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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
# The Promise Mary Left Behind<\/p>\n
For three months after my wife died giving birth to our twins, her mother barely spoke to me. I assumed she blamed me for agreeing to save our daughters. But when she finally appeared at my door, I discovered the real reason for her silence.<\/p>\n
After Mary\u2019s funeral, her mother withdrew from our lives.<\/p>\n
Whenever I sent pictures of the girls, she answered with the same two words.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d she\u2019d reply.<\/p>\n
Nothing more.<\/p>\n
I thought I understood.<\/p>\n
Mary\u2019s pregnancy had been difficult, with several frightening complications. But at our final appointment, the doctors assured us both babies were healthy.<\/p>\n
We\u2019d finally begun to relax.<\/p>\n
That morning at the hospital, we\u2019d even joked about names. Mary insisted twins didn\u2019t need matching names, while I argued we should have decided months earlier.<\/p>\n
She laughed and asked for her water.<\/p>\n
Hours later, everything changed.<\/p>\n
Serious complications developed during delivery. The doctors warned us they might not save all three.<\/p>\n
Mary gripped my fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe girls. Obviously the girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wanted to protest, to demand another option.<\/p>\n
But she squeezed my hand again.<\/p>\n
And I finally said, \u201cSave the babies.\u201d<\/p>\n
By morning, Mary was dead.<\/p>\n
I returned home with two newborn daughters and a bag of her belongings.<\/p>\n
Her sweatshirt remained inside. I couldn\u2019t wash it or even bring myself to remove it.<\/p>\n
Everyone encouraged me to stay strong.<\/p>\n
So I prepared bottles, recorded every feeding because exhaustion destroyed my memory, and checked the cribs repeatedly to make sure the girls were breathing.<\/p>\n
My sister brought meals that mostly went untouched.<\/p>\n
I lost weight. Sleep became impossible.<\/p>\n
Whenever the house fell silent, I heard my own voice.<\/p>\n
Save the babies.<\/p>\n
Could I have answered differently?<\/p>\n
Would Mary still be alive?<\/p>\n
I knew she\u2019d made the choice herself. Yet I couldn\u2019t stop wondering whether I\u2019d failed her.<\/p>\n
Then, last Thursday, the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n
Mary\u2019s mother stood outside, trembling as she held an envelope.<\/p>\n
I began apologizing immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t want to lose her. She asked me to, and I agreed. I should have done something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. You don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced at the envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think I stayed away because I blame you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cMary asked me not to tell you something. I promised her. I thought she\u2019d have time to tell you herself.\u201d<\/p>\n
A baby cooed from the nursery.<\/p>\n
Her grandmother looked toward the hallway.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we sit down?\u201d<\/p>\n
We settled at the kitchen table, where Mary had once scattered papers covered with possible baby names.<\/p>\n
Her mother kept the envelope on her lap.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something about Mary\u2019s childhood you never knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew her for nine years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe told me everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t tell you what happened after her father died.\u201d<\/p>\n
I knew he\u2019d suffered a heart attack when Mary was eight. She remembered the ambulance and her mother\u2019s shoes beside the front door.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter the funeral,\u201d her mother said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI kept her fed. I got her to school. But I stopped being there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe had his eyes. Sometimes she\u2019d smile, and I\u2019d have to leave the room.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pictured Mary\u2019s smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I missed him so much I couldn\u2019t stand it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her thumb moved nervously over the envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne night she found me crying over his picture.\u201d<\/p>\n
Little Mary had climbed beside her on the sofa.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you wish Daddy was here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore than anything,\u201d her mother answered.<\/p>\n
Then Mary asked, \u201cMore than you want me?\u201d<\/p>\n
My chest tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was eight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe thought you didn\u2019t want her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned back.<\/p>\n
Mary had always hated asking for favors, even something as simple as water.<\/p>\n
She worried constantly about becoming a burden.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d thought it was merely her personality.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe stopped bringing me his pictures,\u201d her mother said.<\/p>\n
\u201cStopped asking about him. I thought she was getting better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was trying not to upset you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
A cry interrupted us.<\/p>\n
I went into the nursery and lifted our smaller daughter against my chest. She settled almost immediately.<\/p>\n
Her sister slept nearby, one fist resting beside her cheek.<\/p>\n
Neither knew what had happened at the hospital.<\/p>\n
Someday, they\u2019d ask.<\/p>\n
I feared that conversation more than anything.<\/p>\n
When I returned, their grandmother was studying a photograph on the refrigerator.<\/p>\n
Mary was laughing, holding tiny shoes she\u2019d bought before discovering we were having twins.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was so happy,\u201d her mother whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes lowered.<\/p>\n
\u201cBefore your wedding, Mary finally told me what that night had done to her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you apologize?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she forgive you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said she knew I loved her. She just wished she\u2019d known it when she was little.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen she became pregnant, she brought it up again,\u201d her mother continued. \u201cShe said she couldn\u2019t bear the thought of her girls feeling unwanted if anything happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you tell her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI promised I\u2019d be there. Whatever happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then you disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n
She flinched.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly, I remembered something.<\/p>\n
A few weeks before delivery, Mary and I had been lying in bed. One baby kicked hard enough to make her stomach move visibly.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d laughed.<\/p>\n
Mary hadn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf something happened to me, would you ever wish we\u2019d never had them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of question is that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease. Just answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course not.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven if you missed me?\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d turned toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d miss you every day. But I\u2019d still love them every day.\u201d<\/p>\n
She began crying.<\/p>\n
I kissed her forehead, told her she was exhausted, and promised everything would be fine.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d assumed pregnancy anxiety was responsible.<\/p>\n
Now I understood.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe asked me something,\u201d I told her mother.<\/p>\n
I described our conversation.<\/p>\n
She stared at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe asked you that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you told her you\u2019d still want them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her hand covered her mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what I should have told her when she was eight.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked toward the nursery.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe never told me why she asked.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was going to. After the girls came.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy wait?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was ashamed that one unanswered question still frightened her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t need to be ashamed with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, I felt angry with Mary.<\/p>\n
Not for choosing our daughters, but for hiding that pain when I\u2019d been beside her.<\/p>\n
Then I remembered her tears.<\/p>\n
Perhaps she\u2019d tried to explain, and I\u2019d been too busy reassuring her to listen.<\/p>\n
Her mother slid the envelope toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wrote this for me. She said I could show you if anything ever happened to her. I couldn\u2019t bring myself to do it until now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was she afraid of?\u201d<\/p>\n
She pushed it closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cRead it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I unfolded the paper.<\/p>\n
Mary\u2019s familiar handwriting filled the page, including the tiny hearts she sometimes drew above letters.<\/p>\n
I touched it gently before reading.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you loved me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut when I was little, I thought you would have traded every day with me to have Dad back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you never meant that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill, I spent years trying to be quiet enough not to make you sad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow I\u2019m going to have two daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI already love them more than I know how to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019m scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf what grief can make people believe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe will love them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe doesn\u2019t know how much he\u2019s already healed in me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomeday I\u2019ll tell him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know I\u2019m probably worrying about nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut if something happens to me, he\u2019ll blame himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll think there was something else he should have said or done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don\u2019t let the girls grow up thinking their mother was someone they cost him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell him I trusted him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell him I wanted them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd please, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou promised.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want my girls to know they were wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways.\u201d<\/p>\n
I read the letter twice.<\/p>\n
One sentence stopped me.<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t know how much he\u2019s already healed in me.<\/p>\n
For three months, I\u2019d replayed the hospital decision, convinced I\u2019d betrayed Mary.<\/p>\n
Yet she\u2019d remembered something entirely different.<\/p>\n
An evening in our bedroom.<\/p>\n
A question I hadn\u2019t understood.<\/p>\n
An answer I\u2019d almost forgotten.<\/p>\n
Without realizing it, I\u2019d helped her believe she was worthy of love.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe trusted me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cEven knowing what might happen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wasn\u2019t expecting to die. She was afraid because she knew what it was like to grow up around grief.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reread Mary\u2019s words.<\/p>\n
Tell him I trusted him.<\/p>\n
At the hospital, I\u2019d waited desperately for the doctors to offer another solution.<\/p>\n
Then she\u2019d squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe girls. Obviously the girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d believed that touch meant goodbye.<\/p>\n
Perhaps she\u2019d also been asking me to respect the decision she\u2019d already made.<\/p>\n
I flattened the letter.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe told you not to disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou promised her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd when I sent you pictures of her daughters, you wrote two words.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s all you had for them?\u201d<\/p>\n
She began crying.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t comfort her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw Mary every time I looked at them,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd all I could think was that she should be holding them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMary isn\u2019t. But they are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew what your silence did to her.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you left us alone anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wanted her to defend herself, to give me an excuse to challenge.<\/p>\n
Instead, she whispered, \u201cMary spent her childhood waiting for me to come back. And I\u2019ve made her daughters wait for me, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked to the sink.<\/p>\n
Four bottles dried on a towel.<\/p>\n
Mary had once teased me about becoming so organized during pregnancy.<\/p>\n
Now I recorded feedings because some nights I couldn\u2019t remember which daughter I\u2019d just fed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you hated me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
She looked up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you hated yourself for saying yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I faced her.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why didn\u2019t you come?\u201d<\/p>\n
She wiped her cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was afraid I\u2019d look at those girls and wish Mary were here instead. I was ashamed of the thought. So I stayed away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe very thing Mary asked you not to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I gripped the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy come today?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYesterday you sent a photograph.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d photographed both girls on their blanket, one smiling while the other grabbed her sister\u2019s sleeve.<\/p>\n
Beneath it, I\u2019d written, \u201cThey\u2019ve started smiling when I sing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI read that message,\u201d her mother said. \u201cAnd I remembered how Mary used to sing when she was little.\u201d<\/p>\n
She paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I realized I couldn\u2019t remember the last time I\u2019d sung with her.\u201d<\/p>\n
She\u2019d retrieved Mary\u2019s letter, reread it, and found two unopened dresses she\u2019d purchased before the birth.<\/p>\n
That morning, she\u2019d driven to our house and remained outside nearly an hour.<\/p>\n
\u201cI almost left.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat stopped you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI imagined them getting old enough to ask why Grandma never came.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced toward the nursery.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what would you have said?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing that wouldn\u2019t have hurt them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence settled between us.<\/p>\n
Then I admitted something I\u2019d never told anyone.<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes I wish Mary were here so badly I feel guilty looking at the girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
She listened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be holding one, and I\u2019ll think Mary should be doing this. She should be here for the first smiles. She should know which one hates a cold bottle.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then I think about what I said at the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMary asked you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI agreed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you trusted her.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI keep thinking I traded her for them.\u201d<\/p>\n
She reached across the table.<\/p>\n
I withdrew my hand, not from hatred, but because I needed to finish.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve never wished they weren\u2019t born. Not once.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI believe you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I wish she hadn\u2019t died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her tearful face.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose aren\u2019t the same wish,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I remembered Mary\u2019s question.<\/p>\n
Even if you missed me?<\/p>\n
I\u2019d promised to miss her every day while loving our daughters just as deeply.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d believed me.<\/p>\n
A baby began crying.<\/p>\n
I entered the nursery, lifted her, and accidentally woke her sister.<\/p>\n
Soon, I had one daughter against each shoulder.<\/p>\n
Their grandmother watched from the doorway.<\/p>\n
\u201cMary would\u2019ve laughed at this,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said I couldn\u2019t hold a grocery bag without dropping something.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother laughed softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cCould I hold one?\u201d<\/p>\n
I hesitated.<\/p>\n
She lowered her gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThese girls can\u2019t spend their lives waiting for you to be ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t tell them you\u2019ll come if you might disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll earn it. If you\u2019ll let me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I handed her the smaller baby.<\/p>\n
She held her close.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, sweetheart,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI\u2019m your grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tiny fingers caught her collar.<\/p>\n
She smiled through tears.<\/p>\n
Nothing was completely repaired that afternoon.<\/p>\n
Three months of silence couldn\u2019t disappear because she\u2019d cried.<\/p>\n
But she returned the next morning.<\/p>\n
And the following day.<\/p>\n
She washed bottles, learned the girls\u2019 different cries, and watched them while I slept.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, our smaller daughter curled her fingers around Grandma\u2019s thumb during a feeding.<\/p>\n
Her grandmother froze.<\/p>\n
\u201cMary used to do that,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled, and she glanced toward the doorway.<\/p>\n
I recognized the impulse to escape before grief overwhelmed her.<\/p>\n
Then the baby made an impatient noise.<\/p>\n
She looked down.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
Wiping her tears, she continued feeding her.<\/p>\n
This time, she stayed.<\/p>\n
A week later, she brought an old photo album.<\/p>\n
There was Mary with missing front teeth, wearing a crooked birthday hat, and riding on her father\u2019s shoulders.<\/p>\n
Her mother touched that last picture.<\/p>\n
\u201cI couldn\u2019t look at this for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she explained how Mary had demanded another ride while her father pretended his legs were exhausted.<\/p>\n
We laughed together.<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t expected laughter to feel possible again.<\/p>\n
Later, I opened the hospital bag and removed Mary\u2019s sweatshirt.<\/p>\n
It still carried a faint trace of her soap.<\/p>\n
I held it for a long while before folding it beside the album.<\/p>\n
No longer hidden away.<\/p>\n
Before leaving, her mother noticed it.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe wore that the day she went in,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe bought it on our first trip together. It rained that weekend. She insisted the weather made everything romantic.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mother smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe did that. Found something good in whatever went wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
I examined the sleeves, stretched from Mary constantly pulling them over her hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought taking it out of the bag meant I was letting her go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cIt means the girls can know her.\u201d<\/p>\n
That evening, I sat between the cribs.<\/p>\n
I told our daughters about their mother debating names, her terrible singing, and her laughter when I couldn\u2019t find her water that morning.<\/p>\n
One baby waved her fist.<\/p>\n
The other studied my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother wanted you,\u201d I whispered. \u201cBoth of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I touched their little hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I do too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I would always miss Mary.<\/p>\n
But when our daughters eventually asked why she wasn\u2019t there, I wouldn\u2019t tell them they\u2019d cost me her life.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d explain that she\u2019d loved them before seeing their faces.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d tell them about her laughter.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019d tell them that when she asked me to trust her, I did.<\/p>\n
I kissed their foreheads and switched off the light.<\/p>\n
Tomorrow, they\u2019d wake hungry.<\/p>\n
Their grandmother would return.<\/p>\n
And together, we\u2019d keep telling them about Mary.<\/p>\n
# The Promise Mary Left Behind For three months after my wife died giving birth to our twins, her mother … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8036,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8035","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-amomama-post"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8035","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=8035"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8035\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8037,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8035\/revisions\/8037"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8036"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8035"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8035"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/amomama.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8035"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}