I was sixteen when my mother lost her job.<\/p>\n
One week, our lives were normal. The next, everything began falling apart.<\/p>\n
My mom had worked at a small accounting office for nearly twelve years. She was the kind of woman who never called in sick, never complained about her workload, and always stayed late when someone needed help.<\/p>\n
Then the company downsized.<\/p>\n
She came home one rainy afternoon carrying a cardboard box filled with her belongings. She placed it on the kitchen table, sat down, and stared at the wall for nearly twenty minutes without saying a word.<\/p>\n
I had never seen her look so defeated.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s going to be okay,\u201d she finally told me, forcing a smile. \u201cI’ll find something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded because I wanted to believe her.<\/p>\n
But finding another job wasn’t easy. She sent out applications every day, attended interviews, and called old colleagues asking whether they knew anyone who was hiring.<\/p>\n
Weeks passed.<\/p>\n
Then months.<\/p>\n
Our savings disappeared faster than either of us expected. First, we stopped ordering takeout. Then we stopped buying anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Eventually, my mother began skipping meals so I could eat.<\/p>\n
I knew what she was doing.<\/p>\n
Whenever I asked if she wanted some of my dinner, she would shake her head and say she’d already eaten.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I caught her drinking tea instead of having breakfast.<\/p>\n
I pretended not to notice because I knew she was already carrying more guilt than she could bear.<\/p>\n
At school, I did my best to act normal.<\/p>\n
I laughed with my friends, completed my assignments, and talked about weekend plans I knew I couldn’t afford.<\/p>\n
But lunchtime was the hardest part of every day.<\/p>\n
While everyone else opened lunchboxes, bought pizza, or crowded around tables sharing snacks, I sat with a bottle of water.<\/p>\n
I told people I wasn’t hungry.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, I said I had eaten a huge breakfast.<\/p>\n
Other days, I claimed I was trying to eat healthier.<\/p>\n
The truth was much simpler.<\/p>\n
There wasn’t enough money.<\/p>\n
My mother had given me what little food we had at home, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for more.<\/p>\n
I never told anyone how badly we were struggling.<\/p>\n
Not even my closest classmates.<\/p>\n
I was embarrassed, and I was afraid that if people knew, they would look at me differently.<\/p>\n
Then there was Joy.<\/p>\n
Joy sat two rows behind me in English class. She had a quiet smile, a messy ponytail, and a habit of tapping her pencil against her desk whenever she was thinking.<\/p>\n
We weren’t best friends.<\/p>\n
We talked occasionally about homework and teachers, but we rarely spent time together outside school.<\/p>\n
Yet somehow, Joy seemed to notice everything.<\/p>\n
One Tuesday, I opened my backpack during lunch and found a slice of apple pie wrapped in a napkin.<\/p>\n
There was no note.<\/p>\n
I looked around, confused.<\/p>\n
The next day, I found an apple.<\/p>\n
On Thursday, there was a small sandwich.<\/p>\n
The following Monday, two homemade cookies appeared in the front pocket of my bag.<\/p>\n
At first, I thought someone was playing a joke on me.<\/p>\n
I asked my friends whether they had put the food there.<\/p>\n
Everyone denied it.<\/p>\n
Then, one afternoon, I noticed Joy watching me from across the cafeteria.<\/p>\n
When our eyes met, she quickly looked away.<\/p>\n
I didn’t say anything.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I found another sandwich in my backpack.<\/p>\n
This time, there was a small piece of paper folded beneath the napkin.<\/p>\n
It read:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don’t have to explain anything. Just eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at those five words until my eyes began to sting.<\/p>\n
For the first time in weeks, someone had noticed I was struggling without making me feel ashamed.<\/p>\n
I looked toward Joy’s desk.<\/p>\n
She was already working on her assignment, pretending nothing had happened.<\/p>\n
I wanted to thank her, but I couldn’t find the courage.<\/p>\n
So I ate the sandwich.<\/p>\n
And the next day, when another apple appeared, I ate that too.<\/p>\n
For months, Joy quietly made sure I never went hungry.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it was fruit. Sometimes it was half a sandwich. Occasionally, she brought leftovers from dinner in a small container.<\/p>\n
She never asked for anything in return.<\/p>\n
She never mentioned it in front of other people.<\/p>\n
She never made me feel like I owed her.<\/p>\n
She simply made sure there was food in my backpack.<\/p>\n
And every day, I felt a little less alone.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, after our last class, Joy approached me near the school gates.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey,\u201d she said. \u201cMy dad wants to invite you over for dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
I blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe heard me talking about you. He says he’s been meaning to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I immediately felt nervous.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you tell him about my mom losing her job?\u201d<\/p>\n
Joy’s expression softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him things have been difficult at your house. That’s all. He doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wanted to refuse.<\/p>\n
I didn’t like the idea of someone knowing about our situation, especially an adult I had never met.<\/p>\n
But Joy looked at me with such genuine kindness that I couldn’t bring myself to say no.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d I replied. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat. Friday evening?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
I had no idea that accepting that invitation would change the way I understood my father forever.<\/p>\n
On Friday evening, I arrived at Joy’s house wearing the cleanest clothes I owned.<\/p>\n
Their home was in a quiet neighborhood filled with tall trees and neat gardens. It was larger than our apartment, but what struck me most was how warm it felt.<\/p>\n
There were family photographs on the hallway walls, books stacked on shelves, and the smell of roasted chicken coming from the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Joy opened the door before I could knock a second time.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou made it!\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled and took my jacket.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dad’s in the living room. Come on.\u201d<\/p>\n
I followed her down the hallway.<\/p>\n
Then I stepped into the living room and froze.<\/p>\n
Hanging above the fireplace was an old photograph.<\/p>\n
It showed two young men standing beside a lake, smiling with their arms around each other’s shoulders.<\/p>\n
One of them was Joy’s father.<\/p>\n
The other was my father.<\/p>\n
I couldn’t move.<\/p>\n
My dad had died when I was seven years old.<\/p>\n
I remembered him as a man with warm hands, a loud laugh, and a habit of carrying me on his shoulders whenever we went for walks.<\/p>\n
I remembered the way he used to whistle while cooking breakfast.<\/p>\n
I remembered him tucking me into bed and promising that no matter what happened, I would always have someone looking out for me.<\/p>\n
After he died, those memories became the most precious things I owned.<\/p>\n
But I had never seen that photograph before.<\/p>\n
I stepped closer.<\/p>\n
My father looked younger in the picture, perhaps in his late twenties. He was wearing a faded blue shirt, and his smile was so familiar that my throat tightened.<\/p>\n
Beside him stood Joy’s father.<\/p>\n
The man looked different without the gray hair he had now, but there was no mistaking him.<\/p>\n
I turned around.<\/p>\n
\u201cJoy?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her father entered the room carrying a tray of drinks.<\/p>\n
When he saw me standing in front of the photograph, he stopped.<\/p>\n
For several seconds, nobody spoke.<\/p>\n
Then he slowly set the tray down.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou recognize him,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart began pounding.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n
He pulled out a chair and sat down, covering his face with both hands.<\/p>\n
When he finally looked up, tears were running down his cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father didn’t just save my life,\u201d he said. \u201cHe made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I’d make sure his family was never left to struggle alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n
He took a shaky breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father and I were best friends long before you were born. We grew up together. We worked together. We were practically brothers.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked back at the photograph.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere was a time when I had nothing. I was younger than you are now when my life fell apart.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused, gathering himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father had died, my mother was seriously ill, and I had debts I couldn’t repay. I was working two jobs, but every time I thought I was getting ahead, something else happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
He rubbed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne night, I made a terrible decision. I borrowed money from the wrong people, believing I could pay it back before anyone found out. I couldn’t. The situation became dangerous, and I was terrified.\u201d<\/p>\n
I listened without speaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father found out what was happening. I begged him not to get involved. I didn’t want him risking his own future because of my mistakes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joy’s father shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut your dad refused to abandon me. He helped me get out of that situation, found someone who could help me deal with the debts, and stayed beside me while I put my life back together.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was the reason I got another chance.\u201d<\/p>\n
My eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never knew any of this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. Your father didn’t want you growing up thinking he was some kind of hero. He believed helping someone was simply what you were supposed to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joy came and sat beside me.<\/p>\n
Her father continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen your dad got married, he introduced me to your mother. I watched you take your first steps. I held you when you were a baby. I visited your family whenever I could.\u201d<\/p>\n
I tried to remember.<\/p>\n
There were vague memories of a man visiting our house when I was very young. A man who sometimes brought gifts and made my father laugh.<\/p>\n
But after Dad died, those visits stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn’t you stay in touch?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
His face fell.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s something I’ve regretted for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
He explained that after my father’s death, he had tried to help my mother. But she was overwhelmed by grief and wanted privacy. She moved to another neighborhood, changed her phone number, and gradually lost contact with many people from her old life.<\/p>\n
He had tried to find us a few times, but he didn’t want to intrude or make her feel that she owed him anything.<\/p>\n
Then, months earlier, Joy had mentioned a boy at school who seemed to go without lunch almost every day.<\/p>\n
She described me.<\/p>\n
When her father heard my full name, he immediately recognized it.<\/p>\n
He asked Joy whether I was the son of the man in the old photograph.<\/p>\n
She said yes.<\/p>\n
He had wanted to approach me immediately, but he was afraid of embarrassing me or making me feel that I was being treated differently because of my circumstances.<\/p>\n
So he asked Joy to invite me to dinner.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the food?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
Joy looked down, suddenly shy.<\/p>\n
Her father smiled through his tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was her idea. She told me she couldn’t stand watching you pretend you weren’t hungry. She wanted to help without making you feel uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned toward Joy.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew who my dad was?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at first. I only knew you were going through a hard time. Dad showed me the photograph after he realized who you were.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn’t want you to feel like I was helping you because of your dad. I just didn’t want you to be hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n
For months, I had wondered why someone would go out of her way to help me.<\/p>\n
Now I understood.<\/p>\n
Joy had helped me because she cared.<\/p>\n
Her father had helped me because he had made a promise to a man he loved.<\/p>\n
And my father, who had been gone for nine years, had somehow found a way to protect me through people who remembered him.<\/p>\n
Then Joy’s father stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is something else you need to see.\u201d<\/p>\n
He walked to a desk near the window, opened the bottom drawer, and removed a small wooden box.<\/p>\n
Inside was an envelope.<\/p>\n
The paper had yellowed with age, and my name was written across the front in my father’s unmistakable handwriting.<\/p>\n
My knees felt weak.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s for you,\u201d Joy’s father whispered.<\/p>\n
I stared at the envelope.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you have a letter from my dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause he gave it to me years ago. He told me to keep it somewhere safe and give it to you when you were old enough to understand what it meant.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hands trembled as I took it.<\/p>\n
I had spent years wishing I could hear my father’s voice again.<\/p>\n
Now I was holding something he had written specifically for me.<\/p>\n
I opened the envelope carefully.<\/p>\n
Inside was a folded letter.<\/p>\n
At the top, my father had written:<\/p>\n
\u201cTo my child, for the day life becomes harder than you ever imagined.\u201d<\/p>\n
I began reading.<\/p>\n
My dear child,<\/p>\n
If you’re reading this, then you’re old enough to understand that life doesn’t always turn out the way we hope.<\/p>\n
There may be days when you feel that the world has forgotten you. There may be times when you look around and wonder why other people seem to have so much while you struggle just to get through the day.<\/p>\n
If that happens, I want you to remember something.<\/p>\n
Your worth has never depended on how much money we have, what clothes you wear, or what other people think of you.<\/p>\n
You are worthy of love simply because you exist.<\/p>\n
I stopped reading.<\/p>\n
The tears were already falling.<\/p>\n
Joy sat beside me without saying a word.<\/p>\n
I wiped my eyes and continued.<\/p>\n
I know I won’t always be there to protect you. That is the hardest thing for me to accept.<\/p>\n
If I could choose, I would stay beside you through every birthday, every school day, every heartbreak, and every moment when you need someone to tell you that everything will be okay.<\/p>\n
But if life takes me away before you are ready, I need you to know that you will never be alone.<\/p>\n
There are people in this world who will help you without expecting anything in return. There are people who will remember the good you do, even when you have forgotten it yourself.<\/p>\n
One of those people is my friend.<\/p>\n
If you ever meet him, know that you can trust him. He has been like a brother to me, and I know he will do everything he can to help you.<\/p>\n
But there is something even more important I want you to understand.<\/p>\n
Do not believe that you must repay kindness by becoming indebted to someone. Accept help when you need it. Give help when you can. And never let pride convince you that suffering in silence is better than allowing someone to care about you.<\/p>\n
I pressed the letter against my chest.<\/p>\n
My father had been dead for nine years.<\/p>\n
Yet somehow, those words felt as though he were sitting beside me.<\/p>\n
I continued reading.<\/p>\n
If you ever find yourself hungry, do not be ashamed to eat.<\/p>\n
If you ever find yourself lost, do not be ashamed to ask for directions.<\/p>\n
If you ever find yourself hurting, do not be ashamed to tell someone.<\/p>\n
And if someone reaches out a hand to help you, do not assume that accepting it makes you weak.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, the bravest thing a person can do is allow themselves to be loved.<\/p>\n
The room was completely silent.<\/p>\n
I could barely see the page through my tears.<\/p>\n
Then I reached the final paragraph.<\/p>\n
I have asked my friend to look after you and your mother if I cannot.<\/p>\n
Not because you will owe him anything.<\/p>\n
Not because he must replace me.<\/p>\n
But because love should never end simply because one person is gone.<\/p>\n
If you remember nothing else from this letter, remember this:<\/p>\n
You are loved more than you will ever know.<\/p>\n
And even when I am no longer there to say it, please never mistake a difficult season for a life without hope.<\/p>\n
All my love,<\/p>\n
Dad.<\/p>\n
I folded the letter and held it against my heart.<\/p>\n
For years, I had thought of my father as someone I had lost.<\/p>\n
That night, I realized that the best parts of him had never really disappeared.<\/p>\n
They were still alive in the way his friend remembered him.<\/p>\n
They were alive in the kindness Joy had shown me.<\/p>\n
And they were alive in the words he had written for a future he knew he might not be able to share with me.<\/p>\n
I began to cry harder.<\/p>\n
Joy reached over and held my hand.<\/p>\n
Her father sat across from us, wiping his eyes.<\/p>\n
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel embarrassed about crying.<\/p>\n
I felt safe.<\/p>\n
Dinner that evening was unlike anything I had experienced in a long time.<\/p>\n
There was roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and warm bread.<\/p>\n
But what I remember most wasn’t the food.<\/p>\n
It was the feeling of sitting at a table where nobody expected me to pretend I was okay.<\/p>\n
Joy’s father asked about my mother, and I told him the truth.<\/p>\n
She had applied for dozens of jobs. Our bills were piling up. Some nights, she barely slept because she was trying to figure out how to keep us afloat.<\/p>\n
He listened carefully.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cYour mother has been carrying a lot. She shouldn’t have to do it alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
I immediately felt uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don’t want charity,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand. And I’m not asking you to accept anything that makes you uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I knew your father for most of my life. If he were sitting here tonight, he wouldn’t hesitate to help someone he loved.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my plate.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just don’t want people feeling sorry for us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen don’t think of it as pity,\u201d he replied. \u201cThink of it as a friend keeping a promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
He offered to connect my mother with someone who ran a local accounting firm. They were looking for an experienced employee, and he believed her background might make her a strong candidate.<\/p>\n
He also offered to help us find a community organization that could provide temporary food assistance while she looked for work.<\/p>\n
There were no demands.<\/p>\n
No embarrassing conditions.<\/p>\n
No expectation that we would owe him anything beyond honesty about what we needed.<\/p>\n
I finally nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don’t have to thank me for every little thing. Just keep going to school. Work hard. Take care of your mother. And when you’re in a position to help someone else someday, remember how this felt.\u201d<\/p>\n
I promised I would.<\/p>\n
Over the following weeks, things slowly began to change.<\/p>\n
My mother interviewed with the accounting firm and eventually received a job offer.<\/p>\n
It wasn’t a glamorous position, and it didn’t solve every problem overnight. But it gave us a steady income and the chance to start rebuilding our lives.<\/p>\n
For the first time in months, my mother came home with a smile that wasn’t forced.<\/p>\n
She hugged me in the kitchen and whispered, \u201cI think we’re going to be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hugged her back.<\/p>\n
And I told her about Joy.<\/p>\n
I told her about the food, the photograph, the letter, and the promise my father had made years before.<\/p>\n
When I finished, my mother sat down and covered her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, your father,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
She cried for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then she asked me to take her to meet Joy’s father.<\/p>\n
When they finally saw each other, neither knew what to say.<\/p>\n
He stood up, and my mother hugged him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for remembering us,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
He shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never forgot.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mother told him that my father had spoken about him often when they were young. She had always known how much their friendship meant to him.<\/p>\n
That afternoon, we sat together and shared stories about my father.<\/p>\n
For the first time since his death, remembering him didn’t feel like reopening a wound.<\/p>\n
It felt like discovering that his life had left something beautiful behind.<\/p>\n
I graduated from high school two years later.<\/p>\n
Joy sat in the front row with her family, cheering louder than anyone when I crossed the stage.<\/p>\n
Her father shook my hand afterward and pulled me into a hug.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour dad would be proud,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
I smiled through my tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope so.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went on to college, studying business and working part-time to help pay my expenses.<\/p>\n
Joy and I remained close friends.<\/p>\n
She never stopped being the thoughtful person who noticed when someone needed help.<\/p>\n
And I never forgot the months when she quietly placed food in my backpack without asking for recognition.<\/p>\n
Years later, when I had a steady job and enough money to support myself, I began volunteering with a local program that provided meals to students whose families were struggling.<\/p>\n
The first time I helped distribute food, I noticed a teenage boy standing alone near the cafeteria doors.<\/p>\n
He kept looking at the trays but didn’t take one.<\/p>\n
I recognized that expression.<\/p>\n
It was the same look I had worn at sixteen.<\/p>\n
I walked over and asked whether he wanted to eat with us.<\/p>\n
He hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t have money.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don’t need any.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me suspiciously.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally. Come sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n
He followed me to the table.<\/p>\n
As he began eating, I thought about the apple, the sandwich, and the slice of pie that had appeared in my backpack all those years ago.<\/p>\n
I thought about the letter my father had written.<\/p>\n
And I finally understood the promise he had asked his friend to keep.<\/p>\n
It hadn’t simply been a promise to provide food or money.<\/p>\n
It had been a promise to make sure his family never felt abandoned.<\/p>\n
His friend had honored that promise.<\/p>\n
Joy had continued it in her own way.<\/p>\n
And now it was my turn.<\/p>\n
That evening, I returned home and took my father’s letter from the wooden box where I kept it.<\/p>\n
I read it again, slowly.<\/p>\n
When I reached the final line, I smiled.<\/p>\n
My father had been right.<\/p>\n
A difficult season was not a life without hope.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, help arrived in the form of a classmate who quietly packed an extra sandwich.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, it arrived through an old friend who remembered a promise made years ago.<\/p>\n
And sometimes, it arrived in a letter written by someone who knew he might not be there when you needed him most.<\/p>\n
I folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the box.<\/p>\n
Then I whispered the words I wished I could have said to my father in person.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand now, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
Because the greatest thing he had left me wasn’t money, property, or anything that could be measured.<\/p>\n
It was the knowledge that kindness can outlive the person who first gives it.<\/p>\n
And that the love we leave behind can become the very thing that carries someone else through their darkest days.<\/p>\n
I thought Joy was simply feeding a hungry classmate. I never realized she was helping fulfill a promise my father had made long before either of us understood what it meant.<\/p>\n
And from that day forward, whenever I had the chance to help someone who was struggling, I remembered the lesson my father had left me: nobody should have to face a difficult season believing they have to face it alone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My Classmate Secretly Fed Me for Months\u2014Then Her Father Showed Me a Letter From My Dead Dad I was sixteen when my mother lost her job. One week, our lives … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":226417,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-226446","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\/226446","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=226446"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/226446\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":226447,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/226446\/revisions\/226447"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=226446"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=226446"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=226446"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}