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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The Ranch<\/p>\n
When my son got married, I never mentioned that I\u2019d inherited my late husband\u2019s ranch. And thank goodness I didn\u2019t.Just one week after the wedding, my new daughter-in-law, Brooke, appeared at my front door in Seattle\u2014heels clicking on the porch, silk blouse immaculate\u2014accompanied by a sharply dressed man holding a leather briefcase.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, this is Paul. He\u2019s a notary,\u201d she said, smiling the kind of smile meant for photographs and half-truths. \u201cWe\u2019re here to help you sort out some paperwork for the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart didn\u2019t merely sink\u2014it hit bottom with a familiar, unmistakable weight. I knew exactly why they were there.<\/p>\n
What they didn\u2019t know was how much I had already put in place. Because when my husband passed away and left me nearly five hundred acres of land in eastern Washington, I learned very quickly that silence could be a form of armor.<\/p>\n
My name is Suzanne Fletcher. I\u2019m sixty-nine years old. I spent thirty years as a wife and mother in a modest home outside Seattle, working part-time jobs, clipping coupons, and stretching casseroles to last another night. When my son, Matthew, decided to marry Brooke, I was the one who sold my jewelry to help pay off his student loans, who brought soup when he was sick, who quietly wrote checks no one ever talked about again.<\/p>\n
I had pictured welcoming Brooke like a daughter. I scrubbed the house spotless, kneaded dough until my hands ached, and cooked Matthew\u2019s childhood favorites\u2014clam chowder, cornbread, apple pie. I wore my nicest pink dress and a careful swipe of lipstick, my heart racing as I imagined meeting the woman who might one day be the mother of my grandchildren.<\/p>\n
Instead, I opened the door to someone who touched my shoulders with only her fingertips, as though I might crack, and called me \u201cma\u2019am\u201d without meeting my eyes.<\/p>\n
During dinner, every question I asked about her work, her interests, her plans with Matthew was answered briefly, impatiently. Her perfectly manicured nose wrinkled at my food.<\/p>\n
\u201cI usually prefer proper restaurants,\u201d she murmured, as though my kitchen were a violation waiting to happen.<\/p>\n
I tried to let it go. I told myself she was nervous. That she was young. That we\u2019d have time to build a relationship.<\/p>\n
Then the wedding arrived.<\/p>\n
Brooke arranged the seating so that the groom\u2019s mother was placed in the fifth row, craning her neck behind coworkers and acquaintances who\u2019d barely known Matthew a year. At the reception, she introduced me simply as \u201cMatthew\u2019s mom,\u201d as if I were part of the waitstaff rather than family.<\/p>\n
When I offered to bake our traditional family wedding cake\u2014the same lemon cake I\u2019d made for Matthew\u2019s birthdays since he was three\u2014she laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh no, Mom. I don\u2019t want anything homemade,\u201d she said, as though affection were something unsanitary. \u201cWe\u2019ve hired a professional pastry chef from Portland. It\u2019s going to be in Vogue.\u201d<\/p>\n
When it came time for speeches, I waited with carefully folded notes tucked into my purse\u2014memories of my only child, hopes for his future, stories about the little boy who used to catch frogs in the backyard and bring them to me like treasures.<\/p>\n
Brooke called up her parents, her siblings, her college friends, even a coworker I\u2019d never met. When someone finally asked about me, she smiled tightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh yes, Miss Suzanne can say a few brief words.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood, my legs shaking. I had barely reached my second sentence\u2014\u201dWhen Matthew was five, he told me he wanted to be an astronaut so he could bring me a star\u2014\u201d\u2014when Brooke began clapping, sharp and decisive, cutting me off as neatly as closing a file.<\/p>\n
The rest of the room followed. My words vanished beneath the sound.<\/p>\n
On the dance floor, Matthew danced with Brooke, then her mother, then her sisters, then Brooke\u2019s college roommate. No one invited me. I sat at my table in the fifth row, watching my son celebrate without me.<\/p>\n
At eleven o\u2019clock, I lightly touched his arm and told him I was heading home.<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks for everything, Mom. Love you,\u201d he said, already searching the room for someone else.<\/p>\n
Driving home alone, I remembered my husband\u2019s last words, spoken three years ago in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and endings:<\/p>\n
\u201cIf anything happens to me, don\u2019t let anyone walk all over you. You\u2019re stronger than you realize, and you have more than you think.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t fully grasp what he meant until the next morning, when I opened the safe.<\/p>\n
Beneath birth certificates and insurance papers lay the deed: nearly five hundred acres of productive land in eastern Washington, cattle, one large farmhouse and three smaller rental cottages. All of it legally, quietly mine.<\/p>\n
My husband, Daniel, had inherited the ranch from his father. We\u2019d talked about retiring there someday, but life kept us in Seattle\u2014Matthew\u2019s school, my mother\u2019s declining health, Daniel\u2019s job at the port. The ranch was rented out to a family who\u2019d been good stewards of the land for twenty years, sending monthly checks that I\u2019d quietly deposited into a separate account.<\/p>\n
The property was worth approximately $4.2 million.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019d never told Matthew it existed.<\/p>\n
Not because I was hiding it. But because Daniel and I had always planned to surprise him with it someday\u2014maybe as a wedding gift, maybe as an inheritance when we were gone. We wanted him to build his own life first, to earn his own success, to not rely on the safety net we\u2019d worked so hard to create.<\/p>\n
After Daniel died, I kept the secret. Partly from grief. Partly because I wasn\u2019t ready to let go of the last thing that was just ours.<\/p>\n
And then I met Brooke, and my instincts\u2014honed from sixty-nine years of watching people\u2014told me to keep my mouth shut.<\/p>\n
The Phone Calls<\/p>\n
The calls started three days after the wedding.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, Brooke and I were talking,\u201d Matthew said, his voice carrying that particular tone that meant he\u2019d been coached. \u201cYou\u2019re getting older. That house is a lot to maintain. Have you ever thought about downsizing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sixty-nine, not ninety,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd I like my house.\u201d\u201cBut it\u2019s so much space for one person. And the stairs\u2014what if you fall? We\u2019re worried about you.\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m perfectly capable of managing stairs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, just think about it. There are some really nice assisted living communities. You\u2019d have people around, activities, medical care on site\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMatthew, I don\u2019t need assisted living. I\u2019m healthy. I\u2019m active. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, okay. Just\u2026 think about it. For us?\u201d<\/p>\n
Two days later, Brooke called.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi, Mom!\u201d Her voice was bright, performative. \u201cI wanted to check in. Matthew mentioned you\u2019re not interested in assisted living, which is totally fine. But have you thought about selling the house and maybe moving into a smaller condo? Something easier to manage?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to move.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand. But Seattle real estate is so valuable right now. You could make a significant profit. And then you\u2019d have that money for retirement, for healthcare, for anything you need. Matthew and I could help you invest it. Maximize your returns.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not selling my house, Brooke.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, just think about it. We only want what\u2019s best for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The calls continued. Matthew. Then Brooke. Then both of them together. Then Brooke\u2019s father, who was \u201cin real estate\u201d and wanted to \u201cgive me advice.\u201d<\/p>\n
They were circling. Getting bolder. Testing boundaries.<\/p>\n
And then came the visit with Paul the notary.<\/p>\n
The Attorney<\/p>\n
Two weeks before Brooke showed up with her briefcase and her smile, I\u2019d done something I should have done years ago.<\/p>\n
I called Helen Zhao, an elder law attorney whose name I\u2019d gotten from a friend at church.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me what\u2019s happening,\u201d Helen said, and I did. All of it. The wedding. The phone calls. The pressure to sell. The feeling in my gut that something was very wrong.<\/p>\n
Helen was quiet for a moment. Then: \u201cSuzanne, what you\u2019re describing is the beginning of financial exploitation. It\u2019s more common than you think, and it often comes from family members who\u2019ve convinced themselves they\u2019re \u2018helping.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Matthew wouldn\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMatthew might not even realize what\u2019s happening. But his wife sounds like she has a plan. And if you\u2019re not careful, that plan will end with you signing documents you don\u2019t understand and losing control of your assets.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst, you don\u2019t sign anything. Not without reviewing it with me first. Second, we set up a trust to protect your assets. Third, we document everything. Every phone call. Every visit. Every pressure tactic. And fourth\u2014\u201d She paused. \u201cFourth, you need to be prepared for this to get ugly. Because once people realize they can\u2019t manipulate you, they often get angry.\u201d<\/p>\n
We spent three hours in her office that day. Helen drafted a revocable living trust, designating me as trustee with full control of my assets during my lifetime. She set up a durable power of attorney naming my longtime friend Margaret\u2014not Matthew\u2014as my agent if I ever became incapacitated.<\/p>\n
She also helped me file a notice with Adult Protective Services, documenting the pressure tactics as potential financial exploitation.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf they show up with documents,\u201d Helen said, \u201ccall me immediately. Don\u2019t sign anything. Don\u2019t let them intimidate you. And remember\u2014you have all the power here. They just don\u2019t know it yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Trap<\/p>\n
So when Brooke swept back into my living room with Paul the notary, a stack of sale documents, and a gold pen placed before me like a weapon, I was ready.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, we\u2019ve made this so easy for you,\u201d Brooke said, settling onto my sofa like she owned it. \u201cPaul has prepared all the paperwork to sell the house. We\u2019ve already lined up a buyer\u2014a developer who\u2019s willing to pay cash, close in thirty days. You\u2019ll get $850,000.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the documents. They weren\u2019t just sale papers. They were power of attorney forms. Healthcare directives. Documents that would give Matthew and Brooke control over every aspect of my life.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe market\u2019s really hot right now,\u201d Paul added, his voice smooth and professional. \u201cThis is an excellent offer. But it expires at the end of the week, so we need to move quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere would I live?\u201d I asked, my voice small and uncertain\u2014exactly the voice they expected.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve found a lovely assisted living facility in Tacoma,\u201d Brooke said. \u201cIt\u2019s beautiful. Full-service. You\u2019d be so much happier there, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I like my house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, I know. But you\u2019ll love this place. Trust us. We\u2019re doing this for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked up the gold pen with a trembling hand and leaned toward the first dotted line.<\/p>\n
Brooke\u2019s smile widened.<\/p>\n
And that\u2019s when the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n
\u201cIgnore it,\u201d Brooke said quickly.<\/p>\n
But I was already standing. \u201cI should see who that is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, we\u2019re in the middle of something important\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I opened the door.<\/p>\n
Helen Zhao stood on my porch, flanked by two uniformed police officers.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, Suzanne,\u201d Helen said. \u201cI believe we have an appointment to review some documents?\u201d<\/p>\n
Behind me, I heard Paul\u2019s chair scrape. Brooke\u2019s sharp intake of breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cActually,\u201d one of the officers said, looking past me into the living room, \u201cwe\u2019re here to investigate a report of attempted financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d Brooke said, her voice rising. \u201cWe\u2019re just helping\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMa\u2019am, I\u2019m going to need you to step away from those documents.\u201d<\/p>\n
Helen walked into my living room like she owned it, her heels clicking on the hardwood, her presence filling the space.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me introduce myself,\u201d she said, addressing Brooke and Paul. \u201cI\u2019m Helen Zhao, Ms. Fletcher\u2019s attorney. And those documents you\u2019re attempting to pressure my client into signing? They\u2019re invalid. First, because Ms. Fletcher already has a comprehensive estate plan in place. Second, because she\u2019s under no obligation to sell her property or move. And third\u2014\u201d She picked up the power of attorney forms. \u201c\u2014because attempting to coerce a senior citizen into signing over legal authority constitutes elder abuse under Washington state law.\u201d<\/p>\n
Paul stood up quickly. \u201cI\u2019m just a notary. I don\u2019t know anything about\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou notarized documents without ensuring the signer understood them and without verifying they weren\u2019t being coerced,\u201d Helen interrupted. \u201cThat\u2019s a violation of your professional obligations. I\u2019ll be filing a complaint with the Department of Licensing.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabbed his briefcase and practically ran for the door.<\/p>\n
Brooke remained seated, her face pale. \u201cThis is ridiculous. We\u2019re family. We\u2019re trying to help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy pressuring a sixty-nine-year-old woman to sell her house and sign over power of attorney without legal counsel present?\u201d Helen\u2019s voice was ice. \u201cThat\u2019s not help. That\u2019s exploitation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMatthew!\u201d Brooke called toward the door, where my son had apparently been waiting in the car. \u201cMatthew, get in here!\u201d<\/p>\n
He appeared in the doorway, looking confused and increasingly alarmed as he took in the scene\u2014the police officers, Helen, Brooke\u2019s panicked expression.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom? What\u2019s going on?\u201d\u201cWhat\u2019s going on,\u201d Helen said, \u201cis that your wife has been attempting to manipulate your mother into signing away her assets and her autonomy. And you\u2019ve either been complicit or willfully ignorant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014we just wanted to make sure she was taken care of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy putting her in assisted living and controlling her finances?\u201d Helen held up the documents. \u201cThese forms would have given you and your wife complete control over your mother\u2019s property, healthcare decisions, and financial accounts. She would have had no say in her own life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Matthew looked at Brooke. \u201cYou said we were just helping her downsize.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe are!\u201d Brooke insisted. \u201cShe\u2019s old! She can\u2019t handle all this on her own!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m standing right here,\u201d I said quietly. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not senile. I\u2019m not incompetent. I\u2019m just a woman who owns a house and wants to live in it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, I didn\u2019t know\u2014\u201d Matthew started.<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t know what?\u201d I asked. \u201cThat your wife has been calling me multiple times a day, pressuring me to sell? That she showed up with a notary and pre-signed documents? That she\u2019s been treating me like an obstacle instead of a person?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked stricken. \u201cI thought we were helping you plan for the future.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cYou were planning your future. With my money.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Ranch<\/p>\n
One of the officers stepped forward. \u201cMs. Fletcher, do you want to press charges?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at Brooke, at her expensive clothes and her perfect hair and her calculating eyes.<\/p>\n
Then I looked at my son, who suddenly seemed very young and very lost.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cNot yet. But I want them out of my house. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom\u2014\u201d Matthew tried.<\/p>\n
\u201cOut.\u201d<\/p>\n
Helen waited until they\u2019d left before turning to me. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d I sat down heavily on the sofa. \u201cActually, I\u2019m better than fine. I\u2019m done being pushed around.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d Helen sat beside me. \u201cBecause I think it\u2019s time we had a conversation about your ranch.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Revelation<\/p>\n
The following morning, I called Matthew.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need to talk,\u201d I said. \u201cCome to the house. Alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
He arrived an hour later, looking like he hadn\u2019t slept. \u201cMom, I\u2019m so sorry. I had no idea Brooke was being so aggressive. She told me you were confused, that you needed help\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not confused, Matthew. I\u2019m disappointed.\u201d<\/p>\n
He flinched.<\/p>\n
We sat at my kitchen table\u2014the same table where I\u2019d fed him breakfast before school for eighteen years, where we\u2019d done homework and celebrated birthdays and had a thousand small, important moments.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need you to understand something,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen you married Brooke, I was prepared to welcome her as a daughter. But she made it very clear from the first time we met that she doesn\u2019t see me as family. She sees me as an inconvenience. And you let her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou did. You let her seat me in the fifth row at your wedding. You let her cut off my speech. You let her treat me like I was embarrassing you. And then you let her pressure me to sell my home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe thought\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou thought I was a lonely old woman with nothing but this house. You thought you could swoop in, take control, and I\u2019d be grateful for it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Matthew\u2019s hands were shaking. \u201cWhat do you want me to say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to say you understand that I\u2019m a person. Not a problem to be solved. Not an asset to be managed. A person.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d I pulled out the deed from my pocket and placed it on the table between us. \u201cBecause there\u2019s something you don\u2019t know about me. Something your father and I never told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at the document. Frowned. Started reading.<\/p>\n
I watched his face change as he realized what he was looking at\u2014the property description, the acreage, the assessed value.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou own a ranch?\u201d His voice was barely a whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cI inherited it when your father died. Nearly five hundred acres in eastern Washington. It\u2019s been rented out for twenty years. It generates about $15,000 a month in passive income. And it\u2019s worth approximately $4.2 million.\u201d<\/p>\n
Matthew stared at me, his mouth open.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father and I never told you because we wanted you to build your own life. We didn\u2019t want you to rely on money you hadn\u2019t earned. We planned to give it to you eventually\u2014maybe as a wedding gift, maybe as an inheritance. But after meeting Brooke, I realized that telling you about it would be the worst thing I could do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause she\u2019d go after it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause she\u2019d see it as something to take, not something to be grateful for.\u201d<\/p>\n
Matthew buried his face in his hands. \u201cGod, Mom. I\u2019m so sorry. I\u2019ve been so stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been in love. That makes people do stupid things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I do now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou make a choice,\u201d I said. \u201cYou either stay married to a woman who sees your mother as a piggy bank. Or you admit that you made a mistake and you fix it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI love her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you? Or do you love who you thought she was?\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
Six Months Later<\/p>\n
Matthew filed for divorce three weeks after our conversation.<\/p>\n
Brooke fought it viciously. She tried to claim half the ranch, arguing that it was a marital asset since we\u2019d \u201cdiscussed\u201d my property with them.<\/p>\n
Helen shut that down in about thirty seconds. The ranch had never been mentioned to either of them. It wasn\u2019t marital property. And attempting to defraud Matthew by hiding its existence would have constituted a crime.<\/p>\n
The divorce was finalized four months later. Matthew moved into a small apartment downtown, started therapy, and slowly began rebuilding his relationship with me.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t easy. Trust doesn\u2019t repair itself overnight. But he showed up. He called. He apologized\u2014not once, but dozens of times. He proved, gradually, that he was willing to do the work.<\/p>\n
As for the ranch, I made a decision.I put it in a trust with Matthew as the sole beneficiary\u2014but not until I die. While I\u2019m alive, it\u2019s mine. I control it. I make the decisions.<\/p>\n
And if Matthew ever tries to pull something like Brooke did, the trust has a provision that removes him as beneficiary and donates the entire property to a land conservation nonprofit.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s yours eventually,\u201d I told him. \u201cBut only if you earn it by being a good son. Not by treating me like an inconvenience.\u201d<\/p>\n
He understood.<\/p>\n
Present Day<\/p>\n
I\u2019m sitting on the porch of the ranch house in eastern Washington.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s late summer. The fields are golden. The cattle are grazing in the distance. The mountains are purple shadows on the horizon.<\/p>\n
Matthew is here with me. He drove out for the weekend, bringing groceries and firewood and his willingness to help with repairs.<\/p>\n
We\u2019re rebuilding. Not quickly. Not easily. But genuinely.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never thought I\u2019d see this place,\u201d he says, looking out at the land. \u201cIt\u2019s beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father loved it here,\u201d I say. \u201cHe always said that when we retired, we\u2019d spend our summers here. Just the two of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I\u2019d known him better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe knew you. And he loved you. He just wanted you to become your own man first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m trying.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink toward the mountains.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d Matthew asks eventually.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you. For not giving up on me. For protecting yourself even when it meant pushing me away. For teaching me that love doesn\u2019t mean letting people walk all over you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019m sorry. For everything. For Brooke. For not seeing what was happening. For\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d I say. \u201cI forgive you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He leans his head on my shoulder, the way he used to when he was small.<\/p>\n
And I think about Daniel\u2019s last words: You\u2019re stronger than you realize, and you have more than you think.<\/p>\n
He was right.<\/p>\n
I had the ranch. I had the house. I had the ability to stand up for myself when it mattered most.<\/p>\n
But more than any of that, I had the knowledge that I was worth protecting. That I deserved respect. That I didn\u2019t have to set myself on fire to keep other people warm.<\/p>\n
And that knowledge, that certainty, was worth more than five hundred acres and $4.2 million combined.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Ranch When my son got married, I never mentioned that I\u2019d inherited my late husband\u2019s ranch. And thank goodness I didn\u2019t.Just one week after the wedding, my new daughter-in-law, … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":288,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-287","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/287","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=287"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/287\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":290,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/287\/revisions\/290"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/288"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=287"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=287"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=287"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}