The Two-Day Anniversary: A Chronicle of the Choice
\nChapter 1: The Illusion of Forever
\nThey say the rain in Portland doesn\u2019t just fall; it settles into your bones, a quiet, gray weight that makes you crave the warmth of a home. On the day I married Daniel Whitmore, the rain held its breath. The sun broke through the clouds over the Willamette River, casting a golden glow on the white roses that lined the aisle. I remember looking at Daniel\u2014tall, polished, his eyes crinkling in that way that made me feel like the only woman in the world\u2014and thinking I had finally found my harbor.<\/p>\n
Daniel was the kind of man who performed kindness like a symphony. He knew the vintage of the wine, the names of the waitstaff, and exactly how to hold a door so that every bystander saw his gallantry. He was thirty-two, a rising star in architectural firm circles, and I was twenty-nine, a newly hired consultant with a heart full of hope.<\/p>\n
But the harbor had a gatekeeper. Her name was Vanessa.<\/p>\n
Vanessa was Daniel\u2019s younger sister, a woman of twenty-seven who moved through life with the practiced fragility of a cracked porcelain doll. She had been living with Daniel \u201ctemporarily\u201d for nearly a year. Before the wedding, Daniel would stroke my hair and whisper, \u201cShe\u2019s been through a lot, Emily. A bad breakup, a lost job. She\u2019s fragile. Just be patient with her for me?\u201d<\/p>\n
I agreed because love makes you generous. I didn\u2019t realize then that \u201cfragility\u201d was the weapon they used to keep the world serving them.<\/p>\n
The reception was a blur of champagne and promises. Daniel\u2019s mother, Patricia Whitmore, gripped my hands with a force that felt less like a hug and more like a transfer of custody. \u201cDaniel is a sensitive boy,\u201d she had whispered. \u201cHe needs a wife who understands the value of peace.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought she meant harmony. I didn\u2019t realize she meant silence.<\/p>\n
Two days later, the flowers in our new home were already beginning to wilt. The petals of my bridal bouquet were turning brown at the edges, a soft, decaying scent filling the hallway. I came home from a grueling ten-hour shift at my new orientation. My feet throbbed, and my mind was a chaotic map of new software and names.<\/p>\n
Daniel had sent me a grocery list at noon. Extra buttery potatoes for Vanessa, the text read. She\u2019s had a hard afternoon.<\/p>\n
When I stepped through the front door, the house felt heavy. The television was blaring\u2014a high-pitched reality show where people screamed at each other for sport. Vanessa was draped across the sofa, a velvet blanket tangled around her legs, her eyes glued to her phone. Empty soda cans and half-eaten bags of chips littered the coffee table I had spent three hours polishing the day before.<\/p>\n
The kitchen was worse. The sink was a mountain of crusty plates and wine glasses from the night before. Daniel was standing by the counter, his arms folded across his chest, his face a mask of calm that didn\u2019t reach his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d he said. It wasn\u2019t a question. It was an accusation.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s 6:20,\u201d I replied, my voice dry. \u201cTraffic on the I-5 was a nightmare, and I had to stop for the specific butter you wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa didn\u2019t look up, but her voice cut through the room. \u201cI\u2019m starving. I thought we were eating at six.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the back of her head. \u201cI just got through the door, Vanessa. I haven\u2019t even taken off my coat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel stepped toward me, his shadow stretching across the tile. \u201cDon\u2019t take that tone with her, Emily. She\u2019s had a migraine all day. Just get the chicken started. We can talk about your day later.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt a cold shiver of realization. My day didn\u2019t matter. My exhaustion was an inconvenience. In this house, there was a hierarchy, and I was at the bottom.<\/p>\n
I cooked. I peeled potatoes until my thumbs were sore. I roasted the chicken. I set the table for three. But when I announced dinner, Vanessa didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n
\u201cBring it here,\u201d she said, waving a hand toward the coffee table. \u201cMy head hurts too much to sit at the table.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood there, holding a plate of hot food, and for the first time, the mask of the \u201cpatient wife\u201d slipped.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe table is five feet away, Vanessa,\u201d I said. \u201cI am not a waitress, and this isn\u2019t a hotel.\u201d<\/p>\n
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the television seemed to mute itself. Daniel\u2019s chair scraped back against the floor\u2014a harsh, screeching sound that made my heart hammer against my ribs.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you just say?\u201d Daniel asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said she can eat at the table like an adult,\u201d I replied, my voice trembling but firm. \u201cI\u2019m not serving dinner to someone glued to a screen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa finally looked over, her face twisting into a sneer of pure venom. \u201cWow. Two days in and she already thinks she owns the place. I told you, Daniel. I told you she was controlling.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel crossed the room so quickly I didn\u2019t have time to blink. He was in my space, his breath smelling of the expensive scotch he\u2019d poured himself while I was peeling potatoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cApologize,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
The strike was so fast it felt like a bolt of electricity. His hand caught my left cheek, the force of it spinning my head to the side.<\/p>\n
Clack.<\/p>\n
The sound of skin on skin echoed in the kitchen. For a heartbeat, the world turned into a series of jagged still-frames: the flickering blue light of the TV, the steam rising from the chicken, and the terrifying, cold vacuum in Daniel\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t cry. Something inside me\u2014the girl who had worked three jobs to get through college, the woman who had built a career from nothing\u2014snapped into place.<\/p>\n
I looked at the plate in my hand. Then I looked at Daniel. With a slow, deliberate motion, I turned the plate over. The chicken, the buttery potatoes, the green beans\u2014all of it slid off and hit his polished leather shoes with a sickening thud.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just made the biggest mistake of your life,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
Daniel didn\u2019t look remorseful. He looked offended that his shoes were dirty. \u201cClean that up,\u201d he hissed. \u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cliffhanger: As I reached for my phone, Daniel didn\u2019t move to apologize; he moved to block the only exit out of the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Chapter 2: The Sound of the Siren
\n\u201cMove, Daniel,\u201d I said. My voice was no longer trembling. It was cold, like the rain outside.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou aren\u2019t going anywhere,\u201d he replied. He looked over his shoulder at Vanessa. \u201cVanessa, go to your room.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa didn\u2019t move. She looked thrilled. The \u201cfragile\u201d girl was gone, replaced by a spectator at a bloodsport. \u201cShe\u2019s going to call the cops, Daniel. Look at her phone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel lunged. He was faster than me, but I was smaller. I ducked under his arm, the pain in my cheek radiating down to my jaw. I scrambled into the living room, my heart a drum in my ears. I dialed 911 before he could grab my wrist.<\/p>\n
\u201cEmergency, what is your location?\u201d the operator\u2019s voice was a lifeline.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Emily Harper-Whitmore,\u201d I said, my voice projecting. \u201cI am at 1242 Ridgewood Drive. My husband just assaulted me. I need an officer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel\u2019s face transformed. The rage vanished, replaced instantly by the \u201cCharming Daniel\u201d mask. He held up his hands, palms out. \u201cEmily, honey, hang up. You\u2019re being dramatic. We had a disagreement. You threw food! I was just trying to calm you down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not hanging up,\u201d I told the operator. \u201cHe is blocking my exit. Please hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStay on the line, Emily,\u201d the operator said. \u201cOfficers are four minutes out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel began to pace. He wasn\u2019t scared; he was calculating. \u201cThink about this, Emily. You call the police, this goes on the record. My firm\u2026 my reputation. You\u2019re destroying our marriage over a misunderstanding.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA slap is not a misunderstanding,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s a boundary. And you crossed it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa chimed in from the doorway. \u201cYou\u2019re such a drama queen! He barely touched you. You\u2019re the one who went crazy with the plates. We\u2019re the ones who should be calling the police on you for property damage.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at her\u2014really looked at her. She wasn\u2019t a victim of life. She was the architect of this chaos. She fed Daniel\u2019s ego, and in return, he gave her a place to be a parasite.<\/p>\n
The blue and red lights began to dance against the living room curtains. The knock on the door was heavy, authoritative. Daniel smoothed his hair and straightened his shirt. He actually looked at his reflection in the hallway mirror before opening the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cOfficers, thank God you\u2019re here,\u201d Daniel said, his voice dripping with concerned-husband energy. \u201cMy wife\u2026 she\u2019s had a very stressful week. The wedding, the new job\u2026 she just had a breakdown. She started throwing dishes, and I had to hold her arms to keep her from hurting herself.\u201d<\/p>\n
The two officers\u2014one older woman with graying hair and a younger man\u2014stepped into the foyer. They looked at the broken porcelain on the floor. They looked at Daniel\u2019s calm, handsome face.<\/p>\n
Then the female officer looked at me.<\/p>\n
She walked past Daniel without a word. She took my chin in her hand and tilted my face toward the light. My cheek was already purple, the shape of a hand clearly outlined against my pale skin.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he do this?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cHe hit me because I told his sister to eat at the table.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel started to interrupt. \u201cOfficer, if I could just explain\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
The male officer stepped in front of him. \u201cYou\u2019ll get your turn, sir. Stay right there. Ma\u2019am, do you have a bag packed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll get one,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
I walked to the bedroom we had shared for exactly two nights. My wedding dress was still hanging on the back of the door, a ghostly white reminder of a lie. I grabbed a duffel bag and shoved in whatever I could reach. Jeans, sweaters, my laptop.<\/p>\n
When I walked back into the living room, I saw my wedding ring sitting on the kitchen counter. I had taken it off to wash the potatoes. I left it there, right next to a smear of cold gravy.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
As the officer led me to the door, Daniel called out, his voice cracking with fake emotion. \u201cEmily! Don\u2019t do this! I love you! We can fix this!\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t turn around. But Vanessa\u2019s voice followed me into the night, sharp and low: \u201cDon\u2019t come back. We don\u2019t want you here anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cliffhanger: As the police car pulled away, I looked at my phone. A message had just popped up from Daniel\u2019s mother, Patricia: \u2018I saw the police cars on the neighborhood app. Whatever you\u2019ve done, Emily, you better fix it before the morning papers see it.\u2019<\/p>\n
Chapter 3: The Architecture of a Lie
\nRachel Morgan\u2019s apartment smelled like cinnamon and old books\u2014the smell of safety. Rachel had been my best friend since we were both scraping by in graduate school. She didn\u2019t ask questions when I showed up at 10:00 p.m. with a swollen face. She simply handed me an ice pack and a glass of wine.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe hit you,\u201d Rachel said, her voice trembling with a rage she was trying to hide for my sake.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo days,\u201d I whispered. \u201cRachel, I didn\u2019t even get the thank-you cards printed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cForget the cards, Em. You got out. Most women wait ten years. You waited ten minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n
But the night wasn\u2019t over. My phone became a battlefield.<\/p>\n
11:15 p.m. \u2013 Daniel: I\u2019m at the hospital. I think you broke my toe when you threw that plate. How could you be so violent?
\n11:30 p.m. \u2013 Patricia: Emily, I am disappointed. A marriage is a private contract. Calling the authorities is a betrayal of the Whitlock name. Call me immediately.
\n11:45 p.m. \u2013 Vanessa: Daniel is crying. I hope you\u2019re happy. You\u2019re a monster.<\/p>\n
I watched the screen light up over and over. It was a coordinated strike. They weren\u2019t checking if I was okay. They were building a narrative where I was the aggressor.<\/p>\n
The next morning, Rachel drove me to the office of Marjorie Klein.<\/p>\n
Marjorie was a legend in Portland legal circles. She was sixty, wore sharp gray suits, and had eyes that could see through a brick wall. She didn\u2019t offer me tissues. She offered me a yellow legal pad.<\/p>\n
\u201cWrite down every red flag,\u201d Marjorie said. \u201cEverything you ignored because you wanted to be a bride.\u201d<\/p>\n
I started writing.<\/p>\n
The time he told me my friends were \u2018a bit much\u2019 and we should spend more time with Vanessa.<\/p>\n
The way he controlled the bank accounts during the wedding planning.<\/p>\n
The \u2018accidental\u2019 comments about how I would look better if I dressed more \u2018classically\u2019 like his mother.<\/p>\n
As I wrote, the picture changed. Daniel hadn\u2019t changed after the wedding. He had simply finished the construction. The house was built, the traps were set, and the door was supposed to be locked.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s going to claim \u2018mutual combat,’\u201d Marjorie said, looking at the police report. \u201cHe\u2019ll say you threw the plates and he was defending himself. We need more than just your word.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have the photos,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd I have Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need the money,\u201d Marjorie added. \u201cHe\u2019s already frozen the joint account, hasn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n
I checked my app. Balance: $0.00.<\/p>\n
My heart plummeted. My paycheck wasn\u2019t due for another week. I had nothing but the clothes in my bag and the $40 in my purse.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe thinks he can starve you out,\u201d Marjorie said. \u201cThat\u2019s his first mistake. He thinks you\u2019re the fragile one.\u201d<\/p>\n
That afternoon, I went back to the house with a police escort to get the rest of my things. I expected Daniel to be at work. Instead, I found the locks changed.<\/p>\n
Through the window, I saw Vanessa sitting at the dining room table. She was wearing my favorite silk robe\u2014the one my mother had bought me for the honeymoon. She was drinking coffee from my favorite mug, smiling as she watched me stand on the porch like a beggar.<\/p>\n
Cliffhanger: I reached into my bag and pulled out the one thing Daniel had forgotten I had: the spare key to the hidden safe in the floorboards\u2014the safe where his \u2019emergency\u2019 cash and the deeds were kept.<\/p>\n
Chapter 4: The Paper Shield
\nThe legal battle didn\u2019t feel like a movie. It felt like a slow, grinding war of attrition. For every step I took, Daniel and Patricia threw a boulder in my path.<\/p>\n
They sent \u201cflying monkeys\u201d\u2014family friends and distant cousins\u2014to message me about \u201cforgiveness\u201d and \u201cthe sanctity of vows.\u201d They posted photos on social media of the two of them looking devastated at a charity gala, with captions about \u201cpraying for those who lose their way.\u201d<\/p>\n
But Marjorie was a shark.<\/p>\n
\u201cDocumentation is the only thing that kills a charmer,\u201d she told me.<\/p>\n
We filed for a Permanent Restraining Order. At the hearing, Daniel showed up in a suit that cost more than my car. He looked humble. He looked like a man grieving a lost love.<\/p>\n
When he took the stand, he spoke softly. \u201cI never touched her with intent to harm. Emily has\u2026 she has a temper. She\u2019s been under a lot of pressure. I was just trying to keep the peace for my sister\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then Marjorie stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Whitmore,\u201d she said, her voice like a velvet blade. \u201cYou say you\u2019re a man of peace. Let\u2019s look at your phone records from the night of June 16th.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pulled up a transcript of the messages he had sent after the police left.
\nIf you tell the judge about Vanessa\u2019s history, I will make sure you never work in this city again.
\nYou\u2019re a nothing without my name. Come back and apologize, or I\u2019ll bury you.<\/p>\n
The judge, a no-nonsense woman named Judge Halloway, leaned forward. \u201cMr. Whitmore, these don\u2019t sound like the words of a man trying to \u2018keep the peace.\u2019 They sound like threats.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel\u2019s mask slipped for a fraction of a second. A flash of pure, unadulterated hatred crossed his face. \u201cI was emotional! She abandoned me!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe fled you,\u201d the judge corrected.<\/p>\n
The restraining order was granted. But the divorce was where the real horror lay.<\/p>\n
During discovery, Marjorie found something Daniel hadn\u2019t expected us to find. He had been funneling money out of his firm into a private account in Vanessa\u2019s name for years. He wasn\u2019t supporting a \u201cfragile\u201d sister; he was using her as a human offshore bank to hide assets from the IRS\u2014and now, from his wife.<\/p>\n
I spent my evenings in Rachel\u2019s guest room, sorting through spreadsheets. I realized that my salary, which I had been depositing into our \u201cjoint\u201d account, had been paying Vanessa\u2019s credit card bills while Daniel\u2019s money was being hoarded.<\/p>\n
I had been the one paying for the very velvet blanket she had wrapped herself in while she mocked me.<\/p>\n
I felt sick. But the sickness turned into a cold, hard resolve. I wasn\u2019t just getting a divorce. I was taking back every cent of my life that they had tried to steal.<\/p>\n
Cliffhanger: I was walking to my car after work when a black sedan pulled up alongside me. The window rolled down, and Patricia Whitmore looked out, her face pale. \u2018He\u2019s gone too far, Emily. I have something you need to see.\u2019<\/p>\n
Chapter 5: The Secret in the Attic
\nPatricia Whitmore didn\u2019t want to help me. She wanted to save the \u201cWhitlock\u201d brand.<\/p>\n
\u201cDaniel is like his father,\u201d she said, her voice shaking as we sat in a quiet corner of a park. \u201cHe thinks he can build a world and force everyone to live in it. But Vanessa\u2026 Vanessa knows where the bodies are buried.\u201d<\/p>\n
She handed me a manila envelope. Inside were medical records. Not mine. Vanessa\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Years ago, before I met Daniel, there had been another woman. A girl named Sarah. She had been Daniel\u2019s \u201cfianc\u00e9e\u201d for three years. The records showed a series of \u201caccidents\u201d Vanessa had reported\u2014Sarah falling down stairs, Sarah \u201ctripping\u201d over a rug.<\/p>\n
Sarah hadn\u2019t called the police. She had simply disappeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t disappear, Emily,\u201d Patricia whispered. \u201cHe paid her off. Five hundred thousand dollars to sign an NDA and move to London. Vanessa helped him arrange it. They\u2019ve done this before.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the photos of Sarah\u2019s injuries. They looked exactly like the bruise on my cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you telling me this now?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause he\u2019s started hitting me,\u201d Patricia said, her voice breaking. \u201cEver since you left, he\u2019s lost his outlet. He\u2019s losing his mind because he can\u2019t control the story anymore. He\u2019s taking it out on us.\u201d<\/p>\n
I realized then that the \u201cfragility\u201d of the Whitlock women wasn\u2019t a personality trait. It was a survival mechanism. They enabled the monster so he wouldn\u2019t bite them. But now that the primary prey was gone, the monster was hungry.<\/p>\n
I took the envelope to Marjorie.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is the silver bullet,\u201d Marjorie said. \u201cThis proves a pattern of behavior. We don\u2019t just want a divorce, Emily. We\u2019re going for a full annulment based on fraud and a civil suit for battery.\u201d<\/p>\n
The final settlement meeting was held in a glass-walled conference room downtown. Daniel sat across from me, flanked by three lawyers. He looked tired. The shine was gone. Vanessa sat behind him, looking terrified for the first time in her life.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe want half the house, the full value of the hidden accounts, and a public statement,\u201d Marjorie began.<\/p>\n
Daniel\u2019s lead lawyer laughed. \u201cYou have no grounds for that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pushed the manila envelope across the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes Sarah know you\u2019re still in Portland, Daniel?\u201d I asked. \u201cBecause my lawyer has her contact info in London. I think she\u2019d be very interested to know that her NDA is void if it was signed under criminal duress.\u201d<\/p>\n
The blood drained from Daniel\u2019s face. He looked at Vanessa. She shrank into her chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can settle this today,\u201d I said, my voice steady. \u201cOr we can let the Portland Tribune see what\u2019s inside that folder. Your firm is about to sign the Riverside Project, isn\u2019t it? I wonder how they\u2019d feel about an architect who builds homes but destroys the people inside them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Daniel stared at me. For the first time, he saw me. Not as a wife, not as a server, not as a \u201cpatient\u201d woman. He saw a survivor.<\/p>\n
\u201cSign the papers,\u201d he whispered to his lawyer.<\/p>\n
Cliffhanger: As I walked out of the building, a free woman, I saw Vanessa standing by the elevators. She looked at me, her eyes red. \u2018What am I supposed to do now?\u2019 she asked. I gave her the only answer she deserved.<\/p>\n
Chapter 6: The First Day of the Rest of My Life
\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to do what I did, Vanessa,\u201d I said, the elevator doors sliding open. \u201cYou\u2019re going to learn how to stand on your own feet. Or you\u2019re going to let him sink you. It\u2019s your choice now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The divorce was finalized seven months after the wedding.<\/p>\n
I moved into a small apartment in The Pearl District. It wasn\u2019t a mansion. It didn\u2019t have high-end crown molding or a designer kitchen. But the locks were mine. The silence was mine. And when I sat down to dinner, I sat at a small, round table with a single candle.<\/p>\n
I never had to ask permission to eat. I never had to apologize for being tired.<\/p>\n
On the one-year anniversary of the day I left, I did something I hadn\u2019t expected. I went back to the river where we had been married.<\/p>\n
I stood on the pier and watched the water churn. I thought about the girl in the white dress who thought love was about sacrifice. I didn\u2019t hate her. I felt sorry for her. She had been so eager to be loved that she hadn\u2019t realized she was being colonized.<\/p>\n
My phone buzzed. It was a photo from Rachel. It was a picture of me from the night of the incident\u2014not the one of my bruise, but one she\u2019d taken a few weeks later. I was laughing, a real, unburdened laugh, with a smear of flour on my nose from a baking class we\u2019d taken.<\/p>\n
To the woman who chose the door, the caption read.<\/p>\n
I realized then that the \u201cTwo-Day Marriage\u201d wasn\u2019t a failure. It was the most successful thing I had ever done. It was the moment I refused to be a character in someone else\u2019s play.<\/p>\n
I heard later that Daniel had moved to Seattle to try and restart his career. His mother had moved into a retirement community, and Vanessa\u2026 well, Vanessa was working at a boutique, finally paying her own rent. Sometimes, the only way to save people is to stop serving them.<\/p>\n
I looked at my hand. The skin where the ring had been was tan now, the pale mark gone. I was whole.<\/p>\n
I am Emily Harper. I was a wife for two days, but I have been a warrior for every day since.<\/p>\n
If you ever find yourself in a house where the air feels heavy and your voice feels small, remember this: The door is only locked if you believe it is. You are allowed to break the plates. You are allowed to call for help. And you are allowed to leave before the flowers even begin to wilt.<\/p>\n
If you want more stories like this, or if you\u2019d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I\u2019d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don\u2019t be shy about commenting or sharing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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