daniel looked confused. \u201cWhat did she say?\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

Robert\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cShe called the boutique and told them Emily\u2019s payment had bounced. She tried to stop them from releasing the dress.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered the saleswoman\u2019s strange expression when I picked it up. The awkward silence. The forced smile.<\/p>\n

Margaret said nothing.<\/p>\n

Robert closed the folder.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd now everyone knows.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time since I had known her, Margaret Whitmore had no answer.<\/p>\n

The suite upstairs was bigger than my first apartment.<\/p>\n

I stood beneath warm water while red wine swirled down the marble drain. My hands shook as I rinsed my hair again and again, but my mind kept returning to Robert\u2019s words in the ballroom.<\/p>\n

You were trying not to choose.<\/p>\n

He had said it to Daniel, but I felt the truth of it settle over my whole marriage.<\/p>\n

For one year, Daniel had not been cruel in the obvious way Margaret was. He never directly insulted my family. He never laughed when his mother corrected my pronunciation of French wines I had never claimed to know. He never joined in when she commented on my \u201chumble background\u201d or called my work as a public school counselor \u201csweet, but not serious.\u201d<\/p>\n

But he had always been close enough to hear.<\/p>\n

And he had always done nothing.<\/p>\n

When I stepped out of the shower, a woman named Carla waited with a garment bag, a makeup case, and the calm efficiency of someone used to fixing disasters at expensive events.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Whitmore said you might prefer something simple,\u201d she said. \u201cElegant, but not loud.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the garment bag. \u201cI don\u2019t know if I can go back down there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Carla\u2019s expression softened. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence felt unfamiliar.<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t have to.<\/p>\n

No one in Daniel\u2019s family had ever said that to me. Everything with them came wrapped in expectation. You have to attend. You have to smile. You have to understand how Margaret is. You have to be patient. You have to not make things harder for Daniel.<\/p>\n

I stared at myself in the mirror. Without makeup, with red eyes and damp hair, I looked less like a humiliated wife and more like someone waking up.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going back,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n

Carla helped me into a midnight-blue dress with long sleeves and a clean neckline. It was not flashy, but it fit perfectly. She dried my hair into soft waves and covered the redness around my eyes without making me look like someone else.<\/p>\n

When I returned to the ballroom forty minutes later, everything felt different.<\/p>\n

The music had stopped. Guests stood in small groups, speaking in low voices. Several tables had emptied. The broken glass had been cleared, but the room still felt cracked open.<\/p>\n

Daniel saw me first.<\/p>\n

He hurried toward me. \u201cEmily.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stopped before he could touch me.<\/p>\n

His hand dropped awkwardly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou look beautiful,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I gave him a tired look. \u201cThat is not what I needed to hear from you tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

He swallowed. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind him, near the stage, Margaret sat in a chair with a glass of water in front of her. No wine now. No glittering cruelty. Her brother, Charles, stood beside her, whispering angrily into his phone. Robert was talking to two men I did not recognize, both in dark suits. One had a badge clipped to his belt.<\/p>\n

Daniel glanced back. \u201cDad called his attorney. And the police.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mom says he\u2019s exaggerating,\u201d Daniel said quickly. \u201cShe says there are explanations.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you believe her?\u201d<\/p>\n

He hesitated.<\/p>\n

That hesitation answered more clearly than any words could.<\/p>\n

I looked past him at Margaret. She met my eyes. For one second, pure hatred flashed across her face. Then she looked away.<\/p>\n

Daniel stepped closer. \u201cEmily, I\u2019m sorry. I froze.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cYou chose comfort. You chose the kind of peace where I carried the damage.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes filled with panic. \u201cPlease don\u2019t do this here.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I almost laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere?\u201d I repeated. \u201cYour mother poured wine over my head in front of a room full of people. Your father exposed financial fraud before dessert. But my honesty is what needs privacy?\u201d<\/p>\n

His mouth opened, then closed.<\/p>\n

I lowered my voice. \u201cDaniel, I loved you. I truly did. But I have spent a year shrinking myself so your mother would have fewer targets. I changed how I dressed. I stopped inviting my parents to events. I let you excuse one insult after another because you said family was complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is complicated,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. It became complicated because everyone protected the person causing the harm.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked as if I had struck him.<\/p>\n

Across the room, Robert finished his conversation and walked toward us. He stopped at a respectful distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said, \u201cI owe you more than an apology.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t owe me anything,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cI do. I watched Margaret treat people as if money gave her permission. I told myself silence was restraint. It was cowardice.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel looked down.<\/p>\n

Robert turned to his son. \u201cAnd I taught you that cowardice.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s face tightened. \u201cDad\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Listen to me.\u201d Robert\u2019s voice was firm but controlled. \u201cA husband who stays neutral while his wife is being humiliated is not neutral. He is taking part.\u201d<\/p>\n

Those words struck Daniel harder than anything I had said.<\/p>\n

Then Margaret suddenly rose from her chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is disgusting,\u201d she announced. \u201cAll of you judging me over one silly accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert turned slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAccident?\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret walked toward us, stiff with fury. \u201cYes. An accident. I tripped. The bottle slipped. Emily is acting like a victim because she finally has an audience.\u201d<\/p>\n

A murmur moved through the room.<\/p>\n

My stomach twisted, but this time I did not look away.<\/p>\n

\u201cMargaret,\u201d I said, \u201cyou said, \u2018Look, this cheap dress got wet.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Her smile sharpened. \u201cPeople mishear things when they\u2019re upset.\u201d<\/p>\n

A voice from a nearby table interrupted.<\/p>\n

\u201cI recorded it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone turned.<\/p>\n

It was Daniel\u2019s cousin, Rebecca, a quiet woman in her thirties who had barely spoken to me before. She held up her phone, pale but determined.<\/p>\n

Margaret stared at her. \u201cDelete that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rebecca shook her head. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Charles stepped forward. \u201cRebecca, stay out of this.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at him. \u201cI should have stopped staying out of it years ago. I heard Aunt Margaret tell the florist to remove Emily\u2019s mother from the family table. I heard her tell the photographer not to take solo pictures of Emily. I heard her say Daniel would come to his senses after the first year.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel looked wounded and ashamed.<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s control began to crack. \u201cYou ungrateful little\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert cut her off. \u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man with the badge approached Margaret. He spoke quietly, but I heard words like \u201cquestions,\u201d \u201cfinancial records,\u201d and \u201cstation.\u201d Margaret\u2019s face changed again. Not white this time. Gray.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is my anniversary party,\u201d I said suddenly.<\/p>\n

Everyone looked at me.<\/p>\n

My own voice surprised me. It was steady.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t choose this hotel. I didn\u2019t choose this guest list. I didn\u2019t choose the menu, the seating chart, or the flowers. But my name is still on the invitation. So before I leave, I\u2019m going to say something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel whispered, \u201cLeave?\u201d<\/p>\n

I ignored him.<\/p>\n

I turned toward the guests, many of whom had watched me suffer politely for months.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy parents are seated near the service doors because Margaret believed that was where they belonged. They don\u2019t. My mother worked double shifts at a hospital for twenty-two years. My father repaired school buses until his knees gave out. They raised me with more dignity in a two-bedroom house than I have seen in many mansions.\u201d<\/p>\n

Across the ballroom, my mother covered her mouth. My father sat very still, his eyes shining.<\/p>\n

I continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dress was not cheap. But even if it had been, that would not make me cheap. My background is not shameful. My job is not small. My family is not beneath anyone. And I am not an ornament Daniel gets to stand beside while deciding whether I deserve protection.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel flinched.<\/p>\n

Then I turned to him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to my parents\u2019 house tonight.\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

\u201cEmily, please,\u201d he said. \u201cWe can talk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can,\u201d I replied. \u201cWith a counselor. With time. With proof that you understand what happened. But not tonight. Tonight, I am finished being polite while people treat my pain like an inconvenience.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret gave a brittle laugh. \u201cSo dramatic.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her one final time.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Margaret. Dramatic is pouring wine over someone\u2019s head because you cannot control who your son married.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mouth tightened.<\/p>\n

Then the man with the badge asked her to come with him to a quieter area. She resisted at first, demanding Robert\u2019s help, but Robert did not move. Charles tried to follow, but one of the attorneys stopped him with a quiet sentence that made his face go stiff.<\/p>\n

The ballroom watched Margaret Whitmore leave not like a queen exiting court, but like a woman finally surrounded by consequences.<\/p>\n

I went to my parents.<\/p>\n

My mother stood and wrapped her arms around me carefully, as if I were still wearing the wine-soaked dress. My father kissed the top of my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay, Em?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said honestly. \u201cBut I will be.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert arranged a car for us, though my father insisted he could drive. Before I left, Robert approached me near the hotel entrance.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make sure your ruined dress is replaced,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cKeep the dress.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked confused.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want it cleaned and returned to me,\u201d I said. \u201cNot because I\u2019ll wear it again. Because one day, I want to remember the exact night I stopped pretending.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert nodded slowly. \u201cThat can be done.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel came outside just as the car arrived. His tie was loose, his eyes red.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to lose you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at him through the cool night air.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen become a man who does not let his wife stand alone in a crowded room.\u201d<\/p>\n

He had no answer.<\/p>\n

For the next several weeks, I stayed with my parents. Daniel called every day at first. I answered only twice. The first time, he cried. The second time, he listened.<\/p>\n

That was new.<\/p>\n

Margaret was later charged after investigators confirmed Robert\u2019s audit had uncovered a larger pattern than he first realized. Charles was implicated too. Their shell foundations had been used to move money for years, hidden behind charity names and elegant social events. The scandal moved quickly through local business circles\u2014not because Margaret had humiliated me, but because wealthy people are often most frightened when secrets turn into paperwork.<\/p>\n

Robert filed for divorce.<\/p>\n

Rebecca sent me the video, but I never posted it. I did not need strangers to confirm what had happened. The people who mattered had seen enough.<\/p>\n

Daniel began therapy alone before asking me to attend marriage counseling with him. I agreed, not as a promise to return, but as a promise to hear the truth if he was finally ready to speak it.<\/p>\n

In our first session, he said, \u201cI thought staying calm made me better than my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

The counselor asked, \u201cAnd what do you think now?\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel looked at me, regret all over his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think staying calm was easier than being brave.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the first honest thing he had said without being forced into it.<\/p>\n

Months passed. I rented a small apartment near the school where I worked. I bought secondhand furniture, painted the kitchen pale green, and placed basil and rosemary along the windowsill. My mother visited every Sunday. My father fixed a loose cabinet handle and pretended he had only come for coffee.<\/p>\n

Daniel and I did not divorce right away. But we did not rush back together either. I had learned that dramatic apologies are easy when people are watching. Real change is quiet, repeated, and inconvenient.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

He began by visiting my parents and apologizing without excuses. My father listened with his arms crossed. My mother asked him what he planned to do differently. Daniel answered badly at first, then better.<\/p>\n

He set firm boundaries with Margaret, who sent letters through her attorney that always began with blame and ended with self-pity. Daniel did not bring them to me. He did not ask me to understand her. He did not say, \u201cThat\u2019s just how she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

One evening, nearly nine months after the anniversary party, he came to my apartment with a cardboard box.<\/p>\n

Inside was my ivory dress, professionally cleaned. A faint pink stain remained near the waist, impossible to remove completely.<\/p>\n

\u201cI found it at Dad\u2019s house,\u201d he said. \u201cHe thought you should decide what to do with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I touched the fabric.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I was back under the chandeliers, wine in my eyes, laughter in my ears. Then I was standing barefoot in my own kitchen, on a rug I had chosen, in a home where no one mocked my mother\u2019s accent, my father\u2019s worn jacket, or my salary.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m keeping it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Daniel nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

I studied him carefully. \u201cDo you?\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

He took a breath. \u201cI think you\u2019re keeping it because it reminds you that humiliation did not destroy you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd because it reminds you that I failed you,\u201d he added.<\/p>\n

That answer mattered more.<\/p>\n

A year after the party, Daniel and I were still married, but not the way we had been before. We lived separately. We dated carefully. We spoke more honestly than we ever had beneath the weight of his family\u2019s expectations.<\/p>\n

Maybe we would fully find our way back to each other.<\/p>\n

Maybe we would not.<\/p>\n

But the woman Margaret tried to shame in front of that ballroom no longer existed.<\/p>\n

I had not become colder.<\/p>\n

I had become clearer.<\/p>\n

And clarity, I learned, was powerful enough to reshape an entire life.<\/p>\n

\ud83d\udc49 Click Here For Continue Reading:Part3: My son\u2019s fianc\u00e9e forgot I was still on the call. I heard her mother say, \u201cCalvin\u2019s mother should sit in the back. We don\u2019t want the evening to be about her.\u201d She replied, \u201cYou\u2019re right. I\u2019ll handle it.\u201d I hung up. Then I called my attorney. That wedding almost never happened.<\/h1>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The first sound I heard was laughter. Not warm laughter. Not the kind that comes from happiness or surprise. This was sharp, polished laughter\u2014the kind that swept across the marble … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1042","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-amomama-post"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1042","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1042"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1042\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1055,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1042\/revisions\/1055"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1042"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1042"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1042"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}