Part 1: The First Goodbye
\nI stopped expecting much from my father the day he walked out when I was ten.<\/p>\n
It was a Tuesday. I remember that because we were having tacos for dinner, and Tuesday was always Taco Night. My mom, Sarah, was at the stove, browning the ground beef, humming along to the radio. The kitchen smelled like cumin and onions, a smell that, for years afterward, would make my stomach turn with anxiety.<\/p>\n
My father, Richard, came downstairs with a suitcase. It wasn\u2019t a large suitcase. Just a weekend bag. But the way he held it\u2014knuckles white, jaw set\u2014told me this wasn\u2019t for a business trip.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t look at me. He looked at the wall just above my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t do this anymore, Sarah,\u201d he said. His voice was flat. Empty.<\/p>\n
My mom turned around, the spatula dripping grease onto the linoleum. \u201cDo what, Rick? Eat tacos?\u201d She tried to laugh, but it was a brittle sound. She knew. Mothers always know before they admit they know.<\/p>\n
\u201cUs,\u201d he said. \u201cThis life. It\u2019s suffocating me. I met someone. Her name is Valerie.\u201d<\/p>\n
Valerie. The name hung in the air like a curse word.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe understands me,\u201d he continued, as if reading from a script he\u2019d rehearsed in the mirror. \u201cIt\u2019s time I started living for myself. I deserve to be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked out the door without kissing me goodbye. He didn\u2019t even look back when my mom fell to her knees, sobbing into her apron. The screen door slammed shut, and just like that, the architect of my childhood became a ghost who occasionally sent child support checks late.<\/p>\n
What he meant was: I choose her over you both.<\/p>\n
The years that followed were a montage of missed milestones.<\/p>\n
He forgot the year I turned thirteen. I sat by the phone all day, convinced he would call. When he didn\u2019t, I told myself he was probably just busy with work.<\/p>\n
At seventeen, a birthday card arrived in the mail. Inside was a crisp twenty-dollar bill and a generic message: Have a great one! Love, Dad. The handwriting was loopy and feminine. It was Valerie\u2019s. He hadn\u2019t even licked the envelope.<\/p>\n
At my high school graduation, he didn\u2019t come. I scanned the crowd of proud parents, searching for his face, but found only empty space. My mom and I took a selfie in our front yard\u2014me in my cap and gown, her with eyes red from crying happy tears\u2014and we ordered pizza. We ate it on the porch, pretending we didn\u2019t care.<\/p>\n
When I got accepted into college\u2014on a scholarship, no less\u2014I texted him the news.<\/p>\n
I got into State! Pre-law!<\/p>\n
Three hours later, he replied: Cool. I was never a college guy anyway. Good luck paying for books.<\/p>\n
That was it. No \u201cI\u2019m proud of you.\u201d No \u201cWell done.\u201d Just a reminder of his own inadequacy disguised as indifference.<\/p>\n
By the time I met Noah, I had built a fortress around the part of my heart labeled \u2018Father\u2019. Noah was different. He was steady. He was kind. He listened when I talked, and remembered the small things, like how I took my coffee or that I hated the texture of velvet.<\/p>\n
When Noah proposed, down on one knee in the middle of a pumpkin patch in October, I cried not just because I was happy, but because I finally felt safe.<\/p>\n
But weddings have a way of digging up old ghosts.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should invite him,\u201d my mom said one evening, looking over the guest list. She was a saint, my mother. Despite everything Richard had done, she never badmouthed him to me. She carried her pain quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d I asked, twirling my engagement ring\u2014a simple, elegant solitaire that Noah had saved for months to buy. \u201cHe hasn\u2019t been a dad in fifteen years. Why does he get to be one for a day?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you might regret it if you don\u2019t,\u201d she said gently. \u201cAnd maybe\u2026 maybe he\u2019s changed. People grow up, Maya. Even men like your father.\u201d<\/p>\n
So, against my better judgment, I called him.<\/p>\n
He answered on the second ring. \u201cMaya? Everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m getting married, Dad,\u201d I said, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. \u201cTo Noah. The wedding is in June.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. Then, surprisingly, warmth. \u201cThat\u2019s wonderful, honey! Wow. Married. My little girl.\u201d<\/p>\n
He asked questions. He wanted to know the venue, the colors, the menu. He sounded like the dad I used to watch cartoons with before Valerie happened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to help,\u201d he said. \u201cWith the costs. Weddings are expensive. Let me contribute. It\u2019s the least I can do.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was stunned. \u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely. Send me the invoices.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a few months, I let myself believe the fairy tale. I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, the prospect of walking his only daughter down the aisle had woken something up inside him.<\/p>\n
But the check never came.<\/p>\n
When the deposit for the venue was due, he \u201chad a liquidity issue with some investments.\u201d<\/p>\n
When the caterer needed the final count, he \u201cforgot his checkbook at the office.\u201d<\/p>\n
When the dress shop called for the final payment, he didn\u2019t answer his phone for a week.<\/p>\n
Noah and I tightened our belts. We cut the open bar to beer and wine only. We canceled the videographer. We pushed our honeymoon to Italy to \u201csometime next year.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mom, seeing the panic in my eyes, quietly dipped into her retirement savings. \u201cYou only get married once,\u201d she said, sliding an envelope across the table. \u201cTake it. Don\u2019t argue with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Richard never sent a dime. But he kept promising he would.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll bring a big check on the day of,\u201d he told me over the phone. \u201cA wedding gift. It\u2019ll cover everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
I should have known better. But hope is a dangerous drug, and I was addicted to the idea of a father who cared.<\/p>\n
Part 2: The Return of the King (And His Queen)
\nThe morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. It was the kind of June day brides pray for\u2014low humidity, blue skies, a gentle breeze.<\/p>\n
I was in the bridal suite, surrounded by my bridesmaids, sipping a mimosa I was too nervous to taste.<\/p>\n
Then, there was a knock at the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s here,\u201d my maid of honor, Jessica, whispered, peeking out the window.<\/p>\n
Richard walked in like he owned the place. He was wearing a custom-tailored navy suit that probably cost more than my entire catering budget. He looked handsome, distinguished\u2014the silver fox. He flashed that charming, lopsided grin that I used to think hung the moon.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s the bride?\u201d he boomed.<\/p>\n
I stood up, smoothing the lace on my dress. \u201cHi, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hugged me. It was a stiff hug, mindful of not wrinkling his jacket, but it was a hug. \u201cYou look beautiful, Maya. Just beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks,\u201d I said, a lump forming in my throat. \u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWouldn\u2019t miss it for the world.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then, the door opened wider.<\/p>\n
Valerie stepped in.<\/p>\n
The room went silent.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t just that she was there. I expected her. It was what she was wearing.<\/p>\n
Valerie was a tall, striking woman who spent a lot of time and money maintaining her appearance. Today, she was wearing a floor-length gown covered in sequins. It was rose-gold, shimmering under the lights.<\/p>\n
It was white-adjacent. It was bridal.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, everyone!\u201d she announced, striking a pose. \u201cCustom-made. Flew it in from Milan. No one else in the state owns it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nobody had asked.<\/p>\n
My mom, who was pinning my veil, froze. Her hands shook slightly, but she composed herself. \u201cHello, Valerie. You look\u2026 festive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a celebration!\u201d Valerie chirped, walking over to inspect me. She looked me up and down, her eyes critical. \u201cOh, lace. Very\u2026 traditional. A bit safe, isn\u2019t it? But cute.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s perfect,\u201d Richard said quickly, sensing the tension. But he moved to stand next to Valerie, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. They looked like they were the couple of honor.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d Valerie said, checking her reflection in the mirror meant for me. \u201cRichard tells me we\u2019re sitting at the head table?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually,\u201d I said, trying to keep my voice steady. \u201cThe head table is for the wedding party. You and Dad are at Table 1. It\u2019s right next to the dance floor. The parents\u2019 table.\u201d<\/p>\n
Valerie\u2019s smile faltered. \u201cOh. I see. With your mother?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd her sister,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n
Valerie sniffed. \u201cWell. I suppose we can make do.\u201d<\/p>\n
The ceremony was beautiful. Noah looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, and when I saw him at the end of the aisle, the anxiety in my chest loosened.<\/p>\n
Richard walked me down the aisle. He walked too fast. I had to whisper, \u201cSlow down, Dad,\u201d twice. He was sweating. He kept glancing at the guests, smiling and nodding as if he were running for mayor. He wasn\u2019t looking at me. He was performing.<\/p>\n
When we reached the altar, he handed my hand to Noah without looking him in the eye. He muttered, \u201cGood luck,\u201d and practically ran to his seat next to Valerie.<\/p>\n
But I swallowed the disappointment. Focus on Noah, I told myself. Focus on the love.<\/p>\n
We said our vows. We kissed. We were married.<\/p>\n
The reception was a blur of joy. The toasts were funny and heartfelt. My maid of honor cried. Noah\u2019s best man told embarrassing stories from college. I felt light, floaty, happy.<\/p>\n
Then came the moment I had been dreading and craving in equal measure.<\/p>\n
The DJ, a cheerful guy named Mike who I had given a very specific playlist to, leaned into the microphone. The lights dimmed to a soft, warm purple.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd now,\u201d Mike announced, his voice echoing through the hall. \u201cA very special moment. I\u2019d like to invite the bride and her father to the dance floor for the father-daughter dance.\u201d<\/p>\n
The opening chords of Fleetwood Mac\u2019s Landslide began to play.<\/p>\n
I took my love, I took it down\u2026<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t just a song. It was the song. My mom used to sing it to me on the nights I cried after he left. It was about change. About getting older. About fear.<\/p>\n
I stood up, smoothing my dress. My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked toward Table 1.<\/p>\n
Richard didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n
He was sitting there, a glass of scotch in one hand, his other hand wrapped tightly around Valerie\u2019s manicured fingers.<\/p>\n
Valerie leaned in close to his ear. She whispered something. Her face was pinched, unhappy. She gestured vaguely toward the head table, then toward herself.<\/p>\n
I saw Richard\u2019s jaw tighten. He nodded once. A short, sharp motion.<\/p>\n
I walked toward their table. The room was watching. Five feet away. Three feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad?\u201d I said, keeping my voice low so only they could hear. \u201cYou ready?\u201d<\/p>\n
He wouldn\u2019t meet my eyes. He stared at the ice melting in his glass.<\/p>\n
Valerie looked up instead. Her smile was tight. Cold. Triumphantly possessive.<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard?\u201d she prompted.<\/p>\n
He exhaled, a sound of heavy annoyance. \u201cYeah\u2026 Maya, look. We\u2019re going to skip that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I froze. The blood drained from my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe dance,\u201d he said, finally looking at me. His eyes were empty. \u201cWe\u2019re not doing it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut\u2026 the music is playing,\u201d I stammered. \u201cEveryone is watching. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. \u201cValerie\u2019s already feeling excluded. This day has been hard enough on her.\u201d<\/p>\n
My ears started to ring. A high-pitched whine that drowned out the music.<\/p>\n
\u201cHard on her?\u201d I whispered. \u201cDad, it\u2019s my wedding day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly,\u201d he said, his voice rising just enough to be sharp. \u201cAnd you didn\u2019t include her. No mention in the speeches. No toast to her. You didn\u2019t even ask her to get ready with you this morning. You made her feel like an outsider.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is an outsider!\u201d I wanted to scream. \u201cShe\u2019s the woman you left us for!\u201d<\/p>\n
But I didn\u2019t scream. I just stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re punishing me,\u201d I realized. \u201cYou\u2019re punishing me for not worshipping the woman who broke up our family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m supporting my wife,\u201d Richard said coldly. \u201cWe\u2019ve decided to sit this one out. Go sit down, Maya.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned back to his drink. He dismissed me. Just like he had dismissed me when I was ten.<\/p>\n
Tears, hot and stinging, pricked my eyes. I turned away before I broke down in front of him. I wouldn\u2019t give him the satisfaction.<\/p>\n
I rushed past the cake table, past the confused guests, and slipped behind the DJ booth where the shadows were deep.<\/p>\n
\u201cTurn it off,\u201d I whispered to Mike, the DJ. \u201cPlease, just stop the music.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mike looked confused. He pulled his headphones off. \u201cWhat? Is everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust stop it!\u201d I choked out.<\/p>\n
But before Mike could hit the fader, he grabbed his microphone. He hadn\u2019t seen what happened. He thought Richard was just slow getting up.<\/p>\n
\u201cLadies and gentlemen!\u201d Mike boomed enthusiastically. \u201cLet\u2019s give them some encouragement! Please welcome the bride and her father, Richard, to the dance floor!\u201d<\/p>\n
A spotlight snapped on.<\/p>\n
It swept across the room and hit me square in the face.<\/p>\n
I was alone.<\/p>\n
Exposed.<\/p>\n
The room went silent. The music played on\u2014Can I sail through the changin\u2019 ocean tides?\u2014and I stood there, bathed in white light, blinking through mascara that was starting to run.<\/p>\n
I looked at Richard one last time. I begged him with my eyes. Please. Just this once. Show up.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t look up. He took a sip of his scotch.<\/p>\n
The silence stretched. It became heavy, awkward, suffocating. People started to whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is he?\u201d
\n\u201cWhy isn\u2019t he moving?\u201d
\n\u201cOh my god, is she crying?\u201d<\/p>\n
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I wanted to disappear.<\/p>\n
Then, movement.<\/p>\n
Someone was walking onto the dance floor.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t Richard.<\/p>\n
It was Noah.<\/p>\n
My husband.<\/p>\n
He walked with purpose. He didn\u2019t look angry\u2014he looked determined. He walked right into the spotlight, took the microphone from the stunned DJ\u2019s hand, and faced the crowd.<\/p>\n
\u201cLooks like someone forgot what this moment means,\u201d Noah said. His voice was calm, deep, and steady. It reached every corner of the room. \u201cBut that\u2019s okay\u2026 because I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned to me. He handed the microphone back to the DJ and held out his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaya,\u201d he said softly, loud enough only for me to hear. \u201cLet me have this dance. Not as your husband. Just as the man who will never, ever leave you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at his hand. It was steady.<\/p>\n
I reached out.<\/p>\n
He pulled me in.<\/p>\n
We moved slowly. I buried my face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne and the starch of his shirt. I let myself lean into him completely. I let the tears fall, soaking his lapel.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got you,\u201d he whispered into my hair. \u201cI\u2019ve got you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room erupted. It wasn\u2019t polite applause. It was a roar of support. My bridesmaids were crying. My mom was standing up, clapping over her head.<\/p>\n
We danced. And for the first time that day, I didn\u2019t feel broken. I didn\u2019t feel abandoned.<\/p>\n
I felt chosen.<\/p>\n
Part 3: The Reckoning
\nThe song ended. We hugged, and Noah kissed my forehead.<\/p>\n
As the next song started\u2014something upbeat to clear the air\u2014Noah didn\u2019t let go of my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome with me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to introduce you to someone.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led me toward Table 3. Sitting there was an older gentleman I had met briefly at the rehearsal dinner. Arthur. Noah\u2019s great-uncle.<\/p>\n
Arthur was a quiet man. He wore thick glasses and a suit that looked older than I was. throughout the night, he had barely touched his champagne, observing the room with sharp, intelligent eyes.<\/p>\n
What Richard didn\u2019t know\u2014what nobody really knew, because Noah didn\u2019t brag\u2014was that Arthur wasn\u2019t just a retired uncle.<\/p>\n
Arthur was the Regional Director of the logistics firm where Richard worked as a mid-level sales manager. In fact, Arthur owned the parent company.<\/p>\n
Noah leaned down and whispered something to Arthur.<\/p>\n
Arthur nodded slowly. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and stood up.<\/p>\n
He walked calmly toward Table 1. Noah and I followed a few steps behind.<\/p>\n
Richard was laughing at something Valerie had said. He looked relaxed now that the \u201cawkwardness\u201d was over. He looked like a man who thought he had won.<\/p>\n
Arthur stopped just behind Richard\u2019s chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard,\u201d Arthur said. His voice wasn\u2019t loud, but it had the weight of a gavel striking a desk.<\/p>\n
Richard turned around. His eyes widened when he recognized the face. He scrambled to stand up, knocking his napkin to the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Sterling!\u201d Richard stammered, putting on his best salesman smile. \u201cI\u2026 I didn\u2019t know you were here! What a surprise! Are you\u2026 are you a friend of the groom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am the groom\u2019s great-uncle,\u201d Arthur said. He didn\u2019t offer his hand.<\/p>\n
Richard paled. \u201cOh. I see. Well! Small world. I\u2026 I hope you\u2019re enjoying the party.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur looked at Valerie, who was staring at him with open curiosity, trying to gauge his net worth by his shoes. Then he looked back at Richard.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have been watching you tonight, Richard,\u201d Arthur said. \u201cI watched you ignore your daughter during the ceremony. I watched you refuse to dance with her. I watched you humiliate her in front of two hundred people.\u201d<\/p>\n
Richard\u2019s smile faltered. \u201cSir, that was\u2026 a personal family matter. My wife wasn\u2019t feeling well, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSave it,\u201d Arthur cut him off. \u201cI have a philosophy in business, Richard. A man who cannot be trusted with the heart of his own child cannot be trusted with my clients\u2019 money. Character is not something you leave at the office door. It follows you everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
The color drained from Richard\u2019s face completely. He looked like a wax figure melting under heat.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d Richard whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t bother coming in on Monday,\u201d Arthur said simply. \u201cYour access card has already been deactivated. I sent the email from my phone during the salad course.\u201d<\/p>\n
Valerie gasped. Her fork clattered onto her china plate with a loud ping.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t do that!\u201d Valerie shrieked. \u201cThis is wrongful termination! We\u2019ll sue!\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur turned his gaze to Valerie. He looked at her sequined dress, her angry face, her clutching hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can try,\u201d Arthur said. \u201cBut I have fifty witnesses to his character right here in this room. And frankly, madam, based on your performance tonight, I\u2019d say you\u2019re the liability.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur turned to me. His expression softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cCongratulations, my dear,\u201d he said. \u201cYou married a good man. Better than the one who raised you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned and walked away.<\/p>\n
Richard stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish on a dock. He looked at me. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaya,\u201d he started. \u201cMaya, you have to talk to him. Tell him it was a misunderstanding. Maya!\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him. I looked at the man who had left when I was ten. The man who forgot my birthdays. The man who promised to pay and never did. The man who sat down when I needed him to stand up.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d I said, echoing his words from earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m skipping this,\u201d I said. \u201cNoah is waiting for me on the dance floor. And frankly, Dad\u2026 you\u2019re making me feel excluded from my own happiness.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took Noah\u2019s hand. We turned our backs on them.<\/p>\n
We walked away.<\/p>\n
Part 4: Who Stayed
\nI haven\u2019t heard from Richard since that night.<\/p>\n
Well, that\u2019s not entirely true. He called three days later, leaving a voicemail begging me to call Arthur. He sounded desperate. He sounded small.<\/p>\n
I deleted it without listening to the end.<\/p>\n
A few weeks later, I sent him a single text message. No words. Just a photo.<\/p>\n
It was a picture the photographer had captured during that moment with Noah. We were dancing under the fairy lights. His hand was on my back, holding me up. My head was on his shoulder. My smile was real.<\/p>\n
That was the only closure I needed.<\/p>\n
As for Valerie?<\/p>\n
I heard through the grapevine\u2014my mom\u2019s hairdresser, who knows everything\u2014that she left about two months later. Apparently, Richard\u2019s severance package wasn\u2019t enough to maintain the lifestyle she felt she deserved. She moved to Florida to \u201cfind herself.\u201d<\/p>\n
Or, more likely, to find another man with a corporate card.<\/p>\n
When the perks vanished, so did she. Just like we knew she would.<\/p>\n
And Noah?<\/p>\n
One night, about six months after the wedding, we were in our living room. We were folding laundry, listening to old records, drinking cheap wine. It was mundane. It was boring.<\/p>\n
It was perfect.<\/p>\n
We were listening to Fleetwood Mac. Landslide came on.<\/p>\n
I froze for a second, a reflex of old pain.<\/p>\n
Noah stopped folding a towel. He walked over to the record player. I thought he was going to skip the song.<\/p>\n
Instead, he turned the volume up.<\/p>\n
He walked over to me, in the middle of our messy living room, and held out his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cMay I?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I smiled, taking his hand. \u201cAlways.\u201d<\/p>\n
We swayed in the kitchen light.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know,\u201d Noah said softly, spinning me gently. \u201cI meant what I said that night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich part?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat you\u2019ll never have to beg someone to choose you again.\u201d He kissed my forehead. \u201cI choose you. Every day. Even when you leave your socks on the floor. Even when you burn the toast. I choose you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him, and I knew he meant it.<\/p>\n
Because in the end, the dance didn\u2019t matter. The fancy dress didn\u2019t matter. The title of \u2018Dad\u2019 didn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n
What mattered was who showed up when the music stopped.<\/p>\n
And who stayed for the encore.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Part 1: The First Goodbye I stopped expecting much from my father the day he walked out when I was ten. It was a Tuesday. I remember that… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3548,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[39],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3730","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-echoes-of-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3730","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3730"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3730\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3548"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3730"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3730"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/happylifeaura.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3730"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}