{"id":5393,"date":"2026-09-07T06:32:34","date_gmt":"2026-09-07T06:32:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/?p=5393"},"modified":"2026-09-07T06:32:35","modified_gmt":"2026-09-07T06:32:35","slug":"my-father-a-widower-married-a-woman-36-years-younger-than-him-at-his-funeral-she-finally-received-what-she-deserved","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/?p=5393","title":{"rendered":"My father, a widower, married a woman 36 years younger than him \u2013 At his funeral, she finally received what she deserved."},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Every time they asked his father’s wife, who was much younger than him, he insisted that everything was fine. Then, just before he died, he whispered something to them that changed the way they viewed the last six years. What did he mean?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The house still smelled of my mother eight months after we buried her. Lavender in the linen closet, lemon polish on the banister, and the faint trace of her jasmine hand cream on the dish towels that no one dared to wash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept expecting her to come through the door with the shopping bags and complain about the traffic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, one Sunday in April, my father walked through that door with Vanessa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

She was 36 years younger than him.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He was also two years younger than me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Diane, darling,” she said with a radiant smile. “How wonderful to finally meet my husband’s daughter!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Nice to meet you,” I managed to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus, who had driven from the city because he had been begged to, stood with his arms crossed at the door without saying a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Dad gave me a kiss on the top of my head, like he always did.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He looked thinner. He had a tired appearance that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Let’s have dinner,” he said. “Vanessa has cooked.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa hadn’t cooked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa had ordered the food, and I watched her transfer the roast chicken from a catering tray to Mom’s good serving dish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

At the table, she rested her hand, with its well-groomed nails, on her dad’s forearm.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Robert, darling, tell them about the coach I found for you. He works miracles.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m 68 years old, Vanessa.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“That’s precisely why,” she laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus raised his glass of water and drank it in one gulp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What a beautiful watch, darling,” Vanessa said, tilting her head to look at her father’s wrist. “It’s a Patek, isn’t it? You have three, don’t you? The rose gold one is my favorite.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Two,” Dad said softly. “I have two.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Mmm. Well, they’re beautiful.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at my plate. Mom’s china. The design with the little blue flowers around the rim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well,” Vanessa said, focusing entirely on me, “your father told me that you used to spend your summers in a house by a lake. Is it big? Is it winter-proof? I’d love to see it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It’s small,” Marcus said dryly. “Dad built it himself.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, how lovely. Robert, we really should go there. Or maybe put it up for sale. Just to talk about it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Vanessa\u2026”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“I said just to talk about it, darling.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After dinner, she went upstairs to change into something she called “more comfortable,” which turned out to be a cashmere garment that cost more than my mortgage payment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus grabbed my elbow in the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Tell me. Tell me you see it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I see it,” I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Well, say something,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“He’s happy, Marcus. Look at him. He’s smiling.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He’s on medication. That’s different.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went back to the kitchen because I couldn’t stay there, in the hallway of the house where I grew up, and admit out loud that my brother was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Dad was on the counter.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa had already gone downstairs and was sliding a folded piece of paper across the granite countertop towards him with two fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It’s just the update we were talking about, honey. The accountant has already taken a look at it.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad picked up the pen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn’t read it. He signed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Then he looked up and saw me there, standing in the doorway.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

For a second, something crossed his face that I’ve thought about every day since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn’t my fault.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nor confusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something quieter and older than both.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He folded the paper in half and gave it back to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Is everything alright, darling?” he asked me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Yes, Dad.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At that moment, he could have asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could have gone closer, turned the paper over, and read a single line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was 34 years old and in my mother’s kitchen, and I decided not to cause any trouble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told myself I would ask him tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Six years later, he still hadn’t done it.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Six years is a strange period of time. It passes slowly while you’re living it, and vanishes as soon as you try to look back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of those six years, I barely recognized the house I grew up in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa had redecorated all the rooms, twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wallpaper my mother had chosen was no longer there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The porcelain sideboard had been replaced by a shiny white one that looked like it had been taken from a hotel lobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

The lake house was the worst of all.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“He built that place with his own hands,” Marcus told me one night on the phone. “And she convinced him that ‘it was too much work to maintain.'”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He signed the papers, Marcus.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“She put the pen in his hand, Di. There’s a difference.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t contradict him, because I knew he was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I simply didn’t know what to do about it.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The old friends stopped coming by there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad stopped calling so often.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he called, Vanessa was always nearby, and his sentences became shorter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then came the hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had been feeling unwell for months, but no one told us how serious it was until he was hospitalized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I dropped everything I was doing and drove four hours in the rain to get there.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Marcus was already in the hallway when I arrived, pacing as if he had left a footprint in the linoleum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“How are you doing?”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Tired. Thin. She’s in there.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pushed the door open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa was sitting in the chair by the window, wearing designer sunglasses on her head, looking at her mobile phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

He didn’t look up.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Ah. You’ve come,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Hello, Vanessa.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad had his eyes closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her hand rested on the blanket, thinner than she remembered; her mother’s wedding ring was still stored in a drawer at home, instead of being on her finger, where it used to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat down and took his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Dad. It’s me.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He slowly opened his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he saw me, something in his face softened in a way I hadn’t seen in years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“There it is,” he whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m here,” I told him. “Marcus is here too.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Good. Good.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Vanessa sighed deeply and stood up.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“I need a coffee,” he murmured. “Take care of him.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She left without waiting for an answer. The door clicked shut behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad squeezed my hand tighter, weakly but with determination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Diane”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m listening.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I’ve fixed it, darling.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I leaned towards him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Fixed what, Dad?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes were moist, but he was smiling and didn’t seem confused. He was more lucid than I’d seen him in months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I fixed it in time.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Fixed what?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

He simply squeezed my hand again and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I sat there for a long time trying to understand what he meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about asking you again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about calling Marcus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the end, I didn’t insist, because I seemed, for the first time in six years, at peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told myself I would ask him tomorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

In the following days, Vanessa’s visits became shorter and less frequent.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

By the weekend, he hardly ever came around here anymore; he always had to go somewhere else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That Tuesday morning, he wasn’t there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He passed away peacefully, before either of us could arrive in time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The call was made by a nurse, not Vanessa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus later learned, through the same friend at the real estate agency, that Vanessa had been on the phone with the real estate agent that morning, around the time the nurse said he had passed away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

None of it seemed real.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

By the time we arrived at the funeral home the next day, Vanessa had already chosen everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I know exactly what he would have wanted,” she told the family friends who were gradually arriving, drying their eyes that, in reality, never seemed to cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Lilies were her favorites.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They weren’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad hated lilies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Mom loved them.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“And this photo. How handsome. He loved this one.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at the photo in my hand. It was a profile picture, one of those formal corporate photos, taken at a company retirement dinner ten years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad had spent a week complaining about that tie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Vanessa,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “We have the picture of the lake house. The one on the dock.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Oh, honey.” She patted me on the arm. “That’s not very appropriate for a funeral, is it? She’s wearing a T-shirt.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I looked at Marcus.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He turned around and left the room before he could say anything we couldn’t take back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I followed him to the parking lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was leaning against my car, with my arms crossed and my jaw clenched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“She’s going to put the house up for sale, Di.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“That?”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I looked him straight in the eyes.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“The house. Our house. I’ve checked. She’s already put it up for sale with an agent. Photos and everything. She just hasn’t posted it yet.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt something inside my chest freeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“How do you know?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“A friend from the real estate agency. She started the paperwork three days before he died, Diane. Three days.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at the other side of the parking lot, not noticing anything in particular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I fixed it in time.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“That?”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Something Dad said. In the hospital. He said, ‘I fixed it in time.’ I thought he was rambling.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus stared at me for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Fixed what?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Don’t know”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Neither of us said anything for a while.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Above us, the funeral home sign flickered against a gray sky, and somewhere inside, Vanessa was choosing hymns that Dad had never heard in his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The chapel smelled of lilies, which I knew my father had always hated. He used to say those little flowers were for hospital beds, not on tables where people eat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa had ordered three enormous bouquets of lilies for the altar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus was sitting to my right, his jaw clenched and his hands so tightly clasped that his knuckles had turned white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I could feel her trembling because of everything she didn’t dare to say.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa sat in the front row wearing a black Chanel, her shoulders slightly tilted, a handkerchief pressed against a cheek that remained dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every few minutes, she would turn her head slightly, glancing around the room like a hostess overseeing a party.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It’s not even his song,” Marcus muttered over the piano music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I know”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“That photo doesn’t look like him.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I know, Marcus.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The photo on the easel was a studio portrait from a charity gala Vanessa had dragged him to. In it, his smile was polite, tired, forced. There was nothing of my father’s real face in that photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept my hands folded in my lap and stared at the program.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father’s entire life, reduced to a typeface that Vanessa had chosen because “it looked expensive”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Behind us, the family’s friends were whispering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could feel their gazes sliding down the back of my neck, then moving towards Vanessa and back again, as if they were trying to solve a math problem that they weren’t quite sure if they could do out loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Vanessa looked at her phone.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tilted the screen so it couldn’t be seen from the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her eyes darted towards the main doors at the back of the chapel, then to her mobile phone, and back to the doors again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whoever she was waiting for wasn’t coming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Who is she texting at a funeral?” Marcus whispered.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Don’t know”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glanced at the doors one more time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something in the expression on her face tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus leaned towards her. “I stopped by this morning to pick up Dad’s good cufflinks. The code isn’t working. He changed the locks yesterday.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt something moving inside my chest, but it wasn’t panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

It was quite the opposite.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The pastor stepped forward and began to speak of a man I didn’t recognize. Charitable. Devoted husband. A man who “found love again in his old age.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa dried her eyes with a dry tissue at that very moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought of my father in the hospital bed. His hand in mine. His voice, weak but clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’ve fixed it, darling. I fixed it in time.”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t understand it then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I blamed it on the morphine and the pain, and let it go.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Sitting in that chapel, watching Vanessa perform, I suddenly felt a tremendous desire to understand it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s when I saw the funeral home owner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He entered through a side door with an envelope in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn’t that I was in a hurry, exactly, but my mouth was pressed together in an expression that told me that, whatever I was wearing, I hadn’t expected to have to wear it today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He walked down the aisle, past the pastor, past the lilies, and bent down next to Vanessa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

He whispered something to her. Just one sentence. Maybe two.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I saw Vanessa turn pale in the blink of an eye. Her jaw slack. Her hand, the one holding the useless handkerchief, fell into her lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014Diane\u2014Marcus whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014I see it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa answered the director in a low, urgent voice. He shook his head, calm, contrite, and unwavering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

He pointed once to the envelope he was holding in his hand.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He got up too quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her handbag slipped from her lap and fell to the floor with a small thud that startled three rows of mourners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn’t bend down to pick it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He walked quickly toward the side door. The one the staff use.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

The room fell silent.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The pastor trailed off mid-sentence. Someone coughed. Somewhere in the back, a chair creaked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus turned slowly towards me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What just happened?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I don’t know yet.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Should we?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“Yeah”.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I got up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t rush.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smoothed down the front of my dress, just like my mother used to do before going to mass, and headed towards the aisle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All eyes in the chapel were on me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I noticed them, and for the first time in six years, I didn’t back down from them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus stood up behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

He never asked me again. He just came.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

We walked past the lilies that would have horrified my father, past the photo in which he was not in it, past the shepherd, who was still frozen mid-sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The funeral director looked me in the eye as he passed by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded once, like someone handing in a job he had been in charge of for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stopped at the side door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus put his hand on my back for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Whatever is on the other side of this,” he said quietly, “we’ll do it together.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“I know”.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I thought about my father’s whisper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about the document I had seen him sign on the kitchen counter six years ago, the one I hadn’t asked him anything about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pushed the door open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of the corridor, Vanessa’s voice could already be heard, high-pitched and trembling, arguing with someone she hadn’t seen yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the back room of the funeral home, Marcus and I found Vanessa arguing in a trembling whisper with the funeral director and a calm, older man in a gray suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I recognized him instantly.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Halvorsen, Dad’s lawyer for 30 years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFourteen months ago,\u201d Halvorsen said calmly, \u201cyour father revised his will. The house, the remaining assets, and control of the estate pass to his children in trust. You receive the prenuptial agreement settlement. Nothing more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vanessa crumpled the handkerchief in her fist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He also left sealed instructions with the funeral director,” Halvorsen continued. “His own photo. His own music. His own texts. To be opened during the service, not before.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I was confused,” Vanessa hissed, turning to me. “Manipulated. I’m going to contest every single page.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

I looked at her for a long time.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

The woman who had erased my mother, sold the lake house, and staged a funeral that my father would never have recognized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“He wasn’t confused,” I said quietly. “He just stopped being afraid of you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time, he seemed to be speechless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus touched my elbow, and we both went back into the chapel without saying another word. The director followed us shortly after and announced a minor change to the program.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

The screen changed its image.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

There he was, my father, on the dock of the lake house, tanned and smiling, with a fish that no one believed he had caught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The song playing through the speakers was the one he used to hum in the garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marcus’ shoulders finally relaxed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Weeks later, I was on the porch of the house where we grew up, with Marcus by my side and the keys still warm in my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Vanessa had left.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Mom’s crockery had gone back into the cupboard, and Dad’s real picture was on the mantelpiece.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I fixed it in time,” he had whispered to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so it was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now, me too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So here’s the real question:<\/strong> If <\/strong>someone spent years believing they had lost everything, only to discover that their loved one had been silently fighting for them all that time, would those years of silence still seem like a betrayal or the greatest act of love?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Every time they asked his father’s wife, who was much younger than him, he insisted that everything was fine. Then, just before he died, he whispered something… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5406,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5393","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5393","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5393"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5393\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5419,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5393\/revisions\/5419"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5406"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5393"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5393"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailynewus.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5393"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}