Three hours before our anniversary flight, my husband canceled my plane ticket and didn’t bother telling me himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I learned it standing at JFK Terminal 4 under the departure boards, carry-on at my feet, passport still warm in my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We were supposed to fly first class from New York to Paris for twelve years of marriage, the kind of trip people photograph with champagne and captions about still choosing each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had packed the navy dress Nathan once said made me look like I belonged in a film. He’d apparently arranged for someone else to star in that particular movie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Caldwell, your reservation was modified last night, the agent said, careful in the way people get when they know they’re about to ruin your afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Modified how, I asked. You were removed from the itinerary, she said, and for a moment the whole terminal seemed to slide underwater around me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked down at the printout from three weeks earlier, Nathaniel Caldwell and Avery Caldwell, JFK to CDG, first class, our anniversary trip in plain black type.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The booking was changed by the primary account holder, the agent said, and I recognized the phrase instantly. Nathan loved language official enough to hide disrespect inside it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My phone buzzed. Running late, his text read. Go through security, I’ll meet you at the lounge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then a screenshot arrived from an unknown number. Nathan’s name at the top of a thread, a woman’s reply underneath. I still can’t believe you actually took her off the ticket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His answer: She’ll cry, call me dramatic, and go home. Avery doesn’t fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She absorbs. That’s what makes this easy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then: Paris is our engagement getaway now. By the time I’m back, the separation will be handled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her reply came with a row of hearts. Can’t wait to sit in her seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read it three times. Flight AF009, Paris-Charles de Gaulle, departing 7:25 PM, boarding at 6:40 PM.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My name is Avery Monroe Caldwell, thirty-nine years old, twelve years married, and, according to my husband, too weak to fight for anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I lived quietly in Westchester County, worked as managing director of my family’s investment fund, and had spent most of that marriage letting Nathan play the financial genius in rooms my money kept lit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That arrangement was about to get very inconvenient for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t scream. I didn’t call him. I stepped out of line, walked toward a closed currency booth, and opened the airline app instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My seat was gone. His remained. My original seat had been transferred to someone named Vivian Hart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I knew that name. Twenty-seven, polished, ambitious, employed as client relations director at Caldwell Pierce Advisory, Nathan’s restructuring firm in Manhattan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Unofficially, she was in too many late calendar blocks, too many urgent investor dinners, too many conference photos where people left a careful gap around the two of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She’s energetic, not threatening, Nathan had told me once, smiling like I’d embarrassed myself by even asking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another screenshot came through. Do you think she knows about the ring, Vivian had written.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No, Nathan answered. And even if she suspects, she won’t act before the flight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She hates public scenes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost feel bad, Vivian wrote. Don’t, Nathan told her. She had twelve years to become interesting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That line landed harder than any of the others, not because it was clever, but because of how intimately cruel it was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I saved every message. Then I called Marian Brooks, general counsel for Monroe Legacy Partners, the fund my late father built and my mother expanded before retiring to Charleston.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marian had spent twenty years with our family and could unsettle a billionaire simply by saying interesting in a level voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I need you to pull the Caldwell Pierce file, I said. There was a pause, then rustling paper. What happened?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan removed me from our anniversary flight and gave my seat to Vivian Hart, I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That is personally disgusting, Marian said. But you called me as counsel, so there’s more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He’s calling it their engagement getaway, I told her. Do not confront him yet, she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do you have proof? Screenshots, from an unknown number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Forward them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she said, our bridge facility to Caldwell Pierce matures in sixty days. If there’s misrepresentation, misuse of funds, or an undisclosed conflict involving personnel, we have discretion to act.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If he used firm funds for this trip, she added, this stops being adultery and becomes a governance problem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Governance problem. The phrase steadied me more than sympathy could have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Heartbreak is fog. Governance is a flashlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked back to the counter. I’d like to purchase a seat on this flight, I told the same agent. She said first class was full, one business seat remained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I almost said yes. Then, in the dark glass behind her, I saw Nathan crossing the terminal beside Vivian Hart, cream trousers and a rehearsed smile, a diamond catching the light on her left hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan saw me a second later. The color left his face entirely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Actually, I told the agent, please check again under Monroe Legacy Partners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her expression shifted. There’s a corporate first-class seat held under that account. Release it to me, I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan was close enough to hear every word now. Seat 2A, printed clean across my new boarding pass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His was 2D. My stolen seat, Vivian’s now, was 2G.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Looks like we’re still flying together, I told him, smiling with a calm I did not remotely feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He wasn’t afraid because I’d found out about the affair. He was afraid because he’d just remembered exactly whose money kept his firm breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan liked telling people he built everything from nothing, and that was mostly true. He grew up in Queens, son of a postal worker and a school secretary, and worked harder than anyone I knew when we were young.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I met him at a charity finance event in Boston, thirty-one, sharp-eyed, hungry, charming in a way that felt almost innocent back then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He talked about failing companies like puzzles worth solving. I was twenty-seven, still learning to carry the Monroe name without flinching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My family had real money, old manufacturing money turned into a diversified fund, and people reacted to that in every possible way, flattering, resentful, or convinced it meant I’d never worked a hard day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan didn’t do any of that at first. He argued with my read of a failed Ohio retail turnaround, then conceded I was right twenty minutes later once I walked him through the debt structure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I liked that he could be challenged. Or I thought that’s what I liked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We married two years later in Newport, Rhode Island, on a rainy June afternoon, my father walking me down the aisle with tears in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He toasted that marriage was less about choosing the person who shines in public and more about honoring the one who trusts you in private. Nathan nodded solemnly beside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first years were happy, not perfect, happy. We rented a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, ate Thai food off the floor at midnight, argued about exposed brick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Caldwell Pierce nearly collapsed in its third year, a delayed client payment, a lender pulling back, payroll going tight, I introduced Nathan to my father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father didn’t hand him a check. Monroe Legacy structured a bridge investment instead, covenants, oversight, repayment terms, enough to keep the firm alive without turning Nathan into a dependent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cried when the financing closed. He held me in our kitchen and swore he’d never forget what my family had done for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By year seven the gratitude had quietly rewritten itself. Monroe Legacy hadn’t saved the firm, it had recognized his potential. My connections hadn’t opened doors, his brilliance had made investors comfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Supportive was the word he settled on for me at dinner parties. Avery handles the family side of things, I handle the real blood sport, he liked to joke while people laughed and I smiled along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Careful. Elegant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Private. Then, slowly, boring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He never said it directly. He said I liked quiet restaurants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He said I had trust fund energy, delivered like a joke that meant like a wound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vivian arrived at Caldwell Pierce in our tenth year, hired after organizing a private capital conference in Miami where Nathan said she had remarkable instincts for people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She wasn’t the problem because she was attractive. She was the problem because she made herself useful in exactly the rooms where Nathan liked to be admired, remembering investor names, laughing on cue, captioning conference photos about visionary leadership.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I noticed the new office wardrobe. I noticed the phone angled away from me. I noticed his patience for me shrinking while his charm for strangers kept growing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You’re not the jealous type, Avery, don’t start now, he said once, and the sentence flattered me straight into silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I stopped being jealous and started being observant instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Three months before Paris, I quietly asked Marian to review Monroe Legacy’s exposure to Caldwell Pierce. Not to divorce Nathan. Just because certain quarterly language around liquidity and personnel spend read too polished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She found irregularities. Not fraud, not yet, but unusual travel classifications, consulting fees routed through vendors tied to events Vivian ran, a compensation bump for client relations growth that seemed excessive for her title.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Keep watching, I told her. Then Nathan suggested Paris himself, booked it personally, first class, four nights at Le Bristol, dinner at a restaurant I’d mentioned once years earlier, a private museum tour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I want us to reconnect, he said, and I wanted so badly to believe him that I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That’s the part nobody says out loud about betrayal. It doesn’t usually catch fools. It catches intelligent people, temporarily worn down by hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Air France lounge was quieter than the terminal. Nathan followed me in alone, which told me he’d sent Vivian ahead so he could manage me first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Manage was the word. Nathan never apologized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He managed risk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We need to talk, he said, keeping his voice down. No, I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You need to explain. Briefly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You have every right to be upset, he said, which is the exit door guilty men use, all the sound of accountability with none of the confession.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Did you take me off our anniversary flight and give her my seat, I asked. He looked away. That answered it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Did you call this an engagement getaway to her? Where did you hear that, he asked sharply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Answer the question, I said. It was said in a private emotional context, he finally admitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Was my weakness also private and emotional, I asked. Those messages were cruel, he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Accurate to your belief, though, I said. No, he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt trapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You felt trapped, I repeated, so you planned to propose to your employee in Paris using the anniversary trip you booked with your wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wasn’t a proposal, he said. She’s wearing a ring, I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His eyes flicked toward the entrance, where Vivian had appeared and stopped, chin lifted like we were rival candidates for a role he’d already awarded her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You involved an employee in an undisclosed relationship while my fund holds a material investment in your firm, I said. This is personal, he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No, I told him. You made it corporate the day you promoted her, paid her, and traveled with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What did you do, he asked, and I told him I’d called Marian. The color left his face again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You cannot weaponize Monroe Legacy because you’re hurt, he said. I’m not weaponizing anything, I said. I’m protecting an investment from undisclosed governance risk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You sound like your father, he said, meaning it as an insult. Thank you, I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Boarding began at 6:40 PM. Vivian went ahead of us, walking fast, her ring hand tucked under her coat sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Welcome aboard, Mrs. Caldwell, the flight attendant said. Seat 2A is to your left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vivian was already seated in 2G, the seat stolen from my original reservation. She looked up as I passed and her face cracked for one second, not with guilt, with panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan stood frozen at 2D, staring at the seat map like the numbers had personally betrayed him. How did you get 2A, he asked, barely audible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Monroe Legacy keeps corporate seats on this route, I said. You never told me that, he said. You stopped asking what I had access to once you decided I was decorative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vivian heard that. Her face turned red and she looked down at her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before the doors closed, three calls he couldn’t answer lit up his screen, then texts, Marian Brooks, Peter Lang the board chair, his own CFO marked urgent. His hands went tense around the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mine were shaking too, folded under a blanket where nobody could see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somewhere over the Atlantic, Nathan leaned into the aisle beside my seat. Can we talk in the galley, he asked. No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is not how adults handle a marriage, he said. You canceled your wife’s ticket and brought your mistress on our anniversary flight, I told him, low enough that only he could hear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If Monroe pulls support, Caldwell Pierce may collapse, he said. Then you shouldn’t have built its survival on a woman you were humiliating, I answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He flinched. Good. Truth should at least make contact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we landed in Paris, I didn’t follow them to the hotel. A Monroe Legacy driver waited at arrivals holding a sign that read A. Monroe Caldwell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What are you doing, Nathan asked. Taking meetings, I told him, and walked toward my car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By noon Paris time, Marian had a video call assembled, Monroe Legacy’s investment committee, Caldwell Pierce’s board chair, outside counsel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat in a suite over Avenue George V wearing the navy dress I’d packed for anniversary dinner, voice steady enough to use despite a night without sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marian opened with governance concerns before anything personal, undisclosed relationship with a direct subordinate, possible misuse of firm resources, misclassified travel and consulting expenses, investor communications overstating Monroe’s future support, and the reputational risk of executive conduct mid-financing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Only then did she mention that I, Nathan’s wife and a principal stakeholder of Monroe Legacy, had been removed from a jointly booked anniversary trip and replaced by the very subordinate in question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan, is that accurate, Peter Lang asked from the screen. This is a private marital matter, Nathan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Did you use company funds for any part of this travel, Peter asked. No, Nathan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our preliminary review shows six months of client development expenses tied to Ms. Hart, Marian said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We’ll need full records.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is overreach, Nathan said. This is lender oversight under the bridge facility, Marian answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bridge facility. The money that had kept Caldwell Pierce standing through two delayed payments and a failed mandate, the breathing room Nathan had used to plan his exit from our marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The committee voted for a formal covenant review, immediate production of records, board minutes, compensation, travel expenses, and disclosure of any personal relationships creating conflicts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Denise Alvarez, the firm’s CFO, asked to speak with Marian privately after the call and sent documents within the hour, expense reports, Vivian’s bonus approvals, draft investor decks, internal emails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One email stopped me cold. Once Paris is done, I’ll handle Avery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Monroe won’t move against me. She doesn’t have the stomach for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I read that sentence in a Paris hotel room and felt something go very quiet inside me. Not broken. Quiet, the way a room goes still right before a verdict.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That afternoon I called a divorce attorney in New York, Elena Roth, who asked about residence, assets, our prenuptial agreement, ownership structures, and Nathan’s compensation, and never once asked if I was sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do not threaten him, she said. Do not move money improperly, do not post online. Keep everything written and documented.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan texted at 5:16 PM, where are you staying. I didn’t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At 5:22 PM, this has gotten out of hand. At 5:31 PM, you are going to destroy something we both built.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We both built. I almost laughed at how quickly men remember your contribution the moment the bill arrives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All legal communication should go through counsel, I replied once, and let his call ring out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Vivian texted, I don’t know how she got the number. I’m sorry you found out this way, but Nathan and I love each other. You can’t punish a whole company because your marriage is over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I forwarded it straight to Marian and Elena without a single word back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next morning, Caldwell Pierce placed Nathan and Vivian both on administrative leave, citing governance concerns and a lender inquiry. Nobody mentioned my anniversary, or the stolen seat, or the ring. They didn’t need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vivian’s pay had tripled in eighteen months without board approval. Several travel expenses matched dates when no client meetings had occurred anywhere near them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I flew home two days later, alone. Nathan lost his corporate travel privileges pending review and flew back separately. Vivian returned separately too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Back in our Tribeca apartment, I walked into the closet and looked at Nathan’s suits hanging in perfect rows. For twelve years I’d assumed a marriage ended with one dramatic conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes it ends the quiet way, one person standing alone, starting to separate hangers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The divorce took fourteen months, a short sentence for a very long war, temporary orders, forensic accountants, depositions, and enough attorney emails to explain why printers sound angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan fought hardest over the story itself. He wanted the record to show the marriage had been over long before Vivian, that the business inquiry was retaliation, that I’d used Monroe Legacy as a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The timeline didn’t cooperate. Neither did the messages, or the expense records, or the board review.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our prenuptial agreement protected most of my inherited stake, but our marital estate still included real estate, retirement accounts, art, and deferred compensation tied to his firm, all of it requiring forensic review.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The court didn’t punish him for falling for someone else. That isn’t how divorce works. It did weigh wasteful spending of marital funds and the credibility problems his own messages had created.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I received my share of marital assets, reimbursement tied to certain expenses connected to the affair, and a favorable resolution on the Tribeca apartment and investment accounts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan resigned from Caldwell Pierce six months into the board review, officially to pursue new opportunities, unofficially because clients had questions and the firm preferred surviving without him. Denise became interim managing partner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The firm did not collapse. It should not have surprised him that it wouldn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Vivian never became his wife. I learned that through discovery first, then gossip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Their relationship cracked under depositions and the dull weight of being together without any secrecy left to make it shine. The ring was gone from her hand by autumn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn’t celebrate. By then she felt less like a villain and more like a symptom, a willing one, a cruel one, but Nathan had been the architect. He knew my loyalty, my father’s faith in him, my instinct to avoid public conflict, and used all of it as material.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the real theft. Not the affair, not the ticket, not Paris. He’d spent years quietly stealing the benefit of my doubt and calling it trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Healing didn’t look dramatic either. It looked like sleeping without listening for the front door. Changing beneficiaries, passwords, the name on the buzzer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It looked like walking into Monroe Legacy meetings without my marriage complicating every decision. It looked like Wednesday mornings with a therapist named Dr. Elaine Porter, who once asked if I missed him or missed who I’d been while I still believed him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I hated that question. I spent six months answering it honestly. I missed pieces of him, the young man eating Thai food off a Brooklyn floor, the one who cried when my father trusted him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What I did not miss was being made smaller. Being explained around. Having my quiet mistaken for something a man could spend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A year after the divorce finalized, I flew to Paris alone, not to reclaim the old trip theatrically, though maybe some part of me did. I had a Monroe Legacy conference and stayed two extra days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I booked my own room, paid with my own card, and sat by a window in Saint-Germain-des-Pr\u00e9s with steak frites and one glass of red wine. No anniversary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No performance. No one across the table measuring how much of my life he could use.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the flight home, seat 2A again, I thought about the night at JFK, about Nathan’s face when he understood I hadn’t simply gone home to cry, about that phrase, too weak to fight back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I never delivered some perfect, quotable line to him. The truth is simpler than that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stopped absorbing. That was the whole revolution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If someone has mistaken your patience for permission, do not confuse silence with safety, and do not confuse being private with being powerless. If someone tells another person you’re too weak to fight back, understand what they’re really admitting, that their whole plan depends on your continued cooperation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You are allowed to stop cooperating quietly, lawfully, and completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nathan believed he’d erased me from that flight and from the life after it. Instead he watched me board with a boarding pass in my own name, paid for by the fund he’d conveniently forgotten was mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A woman who absorbs everything for years is not weak. Sometimes she is simply gathering evidence, and when she finally moves, the whole room feels it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Names and identifying details in this story have been changed. This is a dramatized account shared for entertainment and reflection, not a report of real individuals or events.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Nathan Caldwell erased his wife Avery from their twelfth anniversary flight to Paris and handed her first-class seat to his employee, Vivian Hart. He never imagined Avery still owned the fund keeping his firm alive, or that she would board the same plane holding a boarding pass under her own name.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":7318,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7151","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7151","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7151"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7151\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7319,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7151\/revisions\/7319"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/7318"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7151"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7151"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7151"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}