The worn green book in the stranger’s hands was the same one a 7-year-old girl had carried to my son’s funeral 18 years earlier. Beside her stood a little boy with a broken red truck. Then she opened the cover, showed Weston’s handwriting, and asked if I was ready to hear why he’d gone to the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The last thing my son Weston said to me was, “Of course, Mom.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was nineteen, getting ready to leave for college, and had spent most of that summer packing everything except what he needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was nineteen, getting ready to leave for college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cardboard boxes covered his bedroom floor, and lists were taped to his closet door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One box labeled DESK STUFF held tangled chargers, a broken calculator, and three pens that didn’t work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You’re taking garbage to college,” I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He grinned over his cereal. “Sentimental garbage.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lists were taped to his closet door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He grabbed his keys, kissed my cheek, and headed toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Home for dinner?” I called.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Of course, Mom.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few hours later, two police officers stood on my porch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Home for dinner?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There had been an accident at the river outside town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A seven-year-old girl had fallen into the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The current was strong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston had jumped in before anyone else could reach her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A seven-year-old girl had fallen into the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He managed to push her close enough to the bank for another man to pull her out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then the current took him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The officers explained everything gently, but I remember almost none of what they said afterward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The current took him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My son had left that morning expecting dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By afternoon, he was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The little girl’s name was Sloane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She survived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Reporters called Weston a hero, and strangers sent flowers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My son had left that morning expecting dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was proud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But pride didn’t help when I found the leftovers I’d saved for him or when his college sent a letter addressed to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One reporter asked whether Weston had always been fearless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pride didn’t help when I found the leftovers I’d saved for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered him refusing to enter our basement at twelve because he’d seen a spider.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t share that story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane came to the funeral with her parents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t share that story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was a small girl with dark hair, wearing a pale blue dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She held a book against her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her mother apologized for bringing her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She held a book against her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“She wanted to come,” the woman whispered. “But we can leave if it’s too much.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Please don’t.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her lips moved, but nothing came out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“We can leave if it’s too much.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knelt carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She gripped her book tighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her father carried her outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I watched them go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the time, I thought the book was simply something she’d brought for comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t know Weston had written inside it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few months later, Sloane’s family moved away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t know Weston had written inside it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Reporters recognized their daughter in stores and asked questions no seven-year-old should have had to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her parents wanted her to have an ordinary childhood, and I understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eventually, we lost contact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her parents wanted her to have an ordinary childhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston’s room became a guest room, although I kept a box of his things in the closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I returned to work and learned to smile when people asked whether I had children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes I answered, “I have a son.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Other times, I said, “I had a son.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I learned to smile when people asked whether I had children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Neither felt quite right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, eighteen years after the accident, someone knocked on my door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a Saturday afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A young woman stood on the porch with a little boy beside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked about five.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A young woman stood on the porch with a little boy beside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was holding a red toy truck with one missing wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The woman held a worn green book against her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked nervous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Are you Weston’s mother?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She glanced down at the little boy beside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“My name is Sloane.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Are you Weston’s mother?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I caught the edge of the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sloane?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The little boy looked up at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mommy, is this the lady?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes, Charlie.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I couldn’t stop staring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Mommy, is this the lady?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The last time I’d seen Sloane, she’d been seven years old, clutching a book at my son’s funeral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now she was standing on my porch with a child of her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I should’ve come here years ago,” she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh, honey.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I should’ve come here years ago.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked at me again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Your son wasn’t at that river by accident. I need to tell you the truth.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I held on to the doorframe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What are you talking about?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I need to tell you the truth.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane looked down at her son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she said something I’d never expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Weston came there to meet me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I invited them inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She said something I’d never expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie carried an old wooden train from my bookshelf to the rug while Sloane sat across from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Did Weston know you were going to be at the river?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Did he know something was going to happen?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Did Weston know you were going to be at the river?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“No.” She shook her head quickly. “Nothing like that. We were supposed to read together.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Read?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“We were supposed to read together.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane placed the book on her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Its green cover had faded, and one corner had been repaired with yellowing tape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I knew your son before the accident.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One corner had been repaired with yellowing tape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That summer, Weston had volunteered at a children’s reading program at the community center.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane’s parents had met him at pickup and knew he sometimes read with her after the group sessions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He’d mentioned helping some children, but I hadn’t known how often he went.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston had volunteered at a children’s reading program.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I was terrible at reading aloud,” Sloane recalled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You were only seven.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I knew the other kids were better.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She rubbed the book’s worn spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When I got stuck on a word, people would usually say it for me. They meant well, but I hated it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I was terrible at reading aloud.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And Weston?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He waited.” She smiled faintly. “Sometimes I’d sit there staring at one word forever. He’d just wait until I tried.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked down at my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston used to do that with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He’d just wait until I tried.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Whenever I couldn’t remember somebody’s name, he’d wait instead of guessing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It drove me crazy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He could be stubborn,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He really could.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It drove me crazy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She told me the reading program had ended a few days before the accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston was preparing to leave for college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But Sloane hadn’t finished her favorite book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“On the last day, I got upset,” she said. “I thought he’d leave before I could read the ending.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston was preparing to leave for college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What did he say?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He told me we’d find another afternoon. I said my parents were taking me to the riverside park that Saturday. He knew the place. He told me he’d come and listen to the last pages.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He told me we’d find another afternoon.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked down at the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t tell my parents. I wanted to surprise them when they saw how much I could read.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston had arrived before the picnic began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane’s parents were unloading their picnic things when she wandered toward the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t tell my parents.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I dropped something near the edge,” she recounted. “I bent down to get it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I watched her hands tighten around the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“My foot slipped.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t ask her to continue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“My foot slipped.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After a moment, she said, “Weston was already there because he’d promised to listen to me read. I never told anyone that part. By the time I could say it out loud, we’d moved away.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For eighteen years, I’d pictured my son walking past the river and seeing a child in trouble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I never told anyone that part.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I pictured him arriving with time to spare, looking for a little girl who wanted to finish her book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He hadn’t gone there expecting to save anyone. He’d gone because he’d told her he would come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane opened the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“There’s something else.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He hadn’t gone there expecting to save anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside the front cover was Weston’s handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For Sloane. Save the last page for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I reached for my glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew that handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The uneven letters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew that handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The way he always made his capital S too large.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He wrote this?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I brought it to the funeral. I wanted to show you, but I couldn’t talk.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I touched the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered the little girl in the blue dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The book pressed against her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh, Sloane.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I kept it all these years,” she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Did you ever finish reading it?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered the little girl in the blue dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“When?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Much later.” She looked down. “For a long time, I couldn’t open it. Then one day, I wanted to know how it ended.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That seemed like a perfectly good reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Then one day, I wanted to know how it ended.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie quietly turned one of the wooden train cars over in his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at Sloane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why now?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She took a moment to answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Why now?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“My parents moved because they thought it would help me forget. But I didn’t forget. I just stopped talking about it. I wrote you letters over the years, but I never sent them. I didn’t know whether coming here would hurt you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“It might have,” I admitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I didn’t forget.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s what I was afraid of.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she glanced toward Charlie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“A few weeks ago, he started asking about the people in our family. Grandparents. Cousins. People who’ve died.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s what I was afraid of.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie looked up at the sound of his name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I asked about the river boy,” he announced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane smiled sadly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Yes, you did.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He helped Mommy.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s right, sweetie.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I asked about the river boy.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie went back to his train.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane turned toward me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He asked whether Weston had a mother.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a second, I couldn’t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“And I realized you might never have known why he was there,” she added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He asked whether Weston had a mother.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We sat quietly for a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Sloane showed me a photograph on her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a classroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Small desks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Colorful posters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A shelf full of books.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane showed me a photograph on her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’m a reading specialist now,” she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You teach children to read?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I help the ones who need extra time.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I studied the photograph.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I’m a reading specialist now.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the bookshelf was another copy of the green book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Do you tell them about Weston?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Not usually. But sometimes a child gets stuck on a word, and I remember how he used to wait.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My eyes filled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He did that at home too.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I remember how he used to wait.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I thought he was the only person in the world who could sit quietly that long.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He wasn’t always patient,” I said. “You should’ve seen him trying to assemble furniture.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He wasn’t always patient.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a few minutes, we talked about Weston without talking about the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Sloane began apologizing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For waiting so long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For arriving without calling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For bringing Charlie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We talked about Weston without talking about the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I finally stopped her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sloane, do you think you owe me something?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked startled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I\u2026” Her eyes filled. “Sometimes I think I should’ve done more.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“More what?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I finally stopped her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“With my life.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I have a good job. I love my son. I’m happy most days. But then I remember that Weston died and I didn’t.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Oh dear\u2026”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“I remember that Weston died and I didn’t.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She wiped her cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sometimes ordinary happiness doesn’t feel like enough.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at Charlie, who was trying to reconnect the train cars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I looked back at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Weston didn’t jump into that river because he expected anything from you. He wanted you out of the water.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sometimes ordinary happiness doesn’t feel like enough.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I moved beside her and put my arm around her shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat beside her until she could look at me again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He would’ve been glad you got to grow up.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before leaving, she asked whether I’d ever returned to the riverside park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Not in years,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“There’s a bench where Weston used to sit with me.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the book in her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Would you show me?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She asked whether I’d ever returned to the riverside park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We agreed to go the following afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After they left, I opened the closet in the guest room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Weston’s old box was still there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I lifted the lid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We agreed to go the following afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside were photographs, college papers, and a roll of packing tape he’d somehow never used.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now there was a place I wanted to see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A place where my son had once sat beside a little girl, waiting patiently for her to finish a sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now there was a place I wanted to see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following afternoon, Sloane took me to the riverside park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We stayed on the walking path, well away from the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pointed toward a wooden bench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s where we used to read.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane took me to the riverside park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Did he ever talk about college?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He said college sounded exciting, but he was scared he’d miss everybody.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked toward the trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He never told me that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He said you’d probably cry if he did.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I laughed, then wiped my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He was right.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“He said you’d probably cry if he did.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Three weeks later, Sloane and Charlie visited again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d found a photograph of Weston standing beside his half-packed college boxes, holding packing tape between his teeth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane studied it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“That’s him.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d found a photograph of Weston standing beside his half-packed college boxes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I gave her a copy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She’d brought the old green book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie climbed onto the couch between us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Can we read?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane opened it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Your turn, sweetheart.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She’d brought the old green book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He started slowly, following the words with one finger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Halfway down the page, he stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He tried a difficult word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Got it wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tried again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He tried a difficult word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane started to give him the word but stopped herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie frowned at the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remembered Weston sitting at our kitchen table, patiently waiting while I searched for a forgotten name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie frowned at the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Charlie sounded out the word once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time, he got it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Good job,” Sloane whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked pleased with himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Next page, Grandma Demi?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This time, he got it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The name surprised me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sloane glanced over, uncertain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I smiled and turned the page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“All right, Charlie. Let’s see what happens next.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The name surprised me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The worn green book in the stranger’s hands was the same one a 7-year-old girl had carried to my son’s funeral 18 years earlier. Beside her stood… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":173,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8072","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8072","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8072"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8072\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8073,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8072\/revisions\/8073"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/173"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8072"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8072"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bzerbros.fun\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8072"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}