On my adopted daughter\u2019s thirteenth birthday, I said the cruelest words I have ever spoken.<\/p>\n
I can still hear my own voice.<\/p>\n
I can still see her face.<\/p>\n
And sometimes, even after all these years, I wish I could go back to that afternoon and physically stop myself before those words left my mouth.<\/p>\n
She was thirteen.<\/p>\n
Her name was Emily.<\/p>\n
And I told her:<\/p>\n
\u201cNobody wanted you\u2014that\u2019s why you\u2019re here!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n The moment I said it, something changed in her eyes.<\/p>\n She didn’t scream.<\/p>\n She didn’t cry.<\/p>\n She didn’t even argue.<\/p>\n She simply stared at me.<\/p>\n Then she nodded once.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n That was all.<\/p>\n Just one word.<\/p>\n Then she walked upstairs.<\/p>\n I thought she’d get over it.<\/p>\n Children say cruel things.<\/p>\n Parents say things they don’t mean.<\/p>\n Families fight.<\/p>\n I believed the next morning would be normal.<\/p>\n It wasn’t.<\/p>\n And neither was the rest of our lives.<\/p>\n Emily had been six months old when we adopted her.<\/p>\n My husband and I had spent years trying to have a child.<\/p>\n When the adoption agency called us, I remember sitting in the parking lot crying before I even met her.<\/p>\n She was tiny.<\/p>\n Quiet.<\/p>\n She had enormous brown eyes and a little patch of dark hair that stuck up at the back of her head.<\/p>\n The social worker placed her in my arms.<\/p>\n Emily grabbed my finger.<\/p>\n I looked at my husband.<\/p>\n He was crying.<\/p>\n \u201cWe’re her parents now,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n And we were.<\/p>\n At least, I thought we were.<\/p>\n We loved her.<\/p>\n We celebrated every milestone.<\/p>\n Her first birthday.<\/p>\n Her first steps.<\/p>\n Her first day of school.<\/p>\n Her first lost tooth.<\/p>\n I kept every drawing she made.<\/p>\n Every report card.<\/p>\n Every photograph.<\/p>\n I built a life around her.<\/p>\n So when she became a teenager and started pulling away, I didn’t understand it.<\/p>\n She became angry.<\/p>\n Defiant.<\/p>\n Private.<\/p>\n She stopped telling me things.<\/p>\n She locked her bedroom door.<\/p>\n She started asking questions about her biological parents.<\/p>\n At first, I tried to answer.<\/p>\n Then the questions became harder.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy did they give me away?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid they love me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid they ever want me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWas I abandoned?\u201d<\/p>\n I told her what I knew.<\/p>\n \u201cWe don’t know why your biological parents couldn’t raise you.\u201d<\/p>\n She would stare at me.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe they didn’t want me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don’t know that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen why didn’t they keep me?\u201d<\/p>\n I would hug her.<\/p>\n \u201cYou were loved.\u201d<\/p>\n But something inside her remained unconvinced.<\/p>\n On her thirteenth birthday, I bought her a necklace.<\/p>\n She barely looked at it.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n I had spent weeks planning her party.<\/p>\n She didn’t want one.<\/p>\n She wanted to go out with friends instead.<\/p>\n I told her no.<\/p>\n She slammed her bedroom door.<\/p>\n I followed her upstairs.<\/p>\n We argued.<\/p>\n She said I wasn’t her real mother.<\/p>\n I said she was ungrateful.<\/p>\n She said I didn’t understand her.<\/p>\n I told her she was being impossible.<\/p>\n Then she screamed,<\/p>\n \u201cYou’re not my mother!\u201d<\/p>\n And that’s when I said it.<\/p>\n The sentence that destroyed everything.<\/p>\n \u201cNobody wanted you\u2014that’s why you’re here!\u201d<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n I immediately regretted it.<\/p>\n But pride kept me from apologizing.<\/p>\n Emily stared at me.<\/p>\n Her eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n She nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n Then she walked into her room.<\/p>\n She closed the door.<\/p>\n And that was the last normal conversation we ever had.<\/p>\n After that day, she barely spoke to me.<\/p>\n She ate dinner in silence.<\/p>\n She stopped asking for things.<\/p>\n Stopped telling me about school.<\/p>\n Stopped hugging me.<\/p>\n If I asked how she was doing, she said,<\/p>\n \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n If I asked what was wrong, she said,<\/p>\n \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n Her room became her entire world.<\/p>\n I tried apologizing.<\/p>\n \u201cEmily, I was angry.\u201d<\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn’t mean what I said.\u201d<\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n She finally looked at me.<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut you don’t believe me.\u201d<\/p>\n She shrugged.<\/p>\n \u201cYou said nobody wanted me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked away.<\/p>\n \u201cYou said it.\u201d<\/p>\n I had no answer.<\/p>\n Because she was right.<\/p>\n Words don’t disappear just because the person who said them wishes they could.<\/p>\n Five years passed.<\/p>\n On her eighteenth birthday, Emily packed her belongings.<\/p>\n She had already been accepted into a university several states away.<\/p>\n I knew she was leaving.<\/p>\n I just didn’t realize she planned to disappear completely.<\/p>\n She carried two suitcases downstairs.<\/p>\n I stood in the hallway.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you leaving?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan we talk?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEmily\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n She stopped at the door.<\/p>\n I wanted to say everything.<\/p>\n That I loved her.<\/p>\n That I was sorry.<\/p>\n That the words I’d spoken when she was thirteen weren’t true.<\/p>\n But she looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.<\/p>\n Not anger.<\/p>\n Not hatred.<\/p>\n Something worse.<\/p>\n Acceptance.<\/p>\n As if she had already decided there was nothing left between us worth saving.<\/p>\n She opened the door.<\/p>\n I whispered,<\/p>\n \u201cHappy birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n She didn’t turn around.<\/p>\n Then she left.<\/p>\n I didn’t hear from her for years.<\/p>\n I tried.<\/p>\n Emails.<\/p>\n Letters.<\/p>\n Birthday cards.<\/p>\n Christmas gifts.<\/p>\n They all came back unopened.<\/p>\n Eventually, I stopped sending them.<\/p>\n Not because I stopped loving her.<\/p>\n Because I thought she wanted me gone.<\/p>\n My husband died during those years.<\/p>\n Emily didn’t come to the funeral.<\/p>\n I understood.<\/p>\n At least, I told myself I did.<\/p>\n I lived alone.<\/p>\n I kept her room exactly as she’d left it.<\/p>\n Her old books were still on the shelf.<\/p>\n Her childhood photographs were still in boxes.<\/p>\n Her necklace\u2014the one I had bought for her thirteenth birthday\u2014was still in the drawer.<\/p>\n Sometimes I would take it out.<\/p>\n Then put it away.<\/p>\n And wonder where my daughter was.<\/p>\n Whether she was happy.<\/p>\n Whether she hated me.<\/p>\n Whether she ever thought about home.<\/p>\n Then, twelve years after she left, a package arrived.<\/p>\n There was no warning.<\/p>\n No phone call.<\/p>\n No email.<\/p>\n Just a heavy cardboard box sitting on my front porch.<\/p>\n The return address had Emily’s name.<\/p>\n My hands began trembling.<\/p>\n I carried it inside.<\/p>\n I stared at it for nearly an hour before opening it.<\/p>\n I was afraid.<\/p>\n I don’t know what I expected.<\/p>\n Maybe photographs.<\/p>\n Maybe a letter.<\/p>\n Maybe something she wanted back.<\/p>\n I finally cut the tape.<\/p>\n Inside were dozens of envelopes.<\/p>\n Photographs.<\/p>\n Documents.<\/p>\n A small stuffed rabbit.<\/p>\n And a notebook.<\/p>\n On top was a letter.<\/p>\n My name was written on it.<\/p>\n Mom.<\/strong><\/p>\n I hadn’t seen her call me that in twelve years.<\/p>\n My hands shook as I opened it.<\/p>\n The first line made my heart stop.<\/p>\n I need you to know something before you decide what you think this box means.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I kept reading.<\/p>\n I never stopped loving you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I began crying.<\/p>\n But when you told me nobody wanted me, I believed you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I sat down.<\/p>\n The letter continued.<\/p>\n For five years, I tried to convince myself you were angry and didn’t mean it.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Then I realized something.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n You were the person I trusted most in the world.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n So if you said nobody wanted me, I believed that must have been the truth.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n I had spent twelve years thinking she had abandoned me.<\/p>\n She had spent twelve years believing I had confirmed her greatest fear.<\/p>\n That she had never been wanted.<\/p>\n Then I saw the photographs.<\/p>\n They were old.<\/p>\n Very old.<\/p>\n The first was dated six months before Emily’s adoption.<\/p>\n It showed a young woman holding a baby.<\/p>\n Emily.<\/p>\n I stared at the photograph.<\/p>\n On the back was written:<\/p>\n \u201cMy beautiful daughter. I love you more than anything.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n My hands started shaking.<\/p>\n Who was the woman?<\/p>\n Then I found another photograph.<\/p>\n And another.<\/p>\n There were dozens.<\/p>\n Emily’s biological mother had been writing letters.<\/p>\n Letters to Emily.<\/p>\n Letters she had never received.<\/p>\n I opened one.<\/p>\n My sweet girl,<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I need you to know that giving you up was the hardest thing I have ever done.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I didn’t give you away because I didn’t want you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I gave you away because I believed it was the only way you could have the life I couldn’t give you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I couldn’t breathe.<\/p>\n Emily had found her biological mother.<\/p>\n And apparently, she had found the truth.<\/p>\n I kept reading.<\/p>\n Emily’s biological mother had been nineteen when she became pregnant.<\/p>\n She had no family support.<\/p>\n The father had disappeared.<\/p>\n She was working two jobs.<\/p>\n She couldn’t afford housing.<\/p>\n She had considered keeping Emily.<\/p>\n She had even prepared a nursery in a tiny apartment.<\/p>\n But the apartment was condemned.<\/p>\n She lost her job.<\/p>\n She became homeless.<\/p>\n A social worker convinced her to consider adoption.<\/p>\n She had initially refused.<\/p>\n Then Emily became seriously ill.<\/p>\n She couldn’t afford the treatment.<\/p>\n The social worker told her that another family could provide medical care and stability.<\/p>\n She signed the adoption papers.<\/p>\n But she never stopped loving her daughter.<\/p>\n She wrote letters.<\/p>\n She sent photographs.<\/p>\n She sent birthday cards.<\/p>\n The adoption agency had kept them in a sealed file.<\/p>\n Emily had eventually found the records when she turned eighteen.<\/p>\n She tracked down her biological mother.<\/p>\n They met.<\/p>\n And for the first time, Emily heard the words she had spent her childhood desperately needing to hear.<\/p>\n \u201cI wanted you.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n I thought that was the whole secret.<\/p>\n It wasn’t.<\/p>\n At the bottom of the box was another envelope.<\/p>\n This one was addressed:<\/p>\n For the woman who raised my daughter.<\/strong><\/p>\n I opened it.<\/p>\n It was from Emily’s biological mother.<\/p>\n She had died two years earlier.<\/p>\n My hands went cold.<\/p>\n The letter said:<\/p>\n I don’t know what kind of mother you became.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n But I know you raised Emily.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n And for that, I will always be grateful.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I started crying.<\/p>\n Then I read the next paragraph.<\/p>\n Emily told me what you said to her when she was thirteen.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I stopped.<\/p>\n She told me she believed you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n My chest tightened.<\/p>\n But she also told me something else.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n She said you had spent her entire childhood making her feel loved.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I couldn’t breathe.<\/p>\n She said that one sentence was so painful because it contradicted everything she had known before it.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I lowered the letter.<\/p>\n Then came the sentence that destroyed me.<\/p>\n She didn’t stop loving you.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n She stopped trusting that your love was permanent.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n There was one final item in the box.<\/p>\n A video drive.<\/p>\n I plugged it into my computer.<\/p>\n A video appeared.<\/p>\n Emily was sitting in what looked like a small apartment.<\/p>\n She looked older.<\/p>\n Confident.<\/p>\n Beautiful.<\/p>\n And incredibly tired.<\/p>\n She looked directly into the camera.<\/p>\n \u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n I started crying before she said anything else.<\/p>\n \u201cI don’t know if you’ll ever watch this.\u201d<\/p>\n She paused.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I wanted you to have it.\u201d<\/p>\n She took a breath.<\/p>\n \u201cI was angry for years.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hated you for what you said.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen I hated myself for believing you.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked down.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen I met my biological mother, I thought I’d finally understand why I was given away.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled sadly.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I did.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe didn’t abandon me because she didn’t love me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe gave me away because she believed she couldn’t protect me.\u201d<\/p>\n I wiped my tears.<\/p>\n \u201cShe told me she had never stopped thinking about me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe kept every photograph.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery birthday card.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery letter.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe even remembered what I weighed when I was born.\u201d<\/p>\n Emily’s eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd that’s when I realized something.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked directly into the camera.<\/p>\n \u201cBeing given away and being unwanted aren’t the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n That sentence hit me harder than anything.<\/p>\n Then she continued.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd neither is being angry and being unloved.\u201d<\/p>\n She took a long breath.<\/p>\n \u201cI was angry at you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I never stopped loving you.\u201d<\/p>\n Then Emily revealed why she had sent the box.<\/p>\n \u201cMy biological mother left me something.\u201d<\/p>\n She held up a document.<\/p>\n \u201cShe had a small inheritance.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing huge.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut she asked me to use it to do something for children who are waiting for families.\u201d<\/p>\n Emily smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cSo I created a foundation.\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at the screen.<\/p>\n \u201cIt’s called The Wanted Project<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n Its purpose was to help children in foster care and adoption programs understand something she had spent years struggling with:<\/p>\n Being placed for adoption does not mean being unwanted.<\/strong><\/p>\n Emily had built programs that provided children with letters, memory books, photographs, counseling, and support.<\/p>\n She helped birth parents preserve stories for children who might one day search for them.<\/p>\n She helped adoptive parents understand the importance of talking honestly about adoption.<\/p>\n And then she said the part I never expected.<\/p>\n \u201cI named the foundation after something you said.\u201d<\/p>\n I froze.<\/p>\n \u201cNot because I agree with it.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled through tears.<\/p>\n \u201cBecause I wanted to spend the rest of my life proving it wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n The video ended.<\/p>\n I sat in the dark.<\/p>\n For years, I had believed the consequence of my cruel words was that my daughter left me.<\/p>\n I was wrong.<\/p>\n The consequence was far worse.<\/p>\n She had spent years believing that the woman who raised her could stop wanting her at any moment.<\/p>\n She had spent years wondering whether love could disappear with one angry sentence.<\/p>\n She had built an entire life around proving that she was worthy of being wanted.<\/p>\n And somehow, despite everything I had done, she had turned her pain into something that helped other children.<\/p>\n I cried for hours.<\/p>\n Then I called the number included with the package.<\/p>\n My hands shook as I pressed dial.<\/p>\n She answered.<\/p>\n Neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n Finally, I whispered,<\/p>\n \u201cEmily?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHi, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n Hearing her call me that nearly broke me.<\/p>\n \u201cI don’t know what to say.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don’t have to say anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. You don’t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI should never have said that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n There was silence.<\/p>\n Then she whispered,<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n I began crying.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you hate me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you forgive me?\u201d<\/p>\n Another long silence.<\/p>\n \u201cI don’t know yet.\u201d<\/p>\n That answer hurt.<\/p>\n But for the first time, I understood.<\/p>\n Forgiveness wasn’t something I could demand.<\/p>\n It was something she had to choose.<\/p>\n And I had no right to rush her.<\/p>\n So I said,<\/p>\n \u201cThat’s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n She started crying.<\/p>\n \u201cI missed you.\u201d<\/p>\n I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cI missed you too.\u201d<\/p>\n We didn’t magically repair everything.<\/p>\n There was no movie ending where she moved home the next week.<\/p>\n There were years of hurt between us.<\/p>\n Years that couldn’t be erased.<\/p>\n But we started talking.<\/p>\n First once a month.<\/p>\n Then every few weeks.<\/p>\n Eventually, she visited.<\/p>\n The first time she came through my front door, she stood awkwardly in the hallway.<\/p>\n I wanted to hug her.<\/p>\n I didn’t.<\/p>\n I waited.<\/p>\n She took one step toward me.<\/p>\n Then another.<\/p>\n And finally, she wrapped her arms around me.<\/p>\n I held her like I had been waiting twelve years for that moment.<\/p>\n Neither of us said anything.<\/p>\n We just cried.<\/p>\n Years later, I attended a ceremony for The Wanted Project.<\/p>\n There were hundreds of people there.<\/p>\n Adopted children.<\/p>\n Birth parents.<\/p>\n Adoptive families.<\/p>\n Social workers.<\/p>\n Counselors.<\/p>\n And Emily stood on stage.<\/p>\n She told her story.<\/p>\n She talked about adoption.<\/p>\n About identity.<\/p>\n About anger.<\/p>\n About forgiveness.<\/p>\n Then she looked at me.<\/p>\n I was sitting in the front row.<\/p>\n She smiled.<\/p>\n And she said:<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes one sentence can hurt a child for years.\u201d<\/p>\n The room became silent.<\/p>\n \u201cBut one sentence can also save them.\u201d<\/p>\n She paused.<\/p>\n \u201cSomeone once told me nobody wanted me.\u201d<\/p>\n Her voice shook.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd for years, I believed it.\u201d<\/p>\n Then she smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at the children sitting in the audience.<\/p>\n \u201cYour story did not begin with rejection.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt began with someone choosing to give you a chance.\u201d<\/p>\n I cried.<\/p>\n She continued.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if you are lucky enough to have someone who loves you now, don’t let one painful moment convince you that love was never real.\u201d<\/p>\n After the ceremony, Emily came over.<\/p>\n She handed me a small photograph.<\/p>\n It was of the two of us from the day she had been adopted.<\/p>\n I was holding her.<\/p>\n She was six months old.<\/p>\n On the back, she had written:<\/p>\n \u201cYou were my mother before you made that mistake. And you’re still my mother now.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n I looked at her.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you forgive me?\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cI’ve been forgiving you a little bit at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n \u201cThat’s fair.\u201d<\/p>\n Then she hugged me.<\/p>\n And I finally understood the consequence of those cruel words I had spoken when she was thirteen.<\/p>\n They didn’t just make my daughter leave.<\/p>\n They taught her to question whether she was worthy of being loved.<\/p>\n And that was something I could never undo.<\/p>\n But I could spend the rest of my life showing her the truth.<\/p>\n She had always been wanted.<\/strong><\/p>\n She had always been loved.<\/strong><\/p>\n And the greatest privilege of my life wasn’t adopting her.<\/p>\n It was being given a second chance to become the mother she had needed all along.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" On my adopted daughter\u2019s thirteenth birthday, I said the cruelest words I have ever spoken. I can still hear my own voice. I can still see her face. And sometimes, … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":211611,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-211619","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-honglay"],"brizy_media":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211619","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=211619"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211619\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":211620,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211619\/revisions\/211620"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/211611"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=211619"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=211619"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=211619"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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