The meatloaf never tasted quite right anymore.<\/p>\n
Ellen\u2019s recipe, her handwriting on the index card, her cast iron pan \u2014 all exactly the same. But some things only work when the right person is standing in the kitchen making them, and she\u2019d been gone for two years now.<\/p>\n
I scraped the last of it from my plate and settled into her recliner. The leather was worn smooth in all the right places from years of her evening reading sessions. Outside, the first spring crickets had started up in the garden she\u2019d planted, the one I still tended every Saturday morning because it was the only conversation we had left.<\/p>\n
My phone rang.<\/p>\n
Caitlyn.<\/em>\u00a0I smiled despite myself.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, how are you holding up?\u201d<\/p>\n Her voice had that particular warmth she saved for me \u2014 the warmth that always made my chest tighten with love and gratitude and that particular loneliness that comes with being the one who gets left behind.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know me, sweetheart. Just finished dinner. Was about to watch the news.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t mention that the dinner was three-day-old leftovers, or that I\u2019d been staring at Ellen\u2019s photograph on the mantle for the better part of an hour.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you eating enough? You can order groceries online now, you know. I showed you the app.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m eating plenty.\u201d I paused. \u201cThough I had a little scare yesterday. Forgot to turn off the burner under my coffee pot. Good thing I smelled it from the living room.\u201d<\/p>\n A pause. I could picture the little crease forming between her eyebrows \u2014 the one she\u2019d inherited straight from her mother.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, maybe we should talk about getting someone to check on you more regularly.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m fine, Caitlyn. Really. How\u2019s the conference? Phoenix, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe conference ends tomorrow. Jeremy\u2019s been handling most of the client meetings.\u201d She laughed, but it landed slightly off. \u201cListen, I should probably get going \u2014 we have dinner plans with some potential investors.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, sweetheart. I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLove you, too, Dad. Take care of yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n I heard a click. Then rustling \u2014 the sound of a phone dropping into a purse without the call actually ending.<\/p>\n I reached to hang up on my end.<\/p>\n Then I heard her voice again.<\/p>\n Different this time. The warmth was gone.<\/p>\n Jeremy, you see how he\u2019s deteriorating?<\/em><\/p>\n I froze.<\/p>\n He forgot to turn off the stove yesterday. What if he burns the house down?<\/em><\/p>\n Jeremy\u2019s voice came through, cold and matter-of-fact:\u00a0It\u2019s time for a nursing home. He\u2019s becoming a burden. Your dad\u2019s a good man, but he can\u2019t live alone anymore. The house is worth almost a million now.<\/em><\/p>\n With Denver\u2019s market, we could probably get 900,000. Maybe more.<\/em><\/p>\n Exactly.<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy, sounding pleased.\u00a0We could sell it, put him somewhere decent \u2014 not too expensive \u2014 and finally buy that house in Boulder we\u2019ve been looking at. The one with the mountain view.<\/em><\/p>\n Then Caitlyn laughed. She actually laughed.<\/p>\n God, Jeremy \u2014 you should have seen him tonight. So grateful just to hear from me. He has no idea we\u2019re planning this. The longer we wait, the more confused he\u2019ll get. We should strike while he still trusts us completely.<\/em><\/p>\n The phone slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor.<\/p>\n Ellen and I had laid those boards ourselves, 23 years ago, every plank fitted by hand. I sat in the silence of my empty house and stared at her photograph on the mantle. Her eyes looked back at me with an expression I couldn\u2019t quite read.<\/p>\n Outside, the crickets kept singing in her garden.<\/p>\n My hands \u2014 weathered from four decades of construction work \u2014 slowly curled into fists.<\/p>\n They thought I was a burden. They thought I was confused. They were already spending my money, already planning their new life in my grave.<\/p>\n But I wasn\u2019t dead yet.<\/p>\n And I wasn\u2019t nearly as confused as they believed.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know how long I sat in the dark.<\/p>\n When I finally stood and turned on the lamp, the warm light fell across everything Ellen and I had chosen together \u2014 the burgundy sofa, the coffee table I\u2019d built in the garage while a three-year-old Caitlyn played at my feet, the bay window I\u2019d spent six months of overtime building because Ellen had seen it in a magazine and fallen in love with the idea.<\/p>\n I walked to the kitchen and opened the drawer where I kept old receipts.<\/p>\n Forty-eight thousand dollars for Caitlyn\u2019s college tuition \u2014 four years of double shifts, coming home with concrete dust in my hair and plaster under my fingernails, Ellen keeping coffee warm and massaging my shoulders while I paid bills at this table.<\/p>\n Roy, you\u2019re working yourself to death,<\/em>\u00a0she\u2019d said one night.<\/p>\n She deserves better than we had, Ellen. She\u2019s smart enough for anything.<\/em><\/p>\n Ellen had kissed the top of my head.\u00a0Just don\u2019t give her so much that she forgets to be grateful.<\/em><\/p>\n Thirty-two thousand dollars for the wedding. Caitlyn had cried \u2014 actually cried \u2014 when I told her we could only afford eight thousand. I\u2019d worked weekends for six months installing floors for a contractor friend who paid cash.\u00a0Daddy, you\u2019re the best father in the world,<\/em>\u00a0she\u2019d whispered during our dance, her head on my shoulder.\u00a0I\u2019ll never forget this.<\/em><\/p>\n She had forgotten.<\/p>\n Just like she\u2019d forgotten who co-signed her first car loan. Who made the calls that got her the marketing job after eight months of unemployment. Who\u2019d never charged rent when she and Jeremy had moved in \u201ctemporarily.\u201d Who\u2019d been covering the increased utility bills and groceries for three adults on a fixed income.<\/p>\n Roy\u2019s like a father to me,<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy had told his friends at the last barbecue, arm around my shoulders.\u00a0I\u2019m so lucky to have married into this family.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019d been proud. Actually proud.<\/p>\n I walked upstairs and opened the bottom drawer of Ellen\u2019s dresser.<\/p>\n Our original house deed.\u00a0Roy and Ellen Hayes, purchased 1999.<\/em>\u00a0No liens. No co-signers.<\/p>\n My name only, now that she was gone.<\/p>\n I looked at her photo on the nightstand \u2014 at the reading glasses folded beside the lamp, at the novel with the bookmark still on page 247, the page she\u2019d never gotten past.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t give her so much that she forgets to be grateful.<\/em><\/p>\n Well, Ellen. She\u2019d forgotten.<\/p>\n But she was about to remember that her old man wasn\u2019t as helpless as she thought.<\/p>\n I\u2019d kept Todd Fischer\u2019s business card in my desk drawer for three years. Ellen had insisted we meet with him after her diagnosis \u2014\u00a0just to make sure our affairs are in order, Roy, please<\/em>\u00a0\u2014 and I\u2019d tucked the card away afterward and never looked at it again.<\/p>\n I looked at it now.<\/p>\n His office was on Kfax Avenue, the kind of place that helped regular people with real problems. I dressed in my charcoal suit \u2014 the one Ellen had picked out for the funeral \u2014 and arrived fifteen minutes early.<\/p>\n Todd was in his mid-fifties, with graying temples and the patient demeanor of a man who\u2019d heard every family horror story twice.<\/p>\n \u201cThe house is titled in your name only since your wife\u2019s passing?\u201d he confirmed.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen legally speaking, your daughter and son-in-law have absolutely no claim to your property. They cannot sell it, cannot force you into a care facility, cannot make any decisions about your assets without your explicit consent.\u201d He pulled out a legal pad. \u201cThe house belongs to you. Period.\u201d<\/p>\n Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by something sharper.<\/p>\n \u201cSo if I wanted to sell it myself\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou could put it on the market tomorrow. It\u2019s your property, your decision.\u201d He looked at me carefully. \u201cMay I ask why you\u2019re considering that?\u201d<\/p>\n I thought about Caitlyn\u2019s laugh. About Jeremy\u2019s cold arithmetic reducing me to a line item. About twenty-five years of sacrifice reduced to a real estate transaction.<\/p>\n \u201cThey think I\u2019m helpless. Confused.\u201d My hands tightened around the coffee cup. \u201cMaybe it\u2019s time I showed them exactly how sharp my mind really is.\u201d<\/p>\n Todd was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n \u201cDenver\u2019s market is incredibly strong right now. Properties in your neighborhood are selling within days, often for cash, above asking price.\u201d He leaned forward. \u201cIf you were serious about selling quickly \u2014 before your daughter and son-in-law return from their trip \u2014 it could happen within a week.\u201d<\/p>\n I built that house with my own hands, I told him. Every board, every nail, every custom detail. I know exactly what I\u2019m doing.<\/p>\n We spent an hour on the details. Cash buyer networks, market value estimates, legal requirements.<\/p>\n I paid the consultation fee in cash and walked out into the spring sunshine feeling more clear-headed than I had in months.<\/p>\n Brian Connor arrived at three o\u2019clock exactly.<\/p>\n The moment he stepped inside my house, he stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cWow.\u201d<\/p>\n His eyes traveled up the crown molding to the hardwood floors to the seamless flow between rooms I\u2019d achieved by removing a load-bearing wall and installing a beam myself. His appreciation was genuine \u2014 the kind that came from a professional recognizing real craftsmanship.<\/p>\n \u201cThese floors \u2014 original?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cInstalled them myself in 2001. Ellen wanted something that would last. Three-quarter-inch solid oak.\u201d<\/p>\n I found myself falling into the familiar rhythm of talking about my work. The granite countertops I\u2019d installed by lamplight after my regular job. The bay window I\u2019d built because Ellen had seen it in a magazine. The custom bookcases flanking the fireplace, built to her exact specifications for the mystery novels she loved.<\/p>\n Brian typed notes on his tablet, photographing each room, testing faucets and outlets. \u201cMr. Hayes, in fifteen years of doing this, I rarely see properties maintained to this standard.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m an engineer. Was an engineer. I believe in building things right the first time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt shows.\u201d<\/p>\n He pulled up comparable sales. \u201cSimilar properties in this area have been selling for $850 to $920,000.\u201d He paused. \u201cGiven the condition and custom features, I\u2019m thinking we price it at $890,000. That should move it quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n I sat down heavily in Ellen\u2019s reading chair.<\/p>\n That was more than Caitlyn and Jeremy had estimated. More than they\u2019d been planning to pocket while I sat in their resort with medical staff on hand.<\/p>\n \u201cI have an investment group that\u2019s been looking for exactly this type of property,\u201d Brian said. \u201cThey pay cash. No financing contingencies. They can close in ten business days.\u201d<\/p>\n Ten business days.<\/p>\n Caitlyn and Jeremy would return from Phoenix in eight.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s do it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Brian\u2019s professional mask slipped for just a moment \u2014 genuine excitement underneath.<\/p>\n He dialed from my living room, described my property with the enthusiasm of someone who\u2019d found buried treasure.\u00a0Cherry Creek area. Original owner. Immaculate condition. Custom features throughout.<\/em><\/p>\n He ended the call smiling. \u201cThey want to move forward immediately. Contracts ready by tomorrow morning.\u201d<\/p>\n The sun was setting through Ellen\u2019s bay window, casting the room gold. In 25 years, I had never once imagined selling this house. But watching the light play across everything I\u2019d built \u2014 everything Caitlyn had dismissed as a convenient inheritance \u2014 I felt something that had been absent for a very long time.<\/p>\n Control.<\/p>\n The following days moved with the clean efficiency of a well-executed plan.<\/p>\n Inspectors arrived and admired the workmanship. The title company worked through their search. Cash buyers sent their team \u2014 polite men who examined my electrical work and my floors with quiet appreciation.\u00a0Whoever built this knew what they were doing,<\/em>\u00a0one of them said.<\/p>\n Day eight, Brian called with confirmation. \u201cEverything\u2019s on track for closing tomorrow. The buyers are thrilled. Wire transfer will be completed same day.\u201d<\/p>\n That evening, I packed a single suitcase. Ellen\u2019s jewelry box first, then our wedding photos, then the novel with the bookmark on page 247. My engineering certificates. Her favorite cookbook with handwritten notes in the margins. The essentials of a shared life.<\/p>\n I left almost everything else. The furniture would stay. The photo albums. Ellen\u2019s clothes still hanging in our closet, still carrying the faint trace of her perfume.<\/p>\n I found an apartment that afternoon \u2014 a modest one-bedroom in Highlands, month-to-month, a senior community with clean grounds and a manager named Mrs. Chen who didn\u2019t ask unnecessary questions.<\/p>\n When would you like to move in?<\/em><\/p>\n Tonight.<\/em><\/p>\n The closing was on a Friday morning.<\/p>\n I dressed in the navy suit Ellen had bought me for Caitlyn\u2019s college graduation, not the funeral suit. This felt like a beginning, not an end.<\/p>\n The title company\u2019s office was all professional efficiency. The buyer\u2019s attorney double-checked every document. Brian conducted the paperwork with the confidence of someone who\u2019d done this hundreds of times.<\/p>\n Each signature felt like cutting a chain.<\/p>\n The deed transfer.<\/p>\n The settlement statement.<\/p>\n The final acknowledgement.<\/p>\n \u201c$890,000, less closing costs, has been deposited to your account.\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at the numbers on the paper. More money than I\u2019d ever seen in one place. More money than Caitlyn and Jeremy had been counting on claiming while I sat in their resort, grateful for their management.<\/p>\n Brian walked me to my truck afterward.<\/p>\n \u201cYou made the right choice, Mr. Hayes. Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what we need.\u201d<\/p>\n I drove home through neighborhoods I\u2019d known for twenty-five years. Past the elementary school where Caitlyn had learned to read. Past the park where Ellen and I had walked every Sunday morning. But instead of grief, what I felt was something cleaner.<\/p>\n I pulled into my driveway for what I knew was nearly the last time. Sat in my truck looking at the house.<\/p>\n Then I took out my phone and called a 24-hour locksmith.<\/p>\n Eddie arrived in a van full of tools and hardware. He was in his fifties, the kind of man who\u2019d seen every lock emergency Denver had to offer.<\/p>\n \u201cSecurity issue, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNew ownership situation,\u201d I told him. \u201cBetter safe than sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n He nodded like he\u2019d heard it before and got to work removing the locks I\u2019d installed fifteen years ago. The brass hardware Ellen had chosen because it matched our door knocker.<\/p>\n These are quality locks,<\/em>\u00a0he said.\u00a0Somebody knew what they were doing.<\/em><\/p>\n That was me. I like things done right.<\/em><\/p>\n The new locks were silver instead of brass. They clicked differently \u2014 sharper, more mechanical. Eddie handed me a ring of keys that felt foreign in my palm.<\/p>\n After he left, I stood in my empty house and began the last part.<\/p>\n I was careful about what I took. Ellen\u2019s cookbook. Our wedding photo. Her novel. The engineering awards she\u2019d been so proud of. The photo albums could stay \u2014 I\u2019d had copies made at the drugstore over the past three days, every page of Caitlyn\u2019s childhood preserved on new paper, waiting at my new apartment on the nightstand.<\/p>\n What I was leaving behind was the geography of memory. The house itself. The hardwood floors. The bay window. The handprints of twenty-five years.<\/p>\n I wrote the note at my kitchen table one final time, careful script on good stationery.<\/p>\n Dear Caitlyn and Jeremy,<\/em><\/p>\n If you\u2019re reading this, my plan worked exactly as intended.<\/em><\/p>\n I heard your phone conversation. I heard you call me a burden. I heard you calculating how much money you\u2019d make selling my house while I sat in your resort with medical staff on hand.<\/em><\/p>\n The house has been sold for $890,000, cash. The funds are safely in my new account.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019ve moved somewhere I\u2019m appreciated, not managed.<\/em><\/p>\n Your belongings are in storage at Denver Moving and Storage on Kfax Avenue. You have 30 days to claim them before fees begin.<\/em><\/p>\n I gave you everything I had for forty-two years. You repaid me by planning to warehouse me so you could profit from my life\u2019s work.<\/em><\/p>\n I hope the lesson was worth the cost.<\/em><\/p>\n Love, Dad.<\/em><\/p>\n I taped the envelope to the inside of the front door at eye level.<\/p>\n Then I took one final walk through each room.<\/p>\n The kitchen where three-year-old Caitlyn had taken her first wobbly steps toward Ellen\u2019s outstretched arms. The living room where we\u2019d watched her tear into Christmas presents. Our bedroom where Ellen had spent her last days, where I\u2019d held her hand while the machines beeped around us, where she\u2019d made me promise not to let anyone take advantage of me.<\/p>\n I kept the promise, honey. It just took me a while.<\/em><\/p>\n I locked the new locks, tested them, and drove away from Maple Street.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t look in the rearview mirror.<\/p>\n Friday afternoon, 5:15 p.m.<\/p>\n I was in my small apartment chair, phone in both hands, watching the live camera feed I\u2019d positioned by the front door outlet \u2014 disguised as a phone charger, aimed at the entryway.<\/p>\n A black SUV pulled into the driveway.<\/p>\n Caitlyn stepped out first, stretching after the drive. Jeremy emerged from the driver\u2019s side, pulling suitcases from the back. They moved with the relaxed confidence of people coming home to collect what they\u2019d decided was already theirs.<\/p>\n I watched Caitlyn reach into her purse for her keys. Insert them into the lock.<\/p>\n Frown.<\/p>\n Try again.<\/p>\n That\u2019s weird. My key\u2019s not working.<\/em><\/p>\n Jeremy set down the luggage and tried. Then disappeared around the side of the house. Returned two minutes later with a different expression \u2014 the alarm of a man who\u2019s suddenly understood something he didn\u2019t want to understand.<\/p>\n Back door\u2019s locked too. And the garage remote isn\u2019t working, Caitlyn. Someone changed these locks.<\/em><\/p>\n What? That\u2019s impossible. Dad doesn\u2019t even know any locksmiths.<\/em><\/p>\n Jeremy examined the front door closely, running his fingers over the silver hardware.\u00a0These are brand new. This wasn\u2019t an accident.<\/em><\/p>\n I watched Caitlyn dial my old landline \u2014 disconnected three days ago. She tried again. Pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it.<\/p>\n He doesn\u2019t even have a cell phone,<\/em>\u00a0she said, her voice beginning to crack.\u00a0We kept saying we should get him one.<\/em><\/p>\n Jeremy found the kitchen window I\u2019d left unlocked deliberately. He boosted Caitlyn up through the frame, her business suit catching on the latch, and moments later the front door opened from inside.<\/p>\n They both stopped when they saw the envelope.<\/p>\n White. Eye level. Their names in my careful script.<\/p>\n Caitlyn\u2019s hand was trembling as she pulled it free.<\/p>\n I leaned forward, watching her eyes move across the words. Jeremy reading over her shoulder.<\/p>\n He sold the house.<\/em>\u00a0Her voice climbed toward a shriek.\u00a0How could he do this to us?<\/em><\/p>\n Jeremy snatched the note and read it again, as if the words might change.<\/p>\n That manipulative old bastard. He was playing us the whole time.<\/em><\/p>\n $890,000.<\/em>\u00a0Caitlyn was crying, her careful makeup streaking down her face.\u00a0He kept it all. That money was supposed to be our future.<\/em><\/p>\n Your future?<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy snapped \u2014 and for the first time, the devoted son-in-law mask slipped all the way off.\u00a0This is your father, Caitlyn. You should have handled this better.<\/em><\/p>\n My fault?<\/em>\u00a0She wheeled on him.\u00a0You\u2019re the one who called him a burden. You\u2019re the one who pushed for the nursing home.<\/em><\/p>\n Well, he was a burden. Look what he\u2019s done to us now.<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy gestured around the room that was no longer theirs.\u00a0We\u2019re homeless. Our lease expires next week.<\/em><\/p>\n The irony was so clean it almost hurt.<\/p>\n They were standing in my living room, arguing about being homeless \u2014 exactly what they\u2019d been planning to make me.<\/p>\n Call a lawyer,<\/em>\u00a0Caitlyn said desperately.\u00a0There has to be something we can do. He can\u2019t just sell without telling us.<\/em><\/p>\n With what money?<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy\u2019s voice turned cold.\u00a0In case you forgot, I lost my job six months ago and your salary barely covers our car payments.<\/em><\/p>\n Then get another job.<\/em><\/p>\n Sure. Financial firms are lining up to hire advisors who got fired for questionable transactions.<\/em><\/p>\n I watched my daughter\u2019s face go still as the full picture assembled itself \u2014 no house, no inheritance, no savings, Jeremy\u2019s employment situation finally in the open.<\/p>\n How could he be so cruel?<\/em>\u00a0she whispered.<\/p>\n The same way you were,<\/em>\u00a0Jeremy said quietly,\u00a0when you called him a burden and laughed about it on the phone.<\/em><\/p>\n I turned off the camera feed.<\/p>\n I had seen enough.<\/p>\n In my small apartment kitchen, I opened the bottle of wine I\u2019d saved from the house \u2014 a 2018 Bordeaux Ellen and I had been keeping for a special occasion that had never quite arrived.<\/p>\n I poured a glass and raised it toward Ellen\u2019s photo on the nightstand.<\/p>\n To you, my love.<\/em><\/p>\n The wine was very good.<\/p>\n I sat in my chair by the window and watched the Denver skyline go gold in the late sun. Somewhere across the city, my daughter and her husband were learning that generosity taken for granted eventually runs dry. That patience mistaken for weakness is the most dangerous kind of patience.<\/p>\n I thought about Caitlyn at three years old, taking her first steps across our kitchen floor toward Ellen\u2019s outstretched arms. I thought about her at seven, eyes wide at the dollhouse I\u2019d spent three months building in secret. I thought about her at twenty-one, whispering against my shoulder during our father-daughter dance:\u00a0I\u2019ll never forget this, Daddy.<\/em><\/p>\n The grief of it was real. I won\u2019t pretend it wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n But grief and regret are different things.<\/p>\n I had nothing to regret.<\/p>\n I\u2019d given my daughter everything I had \u2014 my labor, my savings, my retirement, my unconditional trust \u2014 and she had looked at what remained of me and seen a burden to be managed before it became inconvenient.<\/p>\n She had underestimated me.<\/p>\n That was her mistake. Not mine.<\/p>\n I finished Ellen\u2019s wine slowly, watching the last of the light leave the sky, a free man with a full account and a small apartment and the long, open road of whatever came next.<\/p>\n The phone on the table buzzed with an unknown number.<\/p>\n I turned it face down.<\/p>\n Then off entirely.<\/p>\n The room was quiet. The crickets had started up somewhere outside my window \u2014 spring ones, the same as the ones in Ellen\u2019s garden, the ones I\u2019d been listening to the night everything changed.<\/p>\n I looked at her photograph.<\/p>\n You always said I was too generous for my own good,<\/em>\u00a0I told her.<\/p>\n You were right.<\/em><\/p>\n But I learned.<\/em><\/p>\n My Daughter Forgot to Hang Up the Phone. I Heard Her Say I Had to Go to a Nursing Home. I Stayed Silent \u2014 and Sold the House for $890,000. The meatloaf never tasted quite right anymore. Ellen\u2019s recipe, her handwriting on the index card, her cast iron pan \u2014 all exactly the same. But […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-288","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/288","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=288"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/288\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":289,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/288\/revisions\/289"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=288"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=288"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/usacommunity.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=288"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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