My daughter-in-law threw my old pink salon chair onto the curb and coldly told me to go live at the casino.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood her.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me?\u201d I asked, standing in the doorway of the house I had helped pay for.<\/p>\n
Vanessa crossed her arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mother needs your room for Thanksgiving. She’s staying for a while, and we need the space. Honestly, you’ve been retired for three years. You don’t need an entire bedroom to yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked past her toward the driveway.<\/p>\n
My pink salon chair sat beside the garbage bins.<\/p>\n
The vinyl was faded in places, and one of the metal footrests had a small scratch. But I had owned that chair for nearly forty years. I had cut hundreds of customers’ hair in it, listened to their heartbreaks, celebrated their engagements, and watched children grow into adults.<\/p>\n
Most importantly, I had cut my son Shawn’s hair in that chair from the time he was a little boy.<\/p>\n
I remembered him sitting there with a comic book in his lap, kicking his feet while I trimmed his bangs. I remembered him crying during his first haircut and clutching my apron until he finally trusted me.<\/p>\n
That chair wasn’t just furniture.<\/p>\n
It was a piece of my life.<\/p>\n
And Vanessa had thrown it away without asking.<\/p>\n
I turned toward my son, who was standing in the hallway.<\/p>\n
\u201cShawn, did you know she was doing this?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, it’s just a chair. We need the room. Can’t you understand that?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour grandmother gave me that chair when I opened my salon. You know what it means to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sighed.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don’t make this a whole thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then Vanessa delivered the sentence that would stay with me for years.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you love that chair so much, go live at your casino. That’s where you spend every Saturday anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt my face grow hot.<\/p>\n
For six years, my family had believed I spent every Saturday gambling. They assumed I was wasting my retirement money at slot machines, losing hours in a smoky casino, and coming home too tired to participate in family life.<\/p>\n
I had tried to explain myself once or twice.<\/p>\n
But every time I mentioned where I really went, someone interrupted me or made a joke.<\/p>\n
Eventually, I stopped explaining.<\/p>\n
There was no point defending a kindness nobody had bothered to understand.<\/p>\n
I looked at Shawn one last time.<\/p>\n
He didn’t meet my eyes.<\/p>\n
So I walked outside, lifted the salon chair by its metal frame, and carried it back into the garage.<\/p>\n
I didn’t pack a box.<\/p>\n
I didn’t scream.<\/p>\n
I didn’t beg my son to defend me.<\/p>\n
I simply picked up my handbag, put on my coat, and walked out of the house.<\/p>\n
Vanessa called after me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n
I kept walking.<\/p>\n
For the first time in my life, I decided that I didn’t owe anyone an explanation for choosing my own dignity.<\/p>\n
What my family didn’t know was that the woman they had mocked for six years had been doing something far more meaningful than gambling.<\/p>\n
And seven days later, an elderly widow named Martha would arrive at our church parking lot and reveal a secret that would make my son turn pale.<\/p>\n
But to understand why, you need to know what really happened every Saturday.<\/p>\n
My name is Eleanor Brooks, and I spent thirty-eight years as a hairdresser.<\/p>\n
I opened my little salon when Shawn was four. It wasn’t fancy. The walls were pale pink, the waiting chairs were mismatched, and the bell above the front door rang so loudly that customers sometimes jumped when someone entered.<\/p>\n
But it was mine.<\/p>\n
I worked long hours, saved carefully, and raised Shawn on my own after his father died when he was young.<\/p>\n
I cut hair for teachers, nurses, factory workers, brides, and grandmothers. Some customers came for a haircut. Others came because they needed someone to listen.<\/p>\n
Over the years, I learned that people often told their hairdresser things they couldn’t tell anyone else.<\/p>\n
I heard about failing marriages, children who had stopped calling, husbands who had become ill, and dreams people had given up on because life had become too expensive.<\/p>\n
I never judged them.<\/p>\n
I simply listened, handed them a tissue when they cried, and tried to make sure they left feeling a little better than when they arrived.<\/p>\n
When I retired, I sold the salon’s equipment but kept my pink chair. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it.<\/p>\n
Then, one Saturday morning, I met Martha.<\/p>\n
She was eighty-two and had been a regular customer for nearly twenty years. Her husband, George, had died the previous winter, and she had developed severe arthritis that made ordinary tasks increasingly difficult.<\/p>\n
She called me one morning, embarrassed and apologetic.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, I know you’re retired, sweetheart. I hate to bother you. But I can’t manage my hair anymore, and I don’t know who else to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drove to her little house that afternoon.<\/p>\n
When I arrived, I found her standing beside the kitchen sink, gripping the counter with trembling hands. Her hair was tangled, her shoulders were hunched, and she looked exhausted.<\/p>\n
She had placed a towel over the sink and laid out an old bottle of shampoo.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought maybe I could do it myself,\u201d she whispered. \u201cBut I nearly fell trying to reach the faucet.\u201d<\/p>\n
I put my handbag down.<\/p>\n
\u201cSit in the kitchen chair, Martha. We’ll figure it out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I spent the next hour carefully washing her hair, rinsing it with a plastic pitcher, and gently combing through the tangles.<\/p>\n
When I finished, she looked in the little mirror above her sink.<\/p>\n
Then she began to cry.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Eleanor. I feel like myself again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held her hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are yourself, Martha. You just needed a little help.\u201d<\/p>\n
She tried to pay me.<\/p>\n
I refused.<\/p>\n
She tried again the following week, offering me money from a small envelope.<\/p>\n
I pushed it back toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cKeep it for your groceries.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you can’t keep doing this for free.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWatch me.\u201d<\/p>\n
And so our Saturday routine began.<\/p>\n
Every weekend, I visited Martha’s house. I washed her hair, helped her organize her toiletries, and sometimes made her a sandwich while we talked.<\/p>\n
When her hands were particularly painful, I helped her button her cardigan. When she felt lonely, I sat with her and listened to stories about George.<\/p>\n
I never considered it charity.<\/p>\n
Martha had been my customer for two decades. She had sat in my salon chair through good days and terrible ones. She had listened when I worried about Shawn, and she had brought me soup when I was sick.<\/p>\n
Now it was my turn to help her.<\/p>\n
But I kept the visits private.<\/p>\n
I didn’t want praise. I didn’t want anyone telling me I was a saint. And I certainly didn’t want my family turning Martha into another reason to argue about how I spent my time.<\/p>\n
So when Shawn asked why I was going out every Saturday, I simply said I had errands.<\/p>\n
Eventually, Vanessa started making jokes about the casino.<\/p>\n
At first, I corrected her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t gamble, Vanessa.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you don’t, Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then Shawn began repeating the joke.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom’s got a secret life at the slots.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped correcting them.<\/p>\n
It was easier to let them believe something foolish than to keep explaining a kindness they didn’t care enough to understand.<\/p>\n
For six years, I washed Martha’s hair every Saturday.<\/p>\n
And for six years, my family believed I was throwing away my retirement at a casino.<\/p>\n
The week Vanessa threw my salon chair onto the curb, I stayed at a small guesthouse near the town center.<\/p>\n
I had enough money for a temporary place to stay, but I wasn’t ready to decide where I wanted to live permanently.<\/p>\n
I spent the first day crying.<\/p>\n
I spent the second day being angry.<\/p>\n
By the third day, I was thinking clearly enough to call my attorney.<\/p>\n
I had contributed a substantial amount toward Shawn and Vanessa’s house over the years. I had helped with their down payment and paid for several renovations. I had done so because I wanted my son to have a secure home for his family.<\/p>\n
But I had never intended to surrender my dignity in exchange for a roof over my head.<\/p>\n
My attorney reviewed the records and explained what rights I had, what financial contributions could be documented, and what steps I should take before making any decisions.<\/p>\n
For the first time, I began to consider what my own future might look like.<\/p>\n
I could afford a small home of my own.<\/p>\n
I could live somewhere peaceful.<\/p>\n
I could stop waiting for my son to decide whether I deserved a place in his house.<\/p>\n
But before I made any final decisions, I needed to see Martha.<\/p>\n
I called her and explained that I wouldn’t be visiting the following Saturday.<\/p>\n
She was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you ill, sweetheart?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I just have some family matters to sort out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it Shawn?\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did you know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause every time you talk about your family, your voice changes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hadn’t realized that.<\/p>\n
Martha asked me to come over if I could. She said there was something she wanted to show me.<\/p>\n
So on the seventh day after leaving Shawn’s house, I drove to her neighborhood.<\/p>\n
When I arrived, Martha wasn’t home.<\/p>\n
Her caregiver told me she had gone to church.<\/p>\n
I drove there and found the parking lot full of cars. People were leaving the morning service, talking beneath the trees and helping elderly relatives into their vehicles.<\/p>\n
Then I saw Martha.<\/p>\n
She was standing beside her walker, wearing a pale blue coat. A small leather handbag hung from her arm.<\/p>\n
When she spotted me, she waved.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor!\u201d<\/p>\n
I hurried toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn’t you tell me you were coming here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I wanted to talk to your son.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha looked past me.<\/p>\n
Shawn and Vanessa were walking toward their car with several other church members. They hadn’t seen us yet.<\/p>\n
Martha gripped the handles of her walker and began moving toward them.<\/p>\n
\u201cMartha, please,\u201d I whispered. \u201cYou don’t need to get involved in this.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stopped and turned toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cSweetheart, you’ve spent six years taking care of me when nobody was watching. I think I can spend five minutes standing up for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she continued toward my son.<\/p>\n
Shawn noticed her when she was only a few feet away.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Collins? Is everything all right?\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha stopped directly in front of him.<\/p>\n
Vanessa smiled politely.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, Martha. What a surprise.\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha didn’t return the smile.<\/p>\n
She looked at Vanessa, then at Shawn.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother has been kinder to me than almost anyone I’ve known.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn looked confused.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe know Mom visits you sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes?\u201d Martha repeated.<\/p>\n
Her voice was quiet, but it carried across the parking lot.<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery Saturday for six years. She washes my hair when my hands won’t work. She helps me when I’m frightened. She sits with me when I feel that I’ve become a burden to everyone around me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn’s face changed.<\/p>\n
Vanessa glanced at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn’t know it was that often.\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. You didn’t know because you never asked.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she turned toward Vanessa.<\/p>\n
\u201cI heard what you said about sending Eleanor to the casino. I also heard about the salon chair.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa’s expression hardened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is a family matter.\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha straightened as much as her aching body allowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you should have treated her like family.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nobody spoke.<\/p>\n
Martha took a breath.<\/p>\n
Then she looked directly at Vanessa and uttered the four words that changed everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know what she owns.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn’s face turned deathly pale.<\/p>\n
Vanessa stopped moving.<\/p>\n
And I realized that Martha had finally decided it was time for my family to learn the truth.<\/p>\n
For several seconds, Shawn couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n
He looked at Martha, then at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does she mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
Martha turned toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, I think it’s time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
For years, I had kept quiet about my financial affairs. I had never been wealthy in the way people imagined wealthy people to be. I wore simple clothes, drove an old car, and lived carefully.<\/p>\n
But my late aunt, Beatrice, had left me something that had quietly grown over decades.<\/p>\n
She had owned a small commercial property in town. When she died, I inherited a share of it, along with investments she had accumulated during her working life.<\/p>\n
I hadn’t talked about it because I didn’t want money to become the center of my relationships.<\/p>\n
I used a portion of the income to support myself and kept the rest invested. When I sold my salon, I added those proceeds to my savings.<\/p>\n
Over time, the assets became substantial.<\/p>\n
I owned the commercial building outright, along with the small office units and retail spaces inside it. The rental income had been steady for years, and the investments had grown.<\/p>\n
My attorney had recently completed an updated valuation.<\/p>\n
The total value of my property and investments was approximately $2.4 million.<\/p>\n
I had never hidden it because I wanted to deceive anyone.<\/p>\n
I had simply never believed my children needed to know the details of my finances.<\/p>\n
Martha knew because she had once helped me organize paperwork after I injured my wrist. She had seen the documents and knew how carefully I managed my affairs.<\/p>\n
She also knew that I had helped Shawn and Vanessa with their home without expecting repayment.<\/p>\n
What she could not accept was watching them treat me as though I had nothing to offer simply because I had retired.<\/p>\n
Shawn stared at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, you own all that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a commercial building?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd investments?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Shawn.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked as though someone had pulled the ground from beneath his feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn’t you tell us?\u201d<\/p>\n
I studied him for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould it have changed how you treated me?\u201d<\/p>\n
He opened his mouth.<\/p>\n
Then he looked away.<\/p>\n
Vanessa was the first to recover.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I never meant for you to feel unwelcome. We just needed the room for my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou threw my chair onto the curb without asking me. You told me to go live at a casino. And you did it in front of my son.\u201d<\/p>\n
She swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was stressed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo was I.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn rubbed his forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, you should have told us you were struggling. We could have worked something out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt a quiet sadness settle over me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did tell you I was hurt. I told you that chair mattered to me. I told you I didn’t want to be pushed out of the house. You heard me. You simply didn’t think my feelings were important.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked down at the pavement.<\/p>\n
Martha rested both hands on her walker.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother never told me about her money when she first started helping me. She didn’t come to my house because she wanted something from me. She came because she cared.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at Vanessa.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a mother who would give up her Saturday, her comfort, and her time to help another person feel human again. And you treated her as though she were disposable.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa’s eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
I couldn’t tell whether she was ashamed, embarrassed, or frightened by what she had learned.<\/p>\n
Perhaps it was a mixture of all three.<\/p>\n
But I wasn’t interested in punishing her.<\/p>\n
I was interested in ending the cycle of disrespect.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m not asking either of you to love me because I have money,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd I’m not going to use my money to buy an apology. I simply want you to understand that I will never again allow anyone to make me feel homeless in a house where I helped build a future.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn stepped closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, please. Come home. We’ll make everything right.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cI appreciate the offer, but I need time to decide what I want.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere will you go?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomewhere I choose.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time, I saw my son understand that I wasn’t asking permission.<\/p>\n
I was making a decision.<\/p>\n
Over the next several weeks, I found a small house on a quiet street near Martha’s neighborhood.<\/p>\n
It had two bedrooms, a sunny kitchen, and a garden with enough room for roses and a little vegetable patch. I bought it with my own money and hired movers to bring my belongings.<\/p>\n
The first thing I placed in the living room was my pink salon chair.<\/p>\n
I had cleaned it carefully and replaced the worn footrest. It stood beside the window, exactly where I wanted it.<\/p>\n
When I sat in it, I could almost hear the old salon again\u2014the bell above the door, the hum of the hair dryer, and Shawn’s little feet kicking beneath the seat.<\/p>\n
I cried for a while.<\/p>\n
Not because I regretted leaving.<\/p>\n
Because I had finally given myself permission to begin again.<\/p>\n
I continued visiting Martha every Saturday. Sometimes I washed her hair at her kitchen sink. Other times, her caregiver helped us arrange a comfortable appointment at a nearby salon.<\/p>\n
We talked about books, old movies, and the strange things people said when they thought nobody was listening.<\/p>\n
And we laughed.<\/p>\n
A few months later, Shawn came to visit.<\/p>\n
He stood at my front door holding a small cardboard box.<\/p>\n
\u201cI brought something,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Inside the box was a framed photograph of him at age six, sitting in my pink salon chair with a towel around his shoulders. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was grinning at the camera.<\/p>\n
\u201cI found it in an old album,\u201d he explained. \u201cI thought you should have it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held the photograph carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shawn looked around my little house.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt’s lovely here, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m happy here.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
Then he sat down across from me and spoke quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’ve been thinking about what happened. I should have defended you. I should never have let Vanessa throw your chair out. And I shouldn’t have acted like you were a burden.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn’t interrupt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I got used to you always being there,\u201d he continued. \u201cYou helped me my whole life, and I started treating it like something I was entitled to.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached for his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you, Shawn. But I need you to understand that love doesn’t mean I have to accept being mistreated.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I’m finally starting to.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn’t promise that everything would go back to the way it had been. Some things couldn’t be repaired overnight.<\/p>\n
But I let him stay for dinner.<\/p>\n
Over the following months, he began calling regularly, sometimes just to ask how my day had been. He and Vanessa worked on their relationship with me slowly, without demanding that I move back into their house or offering gifts in exchange for forgiveness.<\/p>\n
Vanessa eventually apologized for the way she had spoken to me. Her apology didn’t erase the hurt, but it was a beginning.<\/p>\n
I also made a few changes to my estate plan with my attorney. I ensured that my financial arrangements reflected my wishes and that no one could pressure me into making decisions I didn’t want to make.<\/p>\n
I didn’t do it to punish my children.<\/p>\n
I did it because my future belonged to me.<\/p>\n
As for Martha, she remained one of the most important people in my life. I helped her arrange additional support so she could remain independent as long as possible, and she continued reminding me that kindness was never wasted simply because someone failed to appreciate it.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, she came to my house and sat in my pink salon chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know,\u201d she said, running her hand over the faded vinyl, \u201cthis chair has seen a lot of life.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt certainly has.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd so have you, Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about the years I had spent working, raising my son, helping my customers, and caring for a woman who needed someone to show up.<\/p>\n
I thought about the day my daughter-in-law had thrown my chair onto the curb.<\/p>\n
Then I looked around my little house\u2014the place I had chosen for myself\u2014and felt a peace I hadn’t known in years.<\/p>\n
For six years, my family had believed I was wasting my Saturdays at a casino.<\/p>\n
The truth was that I had been spending them giving another human being a little comfort and dignity.<\/p>\n
And when my own family failed to offer me those same things, I learned to give them to myself.<\/p>\n
My pink salon chair still sits beside my living-room window.<\/p>\n
Sometimes, when Shawn visits, he sits in it and tells me stories about his childhood. We laugh about the terrible haircuts I gave him when I was learning new techniques, and he asks me to trim his hair just as I did when he was a little boy.<\/p>\n
I always oblige.<\/p>\n
Because I never stopped loving my son.<\/p>\n
I simply stopped believing that love required me to disappear.<\/p>\n
And every Saturday, I still visit Martha.<\/p>\n
Not because she owns anything. Not because she defended me in a church parking lot. Not because she knows the value of my property.<\/p>\n
I visit because she is my friend.<\/p>\n
And because the most valuable things in life are rarely the things people can put a price on.<\/p>\n
My family thought I had nothing because I never flaunted what I owned. But the greatest thing I possessed was something no amount of money could buy: the freedom to walk away from anyone who no longer treated me with love and respect.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My Daughter-in-Law Threw My Salon Chair Onto the Curb\u2014Then an Elderly Widow Revealed What My Family Never Knew My daughter-in-law threw my old pink salon chair onto the curb and … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":232982,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-233020","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\/233020","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=233020"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/233020\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":233021,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/233020\/revisions\/233021"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/232982"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=233020"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=233020"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/honglay168.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=233020"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}