{"id":18314,"date":"2026-08-03T14:46:28","date_gmt":"2026-08-03T14:46:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18314"},"modified":"2026-08-03T14:46:28","modified_gmt":"2026-08-03T14:46:28","slug":"at-67-i-took-my-first-vacation-to-malta-and-decided-to-say-yes-to-everything-i-never-expected-to-find-love-again","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18314","title":{"rendered":"At 67, I Took My First Vacation to Malta and Decided to Say \u2018Yes\u2019 to Everything \u2013 I Never Expected to Find Love Again"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Part 1: The Meeting That Was Never an Accident<\/strong><\/h1>\n

At sixty-seven, I took my first solo trip to Malta.<\/p>\n

After four years of mourning my husband, Michael, I had forgotten what it felt like to make decisions for myself. My daughter, Rebecca, finally asked me a question I could not ignore.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cWhen was the last time you did something simply because it made you happy?\u201d<\/p>\n

I could not remember.<\/p>\n

So I booked the trip and made myself a promise: for one week, I would say yes to every new experience.<\/p>\n

That promise led me to unfamiliar food, crowded streets, a ferry to Gozo, and a man named David.<\/p>\n

We met when he saw me struggling with an upside-down map in Valletta. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I laughed at myself. David laughed too, then offered to help.<\/p>\n

Coffee became breakfast.<\/p>\n

Breakfast became a day of sightseeing.<\/p>\n

Soon, we were taking boat rides, walking beside the sea, and talking about the lives we had shared with our late spouses. David was seventy, widowed, gentle, and quietly funny. He never pressured me or treated me as though age had made me invisible.<\/p>\n

For the first time since Michael died, I felt noticed.<\/p>\n

On my final evening in Malta, David brought me to a restaurant overlooking the harbor. The waiter greeted him by name, but David quickly changed the subject.<\/p>\n

I should have questioned it.<\/p>\n

Instead, I allowed myself to believe the evening was simply another unexpected gift.<\/p>\n

During dinner, David received a message and excused himself. Several minutes passed. When he did not return, I went looking for him.<\/p>\n

I followed a narrow passage into a courtyard illuminated by strings of yellow lights.<\/p>\n

David stood beneath them with a woman in her forties. She had the same gray-blue eyes as he did.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to tell her tonight,\u201d the woman said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d David replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should have told her as soon as you recognized her.\u201d<\/p>\n

I froze behind the stone doorway.<\/p>\n

Recognized me?<\/p>\n

David lowered his voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t expect to fall in love with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t make the lie smaller.\u201d<\/p>\n

David glanced toward the restaurant.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe leaves tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly. If you wait any longer, she\u2019ll believe everything between you was planned.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWasn\u2019t it?\u201d the woman asked.<\/p>\n

David said nothing.<\/p>\n

His silence answered for him.<\/p>\n

I stepped into the courtyard.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlanned?\u201d<\/p>\n

David turned, and the color drained from his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cEleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy daughter,\u201d David said. \u201cHer name is Clara.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clara gave me an apologetic look, but I barely noticed. My attention remained fixed on David.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you recognize me from?\u201d<\/p>\n

He moved toward me.<\/p>\n

I stepped back.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stopped immediately.<\/p>\n

Only minutes earlier, I had believed I had found something beautiful after years of grief. Now I was standing before a man who had known who I was from the beginning.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me the truth,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

David looked at Clara.<\/p>\n

She shook her head.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo more help from me, Dad. You tell her.\u201d<\/p>\n

David suddenly appeared much older.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife knew your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRuth knew Michael.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hearing my husband\u2019s name from David\u2019s mouth made my stomach tighten.<\/p>\n

Michael had been dead for four years. We had been married for thirty-nine. He had never mentioned a woman named Ruth.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did they know each other?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey met here in Malta thirty-two years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s impossible. Michael never came to Malta.\u201d<\/p>\n

David did not answer.<\/p>\n

I remembered Michael\u2019s business trips, conferences and delayed flights. I remembered the two weeks he had spent traveling through Europe when Rebecca was nine. He had returned with a glass dolphin for her and a silver bracelet for me.<\/p>\n

I still owned that bracelet.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me you had never been to this restaurant,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI lied.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe waiter knew you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been here several times.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt as though the ground had shifted beneath me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

David reached into his jacket, but I moved away again.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only an envelope,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

He placed it on a nearby table.<\/p>\n

My name was written across the front.<\/p>\n

The handwriting belonged to Michael.<\/p>\n

I recognized every hurried curve and uneven stroke, especially the oversized final letter of my name.<\/p>\n

My knees weakened, and Clara pulled out a chair for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you get this?\u201d<\/p>\n

David sat across from me.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter Ruth died, I kept one of her old suitcases. Last year, I discovered a hidden compartment behind the lining.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was inside?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMore than forty letters.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom Michael?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long did they write to each other?\u201d<\/p>\n

David\u2019s eyes filled with regret.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost eleven years.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pushed the envelope away.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish I were wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMichael was not unfaithful to me for eleven years.\u201d<\/p>\n

David did not argue.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I hated him for that. I wanted him to defend Michael. I wanted him to say the letters had been misunderstood or that Ruth and Michael had only been friends.<\/p>\n

Instead, David told me they had met at a conference in Valletta.<\/p>\n

At the time, Michael worked for a shipping company and traveled frequently. I remained home with Rebecca, who had just started school.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe called every night,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least, I believed he did.\u201d<\/p>\n

David explained that Ruth had been visiting her sister when she met Michael at the harbor restaurant. Afterward, they arranged to see each other in Malta, London, Paris and Boston.<\/p>\n

Boston.<\/p>\n

I remembered the red scarf Michael had brought home after that trip. He claimed he had bought it during a layover because he missed me.<\/p>\n

I had worn it for twenty years.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid they love each other?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

David hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t lie to me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

The answer did not shatter my life with a dramatic sound. Something simply collapsed inside me.<\/p>\n

Michael had died beside me after a long battle with cancer. I had fed him when he could no longer hold a spoon, washed his hair and slept beside his hospice bed.<\/p>\n

On his final morning, he squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were the best part of my life,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

I had believed him.<\/p>\n

The cruelest part was that some part of me still did.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy did the affair end?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRuth said they chose their families.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow noble.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey ended it twenty-one years ago. The letters continued for a while, but the final ones were mostly apologies.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the envelope.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMichael wrote it to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t he give it to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think he gave it to Ruth because he was afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf losing you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed bitterly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe risked losing me for eleven years.\u201d<\/p>\n

I asked whether Ruth had known Michael died.<\/p>\n

David admitted that she had followed our family online. Photographs of Michael and me had been hidden in the suitcase with the letters.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s how you recognized me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

David nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saw me struggling with my map and knew exactly who I was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou pretended we were strangers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI intended to introduce myself and give you the envelope.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

His gaze moved toward the harbor.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you smiled at me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He explained that he had spent months thinking of me as nothing more than a name written on an envelope. When he saw me laughing at myself in the street, I became a real person.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you invited me for coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI told myself it would only be coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe trip to Gozo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd this dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Every memory from the week changed as he admitted the truth.<\/p>\n

The coffee that had seemed spontaneous.<\/p>\n

The ferry ride when he held my hand.<\/p>\n

The afternoon he bought me lemon ice.<\/p>\n

The quiet moment beside the sea when he said he was glad I had come to Malta.<\/p>\n

I had believed life brought us together.<\/p>\n

David had recognized me, followed me and allowed me to trust him without explaining why.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou used me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt first, I wanted answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of answers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to know whether Michael had destroyed your life the way Ruth\u2019s secret destroyed mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid I look destroyed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid that disappoint you?\u201d<\/p>\n

His expression tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt first, perhaps.\u201d<\/p>\n

The honesty was ugly, but I preferred it to another comforting lie.<\/p>\n

Part 2: The Letter<\/strong><\/h1>\n

David had believed his marriage was honest until six years after Ruth\u2019s death, when he discovered the hidden letters.<\/p>\n

He came to Malta because it was where the affair had begun. During his first visit, he sat inside the restaurant for three hours without ordering anything. He returned the following year, then again after finding Michael\u2019s envelope.<\/p>\n

David searched for a way to contact me but could not decide whether revealing the truth would help or hurt me.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Then Clara saw a post from Rebecca celebrating my first solo trip.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s how you knew I was coming?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I didn\u2019t know your hotel or schedule. Meeting you in the street really was an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA convenient accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clara had traveled to Malta after David called her. He feared he would ask me to stay without first telling me the truth.<\/p>\n

The admission hurt differently because it meant his feelings might have become real, even though they had grown from deception.<\/p>\n

David told me he owned a small house outside Valletta that Ruth had inherited from her sister. Although he lived in England for part of the year, he had spent several winters in Malta after Ruth\u2019s death.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that was another lie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI allowed you to believe it was my first visit.\u201d<\/p>\n

I picked up Michael\u2019s envelope.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you read this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow can I believe you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Strangely, that was the first answer of the evening that made me trust him.<\/p>\n

The letter was two pages long and had been written twenty years earlier.<\/p>\n

Michael confessed that he had met Ruth in Malta and continued seeing her for years. He did not include every detail, but he admitted enough.<\/p>\n

He wrote that he had confused escape with love.<\/p>\n

With Ruth, he could pretend to be a man without bills, responsibilities or routines. Their relationship existed outside ordinary life, which made it seem more exciting than it was.<\/p>\n

Eventually, Michael understood that the life he wanted to escape was also the life he would choose if he were forced to lose it.<\/p>\n

He ended the affair, but he lacked the courage to tell me.<\/p>\n

Michael wrote that he did not know whether confessing would free me or merely place his guilt in my hands.<\/p>\n

I stopped reading.<\/p>\n

That was exactly what he had done. He had protected himself and described his silence as concern for me.<\/p>\n

In the final paragraph, he admitted that I might consider our entire marriage false if I ever learned the truth. He insisted that although his betrayal had been real, so was his gratitude each morning he woke beside me.<\/p>\n

I folded the letter.<\/p>\n

For thirty-nine years, I had believed fidelity was one of the foundations of our marriage. Now I had to decide whether one hidden room meant the entire house had been a lie.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you hate him?\u201d David asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the truth.<\/p>\n

Grief does not protect the dead from anger. It only makes that anger lonelier.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you hate Ruth?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hate what she did, but I still miss the person she was.\u201d<\/p>\n

I understood him immediately.<\/p>\n

Perhaps that was why David had searched for me. Not because our spouses had once loved each other, but because we were the only two people who understood how love and betrayal could exist inside the same memory.<\/p>\n

I placed the letter inside my bag.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll walk you to your hotel.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s late, Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI promised to say yes to everything this week, but that does not mean you decide what I say yes to now.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stepped away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n

I left him in the courtyard.<\/p>\n

At the hotel, I packed until sunrise. I cried as I folded clothes purchased for a week that no longer felt entirely mine.<\/p>\n

Then I stopped.<\/p>\n

David had lied.<\/p>\n

Michael had lied.<\/p>\n

But the blue sea was still real.<\/p>\n

I had eaten octopus despite being afraid to try it. I had danced badly in a public square while strangers clapped. I had navigated an unfamiliar country by myself.<\/p>\n

Those memories belonged to me.<\/p>\n

No man had created them.<\/p>\n

When I arrived at the airport, David was sitting near the check-in desks. He did not approach me. A small paper bag rested beside him.<\/p>\n

When I moved closer, he stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cI brought your book. You left it at the restaurant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

There were no flowers, speeches or demands for forgiveness.<\/p>\n

\u201cClara said I should let you go,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s sensible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPainfully.\u201d<\/p>\n

I placed the book inside my bag.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy flight boards in an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked directly at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry I met you through a lie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m not sorry I met you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hated how deeply I understood.<\/p>\n

\u201cI cannot trust what happened this week.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I refuse to become a consolation prize for what our spouses did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou aren\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t get to decide that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, he did not defend himself.<\/p>\n

He gave me a card containing his address and phone number.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you never contact me, I will understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

I accepted it, not as a promise or even as hope, but as a decision I could make later.<\/p>\n

Then I boarded my flight home.<\/p>\n

For three months, I did not contact David.<\/p>\n

I told Rebecca everything.<\/p>\n

First, I described Malta\u2014the food, the water and my useless map. Then I gave her Michael\u2019s letter.<\/p>\n

She cried, became angry and finally asked whether I regretted taking the trip.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I answered.<\/p>\n

The response surprised both of us.<\/p>\n

I began therapy and joined a walking group. I enrolled in a cooking class and ruined an entire tray of pastries.<\/p>\n

Most importantly, I continued saying yes to experiences that had nothing to do with David.<\/p>\n

On the ninety-third day after returning home, I wrote him a letter.<\/p>\n

I told him I had not forgiven the way he approached me. I understood why he had wanted answers, but understanding did not excuse deception.<\/p>\n

Then I asked him one question.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we meet again, can you do it without already believing you know who I am?\u201d<\/p>\n

His answer arrived two weeks later.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. But I can spend the rest of my life learning who you are instead of assuming I already know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I read the sentence repeatedly.<\/p>\n

Then I called him.<\/p>\n

Our first conversation lasted twenty minutes.<\/p>\n

The next lasted forty.<\/p>\n

Three months later, David flew to visit me. He stayed in a hotel rather than assuming he would stay at my home.<\/p>\n

Rebecca met him before I did and questioned him like a detective.<\/p>\n

To my surprise, he admired her immediately.<\/p>\n

I did not trust David all at once.<\/p>\n

Trust returned slowly, in pieces.<\/p>\n

He told me when he was afraid.<\/p>\n

I told him when I was angry.<\/p>\n

Neither of us tried to protect the other from uncomfortable truths.<\/p>\n

## Part 3: Saying Yes by Choice<\/p>\n

A year after my first trip, I returned to Malta.<\/p>\n

David waited at the airport, but this time he did not pretend our meeting was an accident.<\/p>\n

He held a sign above his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cELEANOR, AGE 68. STILL SAYING YES?\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed, took a pen from my purse and added one word beneath it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSOMETIMES.\u201d<\/p>\n

David studied the correction and smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s better.\u201d<\/p>\n

He understood that my answer was no longer automatic.<\/p>\n

During my first trip, I had believed courage meant accepting every opportunity. I now understood that courage could also mean refusing, walking away and demanding honesty.<\/p>\n

David and I rebuilt our relationship carefully. We traveled between England, Malta and my home, but neither of us rushed to combine our lives.<\/p>\n

He never asked me to forget how we met.<\/p>\n

I never pretended the betrayal no longer hurt.<\/p>\n

Michael remained part of my history. So did Ruth.<\/p>\n

I eventually accepted that Michael had loved me and betrayed me. One truth did not erase the other.<\/p>\n

Our marriage had contained laughter, parenthood, ordinary mornings, arguments, illness and devotion. His affair changed how I understood our life, but it could not erase every moment we had shared.<\/p>\n

Remembering him became more complicated, but perhaps also more honest.<\/p>\n

The following year, David and I returned to the same harbor restaurant.<\/p>\n

The waiter greeted him by name.<\/p>\n

This time, I did not feel frightened.<\/p>\n

Clara joined us for dessert. She and I had developed an unexpected friendship, built partly on our shared determination to stop David from hiding behind silence.<\/p>\n

After dinner, David led me into the courtyard.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

For a moment, I remembered standing there a year earlier.<\/p>\n

The overheard conversation.<\/p>\n

The envelope.<\/p>\n

The realization that the man I trusted had known my identity before I knew his.<\/p>\n

Then David took my hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo surprises,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo hidden arrangements.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven better.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took a breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cI would like to spend whatever time we have left traveling between your home and mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

I studied his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that a proposal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a question.\u201d<\/p>\n

The distinction mattered.<\/p>\n

He was not announcing a future he had planned for me. He was asking whether I wanted to build one with him.<\/p>\n

I said yes.<\/p>\n

Not because I had promised myself to accept everything.<\/p>\n

That promise belonged to the frightened woman who believed courage meant never turning away from an experience.<\/p>\n

I knew better now.<\/p>\n

Sometimes courage is leaving the courtyard.<\/p>\n

Sometimes it is boarding the plane alone.<\/p>\n

Sometimes it is allowing someone another chance without pretending the first betrayal never happened.<\/p>\n

And sometimes it is making a man earn the right to ask again.<\/p>\n

At sixty-seven, I traveled to Malta because my daughter asked when I had last done something that made me happy.<\/p>\n

At first, I thought happiness would be a beautiful island.<\/p>\n

Then I believed it might be David.<\/p>\n

It was neither.<\/p>\n

Happiness was realizing that even after grief, betrayal and fear, my life still belonged to me.<\/p>\n

David did not give me that life.<\/p>\n

He met me only after I had finally started living it.<\/p>\n

When love found me again, I did not say yes because I was lonely or afraid of being alone.<\/p>\n

I said yes because I finally understood that I was equally free to say no.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 1: The Meeting That Was Never an Accident At sixty-seven, I took my first solo trip to Malta. After four years of mourning my husband, Michael, I had forgotten … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":18247,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14,15,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18314","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18314","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=18314"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18314\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18315,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18314\/revisions\/18315"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/18247"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=18314"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=18314"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=18314"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}