![\"\"](\"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/743910211_1495098902646166_103919508723126965_n-240x300.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
At the fourth boutique, the saleswoman looked my daughter up and down and
\nsaid, “Sweetheart, that dress was not made for your body.”<\/p>\n
My daughter didn’t cry.<\/p>\n
She simply turned around, walked out of the shop, and got into my car like
\nsomething inside her had finally gone quiet.<\/p>\n
I stood there holding my purse, staring at the gown in the window – ivory silk,
\nsoft sleeves, and tiny blue flowers sewn along the skirt – and for the first time
\nsince my son passed away, I felt like I had failed the child I still had left.<\/p>\n
My name is Marcy Whitaker, and for almost a year, my house had sounded like
\na place waiting for someone to come home.<\/p>\n
But no one did.<\/p>\n
My son, Owen, was twenty-one when we lost him. One rainy Tuesday evening,
\nanother driver lost control on Route 14. By the time the police officer stood on
\nmy porch, hat in his hands, I already knew something was wrong.<\/p>\n
Owen had always texted before dinner.<\/p>\n
He never missed taco night.<\/p>\n
After the funeral, my daughter, Brenna, stopped being seventeen. She stopped
\ndancing in the kitchen. She stopped singing badly in the shower. She stopped
\nleaving her room unless she had to.<\/p>\n
Before everything changed, Brenna had been loud in the sweetest way. She
\nlaughed with her whole body. She wore bright sweaters even in summer. She
\nonce made an entire batch of cookies shaped like stars because Owen said the
\nmoon looked lonely.<\/p>\n
Then he was gone.<\/p>\n
And my daughter folded into herself like a letter no one knew how to open.<\/p>\n
At first, I told myself grief needed time. I made soup she didn’t eat. I placed
\nclean towels outside her door. I kept Owen’s bedroom exactly as he had left it
\nbecause neither of us could bear to touch it.<\/p>\n
Some days, Brenna cried so hard I sat on the floor outside her room and cried
\nwith her.<\/p>\n
every word matt<\/p>\n
Other days, she said nothing at all.<\/p>\n
The silence frightened me more.<\/p>\n
There was only one person who seemed able to reach her.<\/p>\n
His name was Jonah Bell.<\/p>\n
He lived two houses down, in the blue house with the leaning mailbox. He and
\nBrenna had been friends since middle school, back when they both had braces
\nand wore backpacks too big for their bodies.<\/p>\n
Jonah was quiet. Not shy exactly, just careful. He had a habit of listening like
\nevery word mattered.<\/p>\n
After Owen passed, Jonah came by almost every afternoon. Sometimes he
\nbrought homework. Sometimes he brought a milkshake and left it on Brenna’s
\ndesk. Sometimes he simply sat on the porch beside her while she stared at the
\nstreet.<\/p>\n
He never pushed.<\/p>\n
Once, I found them sitting on the front steps at dusk. Brenna was wrapped in
\nOwen’s old college hoodie, her head resting against the railing. Jonah had a
\nsketchbook open on his knees, but his pencil wasn’t moving.<\/p>\n
“She ate some crackers today,” he said when I stepped outside.<\/p>\n
I had to hold the doorframe to steady myself.<\/p>\n
“Thank you,” I whispered.<\/p>\n
Jonah looked confused. “For what?”<\/p>\n
“For staying.”<\/p>\n
He shrugged like staying was easy.<\/p>\n
To him, maybe it was.<\/p>\n
Spring came slowly that year. The trees bloomed, neighbors started mowing
\ntheir lawns again, and prom signs appeared in the windows of every little shop
\ndowntown.<\/p>\n
I hated those signs at first.<\/p>\n
Prom felt cruel. Dresses and flowers and photographs and music felt like they
\nbelonged to another life.<\/p>\n
Then one morning, while I was packing away laundry, I found an old picture
\ntucked inside Brenna’s drawer.<\/p>\n
It was from two summers before. Owen had one arm around Brenna’s shoulders
\nand the other holding a ridiculous plastic crown from a birthday party. Brenna
\nwas laughing so hard her eyes were closed.<\/p>\n
On the back, in Owen’s messy handwriting, he had written:<\/p>\n
if nobody takes bren to prom, i’m renting a tux and doing it myself.<\/p>\n
I sat on her bedroom floor and covered my mouth.<\/p>\n
That evening, I knocked on Brenna’s door.<\/p>\n
“What?” she called.<\/p>\n
“Can I come in?”<\/p>\n
A long pause.<\/p>\n
Then, \u201cI guess.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her room was dim, curtains half closed. She sat on her bed in sweatpants, scrolling through her phone without looking at me.<\/p>\n
I sat beside her carefully, like sudden movement might scare her away.<\/p>\n
\u201cProm is in three weeks,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Her thumb stopped moving.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrenna\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said no, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI found the picture.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up then.<\/p>\n
I held it out to her. For a moment, I saw the old Brenna flicker across her face. Pain followed right behind it.<\/p>\n
\u201cOwen wanted you to go,\u201d I said softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cOwen wanted a lot of things,\u201d she answered.<\/p>\n
I swallowed hard. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not the girl who would have gone,\u201d she said. \u201cI don\u2019t even know who that girl was.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to be her,\u201d I said. \u201cYou can go as you are now.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed once, but there was no humor in it. \u201cYou make it sound easy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt won\u2019t be. But maybe we just try one dress. Only one. If you hate it, we come home and I never bring it up again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brenna stared at the picture for a long time.<\/p>\n
Finally, she whispered, \u201cOne dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
I should have been grateful.<\/p>\n
Instead, I let myself hope too much.<\/p>\n
The first boutique was polite. The second one was busy. The third one smiled too tightly and said they didn\u2019t have many sizes left.<\/p>\n
By the time we reached the fourth shop, Brenna had stopped touching the dresses.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom,\u201d she said quietly in the parking lot, \u201ccan we please go home?\u201d<\/p>\n
I pointed toward the window before I could stop myself.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at that one.\u201d<\/p>\n
She followed my gaze.<\/p>\n
The dress in the window was beautiful.<\/p>\n
Ivory, with a soft bodice and layers of fabric that moved like water. Along the skirt, tiny blue flowers climbed upward in delicate clusters, as if someone had gathered pieces of the sky and stitched them there.<\/p>\n
For the first time all day, Brenna stepped closer to the glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s pretty,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I almost cried from hearing even that small word.<\/p>\n
Inside, the boutique smelled like perfume and new fabric. A woman with smooth blond hair came from behind the counter, her smile already fading as she looked at my daughter.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we try the dress in the window?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
The woman glanced at Brenna.<\/p>\n
Not quickly.<\/p>\n
Slowly.<\/p>\n
Her eyes moved from Brenna\u2019s face to her hoodie, then down and back up again. Her mouth tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, honey,\u201d she said. \u201cThat one won\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brenna\u2019s shoulders rose.<\/p>\n
I felt heat crawl up my neck. \u201cCould she just try it?\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman gave a small sigh, as if we were making her uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat dress was not made for your body,\u201d she said. \u201cWe have simpler styles in the back.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a second, everything froze.<\/p>\n
The music playing through the ceiling speakers. The rustle of plastic garment bags. My daughter\u2019s breathing.<\/p>\n
Brenna didn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t defend herself. She didn\u2019t ask to leave.<\/p>\n
She simply turned and walked out.<\/p>\n
I followed her with shaking hands.<\/p>\n
In the car, I reached for her arm. \u201cBrenna, sweetheart, I\u2019m so sorry. I should have said something. I should have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease drive,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Her voice was flat.<\/p>\n
That scared me more than tears.<\/p>\n
When we got home, she went straight upstairs and locked her door.<\/p>\n
I sat outside it for nearly an hour.<\/p>\n
\u201cBaby,\u201d I said. \u201cPlease open the door.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can find another dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrenna\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop trying to fix me, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words hit me harder than I expected.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not trying to fix you,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you are,\u201d she said through the door. \u201cYou want me to be who I was before Owen. But she\u2019s gone too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed my hand to the wood and closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love who you are now,\u201d I said. \u201cI just don\u2019t know how to reach you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
Two days later, Jonah knocked on my door.<\/p>\n
He stood on the porch with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, looking nervous but determined.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Whitaker,\u201d he said, \u201ccan I talk to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs Brenna okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe hasn\u2019t answered my texts,\u201d he admitted. \u201cBut that\u2019s not why I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need her measurements.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to make her prom dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, I thought grief had finally broken something in my hearing.<\/p>\n
\u201cJonah, prom is in less than two weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re seventeen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you ever made a formal gown before?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
He said it so calmly that I almost laughed.<\/p>\n
Instead, I looked at the paper in his hand. It was covered in sketches \u2014 sleeves, bodices, flowers, layers of fabric. In the corner, he had drawn the dress from the boutique window, but changed it. Softer. Stronger. More Brenna.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can do it,\u201d he said. \u201cMy mom taught me to sew before I could ride a bike. I\u2019ve made costumes. I\u2019ve altered jackets. I know it\u2019s not the same. But I can do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
His face changed.<\/p>\n
Not much. Just enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause she thinks everyone sees what that woman saw,\u201d he said. \u201cI want her to know someone sees something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked past him toward the street, where Owen used to toss a football with both of them until dark.<\/p>\n
My voice barely came out.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you need from me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMeasurements. Fabric money. And for you not to tell her.\u201d<\/p>\n
That night, Jonah\u2019s bedroom light stayed on until after three in the morning.<\/p>\n
The next night too.<\/p>\n
By the fourth night, his mother called me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMarcy,\u201d she said, \u201cmy son is sewing like the house is on fire.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be.\u201d She sighed. \u201cHis fingers are sore. He fell asleep at the machine yesterday. I told him to rest, and he said he would when Brenna danced.\u201d<\/p>\n
I covered my face with my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m afraid this will hurt her more if it doesn\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d she said. \u201cBut maybe he\u2019s not only making a dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
I understood what she meant three days later.<\/p>\n
I had gone into Brenna\u2019s room to leave clean laundry. She was downstairs for once, standing silently in front of the pantry as if choosing cereal required more energy than she had.<\/p>\n
A notebook had slipped halfway from under her bed.<\/p>\n
I knew I shouldn\u2019t touch it.<\/p>\n
But I saw a printed screenshot sticking out from the pages.<\/p>\n
Then another.<\/p>\n
And another.<\/p>\n
My stomach sank.<\/p>\n
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened it.<\/p>\n
Names filled the pages.<\/p>\n
Girls from school. Boys from school. Comments. Messages. Little insults written under photos. Jokes about her grief. Jokes about her clothes. Jokes about her body. One cruel post made the week after Owen\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n
I had thought the boutique had broken her.<\/p>\n
But the boutique was only the last stone.<\/p>\n
My daughter had been carrying an entire wall.<\/p>\n
With trembling hands, I took pictures of the pages and sent them to Jonah.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know if this helps, I wrote. But I think you should know what she has been living with.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t answer for almost twenty minutes.<\/p>\n
Then his message appeared.<\/p>\n
I knew some of it. Not all.<\/p>\n
A minute later, another one came.<\/p>\n
Thank you. I know what to do now.<\/p>\n
On prom afternoon, Brenna stayed in bed with the curtains closed.<\/p>\n
I had stopped mentioning the dance.<\/p>\n
The shoes were hidden in my closet. The small blue hairpins were tucked in my dresser. Jonah had the dress.<\/p>\n
At six o\u2019clock, the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n
Brenna shouted from upstairs, \u201cI\u2019m not answering that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will,\u201d I called back.<\/p>\n
Jonah stood on the porch in a dark suit that looked slightly too big in the shoulders. Over one arm, he carried a garment bag.<\/p>\n
His eyes were red from lack of sleep.<\/p>\n
But he smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs she upstairs?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
When Brenna opened her bedroom door and saw him, her face hardened.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou haven\u2019t seen it yet,\u201d Jonah said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said no.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t argue.<\/p>\n
He unzipped the garment bag.<\/p>\n
The dress unfolded like a secret.<\/p>\n
It was ivory, but warmer than the boutique dress. The skirt moved in soft layers, full but not heavy. Along the bodice and down one side, dozens of small blue flowers bloomed in hand-sewn clusters, each petal shaped with care.<\/p>\n
Brenna lifted one hand to her mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cJonah,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cI made it for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou made this?\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled, but she shook her head. \u201cI can\u2019t wear that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019ll all be there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019ll stare.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her breath broke.<\/p>\n
Jonah took something from his pocket \u2014 the old picture of her and Owen. The one I had shown her weeks before.<\/p>\n
\u201cI found this on your mom\u2019s kitchen counter,\u201d he said. \u201cYour brother once told me if you ever got too quiet, I had to annoy you until you came back.\u201d<\/p>\n
A small, painful laugh escaped her.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said a lot of things,\u201d Jonah answered. \u201cMost of them bossy.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brenna looked at the dress again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I can\u2019t stay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen we leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I cry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you cry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I fall apart?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jonah\u2019s voice softened. \u201cThen I\u2019ll sit on the floor with you until you\u2019re ready to stand up.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a long moment, no one moved.<\/p>\n
Then Brenna reached for the dress.<\/p>\n
When she came down twenty minutes later, I had to grip the banister.<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t look like the old Brenna.<\/p>\n
She looked like someone new.<\/p>\n
Someone bruised, yes. Someone frightened. But also someone still here.<\/p>\n
The blue flowers curved around her waist and fell down the skirt like a garden growing after a storm.<\/p>\n
At the school gym, she froze.<\/p>\n
Through the open doors, music thumped. Laughter spilled into the hallway. Girls in satin dresses hurried past, boys tugging at their ties.<\/p>\n
Brenna\u2019s fingers tightened around Jonah\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
Jonah didn\u2019t pull her forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne song,\u201d he said. \u201cJust one. If you want to leave after that, I\u2019ll take you home.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at me.<\/p>\n
I wanted to tell her she didn\u2019t have to do anything. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and take her home and lock out the whole world.<\/p>\n
Instead, I said, \u201cI\u2019m proud of you already.\u201d<\/p>\n
Brenna took one breath.<\/p>\n
Then another.<\/p>\n
And walked in.<\/p>\n
The room noticed.<\/p>\n
Of course it did.<\/p>\n
Heads turned. Conversations faded. Someone whispered, then stopped when Jonah looked their way.<\/p>\n
Brenna stared at the floor.<\/p>\n
Then Jonah led her to the middle of the gym, just as a slow song began.<\/p>\n
For thirty seconds, they barely moved.<\/p>\n
Then Brenna lifted her head.<\/p>\n
Not much.<\/p>\n
Just enough.<\/p>\n
I stood with the other parents near the wall, tears slipping down my face.<\/p>\n
Halfway through the song, Jonah leaned close and said something to her. Brenna frowned. He nodded toward the largest blue flower sewn near her waist.<\/p>\n
Her fingers searched the petals.<\/p>\n
Then she found the hidden fold.<\/p>\n
She pulled out a narrow strip of ivory fabric.<\/p>\n
Words were embroidered across it in dark blue thread.<\/p>\n
Not insults.<\/p>\n
Not exactly.<\/p>\n
They had been changed.<\/p>\n
Too big became too bright to hide.<\/p>\n
Weird became wonderfully rare.<\/p>\n
Broken became still blooming.<\/p>\n
Quiet became listening for her own song.<\/p>\n
More strips were tucked inside other flowers.<\/p>\n
Brenna found one, then another, then another.<\/p>\n
Around the room, faces began to change.<\/p>\n
A girl in a silver dress covered her mouth.<\/p>\n
A boy near the punch table looked down like he wanted the floor to swallow him.<\/p>\n
They recognized the words.<\/p>\n
They recognized what they had once thrown at her.<\/p>\n
But Jonah had turned each one into something she could wear without shame.<\/p>\n
The song ended, but no one clapped at first.<\/p>\n
The silence was too full.<\/p>\n
Then Brenna pressed one of the embroidered strips to her chest and started to cry.<\/p>\n
Not the silent kind.<\/p>\n
Not the kind she hid behind a locked door.<\/p>\n
She cried like someone who had been holding her breath for a year and had finally found air.<\/p>\n
The first person to approach her was a girl I recognized from one of the notebook pages.<\/p>\n
She was shaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d the girl said. \u201cI am so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another came after her.<\/p>\n
Then the boy by the punch table.<\/p>\n
Not everyone apologized. Some only stared. Some looked away. But Brenna stood there in her ivory dress with blue flowers blooming around her, and for once, she was not the one shrinking.<\/p>\n
Jonah stayed beside her the whole time.<\/p>\n
Later that night, I drove home alone while Jonah took Brenna for milkshakes.<\/p>\n
The house was quiet when I walked in, but it felt different.<\/p>\n
Less empty.<\/p>\n
I went to Owen\u2019s room and sat on the edge of his bed. His old football still rested on the shelf. His sneakers were still by the closet. The picture of him and Brenna still sat on the dresser.<\/p>\n
I touched the frame.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe went,\u201d I whispered. \u201cShe danced.\u201d<\/p>\n
My voice broke.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd someone kept your promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
When Brenna came home after midnight, she found me in the kitchen.<\/p>\n
Her makeup was smudged. Her hair had loosened from its pins. The hem of her dress brushed the floor, blue flowers catching the soft yellow light.<\/p>\n
For a moment, we only looked at each other.<\/p>\n
Then she walked to the cabinet, took down two mugs, and said, \u201cCan we have cocoa?\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed a hand over my mouth.<\/p>\n
Because it wasn\u2019t much.<\/p>\n
It was just cocoa.<\/p>\n
Just two mugs.<\/p>\n
Just my daughter standing in the kitchen again.<\/p>\n
But after a year of silence, it felt like the first sound of spring.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said, reaching for the milk. \u201cOf course we can.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
At the fourth boutique, the saleswoman looked my daughter up and down and said, “Sweetheart, that dress was not made for your body.” My daughter didn’t cry. She simply turned around, walked out of the shop, and got into my car like something inside her had finally gone quiet. I stood there holding my purse, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2818,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"fifu_image_url":"","fifu_image_alt":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2816","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news"],"views":90,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2816","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2816"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2816\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2819,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2816\/revisions\/2819"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2818"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2816"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2816"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storydosee.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2816"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}