{"id":1214,"date":"2026-08-01T17:11:39","date_gmt":"2026-08-01T17:11:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/?p=1214"},"modified":"2026-08-01T17:11:39","modified_gmt":"2026-08-01T17:11:39","slug":"my-name-was-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/?p=1214","title":{"rendered":"My name was Me."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
Bruno let out a little chuckle.<\/div>\n
\u201cThe transfer papers. My wife will think they\u2019re for refinancing the mortgage. She signs everything without reading when I tell her it\u2019s urgent.\u201d<\/div>\n
I felt the floor slip from under me. I leaned against the hallway wall, my hands wet with bleach water and my heart pounding as if it wanted to leap out of my mouth.<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat if she suspects something?\u201d she asked.<\/div>\n
\u201cSuspect?\u201d Bruno lowered his voice. \u201cPlease, Sarah. If I give her an envelope and tell her it\u2019s for the cleaning lady, she doesn\u2019t even ask questions. That woman lives on crumbs and gratitude.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
That\u2019s when I heard his true tone. Not the tired husband. Not the man coming home asking for dinner. It was the tone of a master talking about a clumsy servant.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I gripped the mop so hard my fingers hurt. Sarah laughed on the other end.<\/div>\n
\u201cBut the cleaning lady did see the papers, right?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYeah. And if my wife asks, I\u2019ll just say the girl probably moved them. Besides, she doesn\u2019t even know her name. I handle everything.\u201d<\/div>\n
I almost laughed. Of course he knew my name. My name was Me. The girl was me. The fool was me. The one who supposedly couldn\u2019t read was me, too.<\/div>\n
Bruno stepped out of the bathroom and found me standing in the hallway. He had his phone in his hand, and his face faltered for a second. Just a second. Then he smiled as usual\u2014a clean curtain over a rotten window.<\/div>\n
\u201cHoney, everything okay?\u201d<\/div>\n
I looked at the mop on the floor. \u201cYes. I dropped it.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cBe careful. You\u2019ll scratch the floor.\u201d<\/div>\n
The floor. Not my pale face. Not my trembling hands. The floor.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d<\/div>\n
He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead\u2014not out of affection, but habit\u2014and went to the bedroom. I heard him opening drawers, humming softly, and then closing the closet door.<\/div>\n
That night, I cooked noodle soup, roasted chicken, and red rice. Bruno ate while staring at his phone. I watched him from across the table, wondering how many years I had slept next to a stranger. How many times he had touched my back with the same hand he used to sign plans to kick me out of my own home.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cI need you to come with me to a notary\u2019s office tomorrow,\u201d he said without looking up.<\/div>\n
There it was. The trap finally had a date.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cWhat for?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cSome house paperwork. Nothing complicated.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat kind of paperwork?\u201d<\/div>\n
He sighed. That sigh he used whenever I dared to ask for an explanation. \u201cHoney, I told you. It\u2019s to improve the loan terms. Don\u2019t worry, I handle that stuff.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cJust sign and that\u2019s it.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I looked him straight in the eye. \u201cAnd then?\u201d<\/div>\n
He finally looked up. \u201cThen what?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAfter I sign.\u201d<\/div>\n
He smiled slowly. \u201cThen we can rest.\u201d<\/div>\n
He didn\u2019t say we. He said \u201crest\u201d like someone talking about an exit door.<\/div>\n
That night, I waited for him to fall asleep. Bruno snored lightly, one hand on his chest and his phone under his pillow. Before, I would see that and think: Poor guy, he\u2019s exhausted. Tonight I thought: Even in his sleep, he hides the evidence.<\/div>\n
I got up without making a sound. I pulled the shoebox from under the bed. Inside were all the envelopes. Twelve weeks. Twelve payments. Twelve humiliations folded into bills.<\/div>\n
I counted them on the kitchen table. There was enough to pay for a legal consultation, change the locks, have documents copied, and still buy myself a coffee without asking for permission.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I put on a hoodie, grabbed the car keys, and left. New York City in the middle of the night has a strange silence. It\u2019s not complete silence. It\u2019s a murmur of refrigerators, distant dogs, garbage trucks, and people who start working before others finish lying.<\/div>\n
I went to a 24-hour print shop near Union Square. I made copies of everything I had found in Bruno\u2019s study that afternoon. Because yes, the cleaning lady had seen the papers. And she hadn\u2019t just seen them; she had photographed them.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
There was a supposed authorization to sell the house. A transfer of rights. A power of attorney with my name misspelled. A preliminary contract with a buyer named Sarah Villalobos.<\/div>\n
And a separate sheet, printed in fine print, where I \u201caccepted\u201d that Bruno could dispose of the property due to \u201cvoluntary abandonment of the marital home.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n
I froze when I read that. Abandonment. The plan wasn\u2019t just to take the house. It was to make it look like I had left. That I had walked out on my marriage. That I had quit. As if a woman could spend years cleaning a house only to be accused of abandoning it.<\/div>\n
The next morning, while Bruno was showering, I put the originals back exactly where they were. Then I put on my yellow gloves. I cleaned. But no longer as a wife. As a detective.<\/div>\n
Under a pile of receipts, I found deposits made to Sarah. In a notebook, I found a list written by Bruno:<\/div>\n
Notary signature.<\/div>\n
Move clothes out little by little.<\/div>\n
Talk to Mom.<\/div>\n
Change the locks.<\/div>\n
Sarah moves in in June.<\/div>\n
June. Three weeks away. I was cleaning up my own eviction.<\/div>\n
I saved photos of everything. Then I made coffee and served it to Bruno in his favorite mug, the black one that said \u201cThe Boss.\u201d I set it in front of him.<\/div>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t go to the notary today,\u201d I said.<\/div>\n
His face tensed. \u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cI don\u2019t feel well.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not optional, Laura.\u201d<\/div>\n
There was my name, spoken like a scolding. Laura, hurry up. Laura, don\u2019t exaggerate. Laura, sign. Laura, clean. Laura, shut up.<\/div>\n
\u201cThen you go,\u201d I replied. \u201cIf it\u2019s just a routine thing, ask if I can sign later.\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno slammed the mug onto the table. \u201cDon\u2019t be difficult.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not being difficult. I\u2019m sick.\u201d<\/div>\n
He examined me as if looking for a crack. \u201cSick with what?\u201d<\/div>\n
I gave a faint smile. \u201cExhaustion.\u201d<\/div>\n
He stood up, annoyed. \u201cAlways the same with you. That\u2019s why I hired someone, so you wouldn\u2019t spend your life complaining.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYes. The lady works very hard.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWell, tell her to come today. The house is full of dust.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cSure. I\u2019ll tell her.\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno left, slamming the door. I waited ten minutes. Then I made three calls. The first was to my cousin Sandra, who worked at a law firm in Brooklyn. The second was to the bank. The third was to a locksmith.<\/div>\n
Sandra arrived at two in the afternoon wearing dark sunglasses and carrying a red folder. \u201cShow me everything,\u201d she said.<\/div>\n
I showed her the copies, the photos, the deposits, and the list. As she read, her mouth tightened.<\/div>\n
\u201cLaura, this isn\u2019t just an affair. This is attempted fraud.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cCan he sell the house?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhose name is it in?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cBoth. But I paid the down payment with my father\u2019s inheritance.\u201d<\/div>\n
Sandra looked up. \u201cDo you have the receipts?\u201d<\/div>\n
I went to the closet and pulled out a blue folder. That folder was my secret pride. Bruno always said I didn\u2019t know how to manage money. But I had kept every receipt. Every transfer. Every property tax payment. Every monthly payment I made when he was \u201cbetween projects\u201d for six months and I sold desserts and did door-to-door manicures to keep the house.<\/div>\n
Sandra reviewed it all. Then she smiled. Not a happy smile. The smile of a lawyer who smells blood.<\/div>\n
\u201cYour husband is stupider than he thinks.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cBecause he tried to move your assets without checking that you have half the Public Registry\u2019s archives in your closet.\u201d<\/div>\n
I sat down. Suddenly my legs were shaking. \u201cSandra, he wants to move that woman in here.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s not moving anyone in.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cHis mother knows, too.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cGood. More witnesses to his garbage.\u201d<\/div>\n
At six in the evening, the locksmith changed the locks on the front door and the gate. I paid him with the money meant for the \u201ccleaning lady.\u201d When I finished, I looked at the new keys in my palm. They felt light, but I felt like I was carrying my entire life.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Laura, what is this?\u201d<\/div>\n
Sandra stepped to my side. \u201cGood evening. I am Sandra Aguilar, attorney at law. We are here to notify you that Mrs. Laura is initiating proceedings for forgery, attempted asset fraud, and economic abuse. Furthermore, a protection order has been requested to prevent you from disposing of the property or removing common assets.\u201d<\/div>\n
Mrs. Mireya clutched her chest. \u201cWhat an exaggeration! This is just a couple\u2019s quarrel!\u201d<\/div>\n
Sandra looked at her calmly. \u201cMa\u2019am, forging a signature is not a couple\u2019s quarrel.\u201d<\/div>\n
The officer told Bruno to stay calm. Bruno started to sweat. \u201cI didn\u2019t forge anything.\u201d<\/div>\n
Sandra raised an eyebrow. \u201cPerfect. Then you won\u2019t have any problem explaining why there is a power of attorney with Laura\u2019s name misspelled and a signature that doesn\u2019t match her official ID.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cIt was a draft.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAnd the deposits to Sarah\u2014were those drafts, too?\u201d<\/div>\n
Mrs. Mireya looked at her son. The Queen Mother was starting to crumble. \u201cDeposits?\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno didn\u2019t answer. I did. \u201cHe was paying for his new life before he finished stealing mine.\u201d<\/div>\n
Mrs. Mireya turned bright red. Not out of shame for me, but out of rage because her son had made her look bad.<\/div>\n
\u201cBruno, tell me this isn\u2019t true.\u201d<\/div>\n
He ran a hand through his hair. \u201cMom, it\u2019s not that simple.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou were going to give the house to someone else?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI was going to fix it!\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAnd what did you tell me?\u201d she screamed. \u201cThat Laura had you tied down? That you were the one making sacrifices?\u201d<\/div>\n
I stood still. Interesting. The lies had branches.<\/div>\n
Bruno turned to me, desperate. \u201cLaura, please. I swear Sarah doesn\u2019t mean anything.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s ugly. She meant enough to move her into my house.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cIt was a mistake.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNo. A mistake is forgetting to buy milk. You made a list.\u201d<\/div>\n
Sandra let out a tiny snicker. I pointed to the folder. \u201cThere\u2019s your plan, point by point. You even wrote \u2018change the locks.\u2019 I beat you by a week.\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno lowered his voice. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/div>\n
That question made me sick. He didn\u2019t ask how I felt. He didn\u2019t ask how to make amends. He asked for a price. As if my dignity were on clearance, too.<\/div>\n
\u201cI want you to take your things under supervision. I want you to never come near me again. I want your forged signature to cost you. And I want a divorce.\u201d<\/div>\n
Mrs. Mireya let out a shriek. \u201cNo divorce! You\u2019ll destroy the family!\u201d<\/div>\n
I looked at her. \u201cNo, ma\u2019am. The family was already destroyed. I just found the dust under the rug.\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
Bruno tried to cry. I knew him. First came the arrogance. Then the offense. Then the tears. Always in that order.<\/div>\n
\u201cLaura, think of everything we\u2019ve been through.\u201d<\/div>\n
I thought. I thought of the Christmases spent cooking for his family while he played cards. The times he hid expenses from me. My forgotten birthday. His shirts ironed for meetings where he told people I \u201cdidn\u2019t work.\u201d His mother\u2019s laugh saying I\u2019d probably spend the cleaning lady\u2019s money.<\/div>\n
I had thought enough. \u201cThat\u2019s exactly what I\u2019m doing,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd that\u2019s why I don\u2019t want to live it anymore.\u201d<\/div>\n
The officer explained that he could enter to get his clothes and personal documents, but he couldn\u2019t remove furniture or unrecorded papers. Bruno looked insulted by the idea of being watched in his own trap.<\/div>\n
I took off the chain. He walked in slowly. He looked at the impeccable house. The shining kitchen. The windows without a smudge. The waxed floor. Everything he used to measure me. Everything he never thanked me for.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou really do clean well,\u201d he murmured, perhaps without thinking.<\/div>\n
I felt a cold calm. \u201cNo, Bruno. I hold things together well. Cleaning was the least of it.\u201d<\/div>\n
He went to the bedroom. I followed him with Sandra. Mrs. Mireya tried to enter, too, but the officer stopped her.<\/div>\n
\u201cOnly the gentleman.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m his mother!\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cPrecisely,\u201d Sandra said.<\/div>\n
Bruno stuffed clothes into a suitcase. He took colognes, belts, papers from his drawer. When he tried to grab the house folder, I put my hand on it.<\/div>\n
\u201cThat stays.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI need documents.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll get copies through legal channels.\u201d<\/div>\n
He looked at me with pure hate. There was the real Bruno. Not the repentant one. Not the confused one. The man who hated that the maid had learned how to lock the door.<\/div>\n
\u201cSarah was right,\u201d he said through gritted teeth. \u201cYou are impossible.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cThen I did her a favor by sending you to her.\u201d<\/div>\n
His face fell because my response held no pain. That was what frustrated him most. That I was no longer pleading.<\/div>\n
He left with two suitcases. At the door, Mrs. Mireya tried to hug him. He pulled away.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou put ideas in my head, too,\u201d he barked at her.<\/div>\n
The woman went stiff. \u201cMe?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAlways telling me Laura wasn\u2019t enough!\u201d<\/div>\n
I felt like laughing. Now the guilt was looking for a new house to sleep in.<\/div>\n
\u201cHow nice,\u201d I said. \u201cThe mop isn\u2019t even dry and you\u2019re already throwing dirt at each other.\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno looked at me one last time. \u201cYou\u2019re going to regret this.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNo. I was regretful when I thought I had to ask your permission to rest.\u201d<\/div>\n
He left. Mrs. Mireya followed him, but before entering the elevator, she turned back. \u201cNo decent woman leaves her husband on the street.\u201d<\/div>\n
I closed the door. I could still hear her saying something on the other side, but I didn\u2019t understand it anymore. Maybe because the new door sealed better. Or maybe because my fear had finally stopped translating insults.<\/div>\n
That night, I didn\u2019t clean. For the first time in years, I left a dirty glass in the sink. I looked at it as if it were a flag. I made myself coffee, sat on the sofa, and turned on the TV. I didn\u2019t put on a show. I didn\u2019t need the noise. The house had a strange, massive silence, like when a party ends where you didn\u2019t like anyone.<\/div>\n
I cried a little. Not for Bruno. For me. For the woman who thought an envelope of cash was \u201chelp.\u201d For the one who put on yellow gloves thinking she was buying time. For the one who had to become a cleaning lady to discover her husband saw her as trash.<\/div>\n
The next morning, I went with Sandra to the bank, the District Attorney\u2019s office, and then the Public Registry. Everything was slow. Stamps, copies, tokens, windows, people eating snacks at desks, jammed printers. Justice didn\u2019t smell like triumph. It smelled like ink, sweat, and reheated coffee.<\/div>\n
But it moved forward. The notary Bruno planned to take me to received a notification. The operation was suspended. The signature would be reviewed. The supposed sale could not proceed.<\/div>\n
Sarah appeared three days later. Not at my house. On my phone. \u201cLaura, we need to talk,\u201d she said in a soft voice.<\/div>\n
\u201cWe have nothing.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cBruno lied to me, too.\u201d<\/div>\n
I almost admired the audacity. \u201cThat\u2019s curious. He lied to you with a house that wasn\u2019t his.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cHe told me you were separated.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAnd that\u2019s why you agreed to move in in June?\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were like this,\u201d she finally said.<\/div>\n
\u201cLike what?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cResentful.\u201d<\/div>\n
I looked at my reflection in the window. I had dark circles, my hair was up, and there was a new peace in my eyes. \u201cI\u2019m not resentful, Sarah. I\u2019m the owner.\u201d<\/div>\n
I hung up. Then I blocked her number.<\/div>\n
Weeks passed. Bruno sent apologies through messages from different numbers. Then he threatened. Then he cried again. Then he said he was sick. Then that his mother had pressured him. Then that Sarah had manipulated him. He gave everyone a piece of the blame. Except himself.<\/div>\n
I continued with the process. The cleaning envelopes paid for expert reports, certified copies, and the first consultations. Every bill he gave me to humiliate me ended up serving to defend me. That was the most beautiful part of all.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
A month later, Mrs. Mireya came looking for me. I was coming back from the market, carrying vegetables and a bouquet of cheap flowers for myself. I found her sitting on the curb. She looked older. No makeup, no fancy purse, none of that neighborhood-empress tone.<\/div>\n
\u201cI need to talk to you,\u201d she said.<\/div>\n
\u201cTalk to Sandra.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cBruno is doing badly.\u201d<\/div>\n
I kept walking toward the door. \u201cBuy him some tea.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cLaura, please.\u201d<\/div>\n
I stopped. Not for her. Out of curiosity. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/div>\n
Mrs. Mireya took a deep breath. \u201cSarah left him.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat a surprise.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cAnd he can\u2019t come back to my house. His father found out everything and kicked him out.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat a traditional family. Everyone kicking someone out.\u201d<\/div>\n
The lady looked down. \u201cI was unfair to you.\u201d<\/div>\n
That sentence sounded strange in her mouth. Like a new shoe on a crooked foot.<\/div>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/div>\n
She expected me to say \u201cdon\u2019t worry about it.\u201d I didn\u2019t.<\/div>\n
\u201cI treated you badly.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI thought a wife should just endure.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNo. You thought I should endure so your son wouldn\u2019t have to face consequences.\u201d<\/div>\n
Her eyes filled with tears. \u201cIs there no way to fix it?\u201d<\/div>\n
I opened the gate. \u201cYes. Everyone cleans up the mess they made.\u201d<\/div>\n
I went inside and left her outside. I didn\u2019t shout. I didn\u2019t insult her. I didn\u2019t forgive her. I didn\u2019t have to. Sometimes the most elegant punishment is not allowing someone back into your living room to mess it up again.<\/div>\n
The divorce took time. Bruno fought for the house until the documents spoke louder than his tantrums. The expert report confirmed irregularities. The bank acknowledged the alerts. The notary distanced himself. Sarah testified that Bruno had promised her she could live there \u201cwhen Laura was gone.\u201d<\/div>\n
That phrase was written into a record. When Laura was gone. As if I were dampness. As if I were an old piece of furniture. As if a woman who pays, cares, cooks, cleans, and supports could be scraped off with a putty knife.<\/div>\n
At the hearing, Bruno avoided looking at me. He no longer looked like the boss of anything. He sat with a wrinkled shirt, a messy beard, and the expression of a man discovering too late that losing servitude is not the same as losing love.<\/div>\n
The judge asked if there was a possibility of reconciliation. I answered first. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/div>\n
Bruno lifted his face. Maybe he expected doubt. Maybe a crack. He found none.<\/div>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to go back to a man who paid me to clean his conscience while he planned to steal my home,\u201d I said.<\/div>\n
Sandra touched my arm under the table. Bruno closed his eyes.<\/div>\n
Months later, the house was secured within the settlement. He had to acknowledge my contributions, take on the debts he had hidden, and withdraw any attempt at a sale. The criminal complaint followed its path, slow but alive. I\u2019m not going to lie: it wasn\u2019t all prison cells and dramatic music. Real life is more stubborn.<\/div>\n
But my name was protected. My door remained closed. My bed was whole. And my house stopped smelling like bleach mixed with sadness.<\/div>\n
One Saturday, I opened the shoebox. There was one last envelope left. The first one Bruno had given me. I had kept it separate, as a reminder of the day I thought I was finally going to get a rest.<\/div>\n
I opened it. I took out the bills. With that, I paid a lady named Lupita to come on Tuesdays. A real lady. With a name. With a schedule. With coffee before she starts.<\/div>\n
When she arrived, I wanted to help her move a table. She stopped me. \u201cNo, Mrs. Laura. You sit for a bit.\u201d<\/div>\n
the word Mrs. sounded different to me. Not like a title. Like permission.<\/div>\n
I sat on the balcony with a cup of coffee. The house smelled of soap, toast, and wet bougainvillea. Lupita sang softly as she swept. I looked at my hands. They still had detergent marks. But they weren\u2019t shaking anymore.<\/div>\n
By mid-morning, Sandra sent me a message: \u201cHow is the new life going?\u201d<\/div>\n
I looked at the clean floor. The new door. The curtains moving in the breeze. The dirty glass I could now leave in the sink without feeling guilty.<\/div>\n
I replied: \u201cImpeccable.\u201d<\/div>\n
And I smiled. Because Bruno was right about one thing. The cleaning lady worked very well.<\/div>\n
It\u2019s just that he never understood what she was cleaning. It wasn\u2019t windows. It wasn\u2019t floors. It wasn\u2019t bathrooms.<\/div>\n
I was cleaning my name. My home. My future. And when I finished, I took out the trash.<\/div>\n
Including him.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Bruno let out a little chuckle. \u201cThe transfer papers. My wife will think they\u2019re for refinancing the mortgage. She signs…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1215,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1214","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1214","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1214"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1214\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1216,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1214\/revisions\/1216"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1215"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1214"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1214"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flavorlab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1214"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}