Three weeks later, he collapsed at work.<\/p>\n
At first, they thought it was exhaustion.<\/p>\n
Then an infection.<\/p>\n
Then something neurological.<\/p>\n
The tests kept multiplying.<\/p>\n
So did the specialists.<\/p>\n
And eventually, Mark’s neurologist entered the small hospital consultation room with another physician beside him and closed the door.<\/p>\n
I remember the click.<\/p>\n
Nothing else about that afternoon is as clear as the sound of that door closing.<\/p>\n
Mark sat beside me.<\/p>\n
His hand found mine.<\/p>\n
The doctor spoke slowly.<\/p>\n
Carefully.<\/p>\n
There was a disease name.<\/p>\n
Complications.<\/p>\n
Progression.<\/p>\n
Treatment options.<\/p>\n
Words that sounded clinical until one sentence transformed all of them into a death sentence.<\/p>\n
\u201cBased on how quickly this is advancing, we believe we’re looking at months rather than years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow many months?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hesitated.<\/p>\n
Mark squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow many?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly three.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room became completely silent.<\/p>\n
I was six months pregnant.<\/p>\n
Three months.<\/p>\n
Our baby was due in three months.<\/p>\n
I looked at Mark.<\/p>\n
He was already looking at my stomach.<\/p>\n
Not at the doctor.<\/p>\n
Not at me.<\/p>\n
At her.<\/p>\n
That night, neither of us slept.<\/p>\n
The next evening, Mark insisted on sitting outside.<\/p>\n
It was warm, with that soft late-spring smell of cut grass and rain somewhere far away.<\/p>\n
We sat side by side on the porch swing.<\/p>\n
He was already thinner.<\/p>\n
I hated noticing that.<\/p>\n
He placed one hand over my stomach.<\/p>\n
Our daughter kicked beneath his palm.<\/p>\n
Mark smiled.<\/p>\n
Then his smile faded.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf anything is still healthy enough when the time comes,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cI want it donated.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned sharply.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don’t talk about dying while she’s kicking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s exactly why I need to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMark.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me.![\"\"](\"https:\/\/blog.igallery.blog\/assets\/9fd1d8bede1eb5bb74cad0443392e452\/2026\/0909\/c6c953e6-dc9c-44bf-b98c-2dbd9b65944c-6.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
There was fear in his eyes.<\/p>\n
But underneath it was something steadier.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I can’t stay,\u201d he said, \u201cI don’t want everything that\u2019s still good in me buried just because the rest of me stopped working.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I can give somebody another Christmas\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMark.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother birthday. Another morning making pancakes for their kid. Another stupid argument about leaving cabinet doors open\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
My face collapsed.<\/p>\n
He reached for me.<\/p>\n
I hit his chest once with my fist.<\/p>\n
Not hard.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t want someone else to have your years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey’re ours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou’re supposed to meet her.\u201d<\/p>\n
His voice broke.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, Sal.\u201d<\/p>\n
That destroyed me.<\/p>\n
I pressed my face against him and cried until his shirt was wet.<\/p>\n
He held me as long as he could.<\/p>\n
Then his arms began trembling from the effort.<\/p>\n
That was the first time I understood love could be enormous and completely powerless at the same time.<\/strong><\/p>\n Mark’s decline was brutal.<\/p>\n By the time I was seven months pregnant, stairs exhausted him.<\/p>\n By eight months, I buttoned his shirts because his fingers sometimes shook too much.<\/p>\n He began sleeping downstairs because getting to the bedroom had become dangerous.<\/p>\n Still, every evening, he asked the same question.<\/p>\n \u201cDid she kick today?\u201d<\/p>\n And every evening, I guided his hand to wherever our daughter was moving.<\/p>\n Sometimes she responded immediately.<\/p>\n Sometimes nothing happened.<\/p>\n Mark would tap gently.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, peanut. Dad’s here.\u201d<\/p>\n Usually, she kicked.<\/p>\n He always smiled like she had chosen him.<\/p>\n A few weeks before he died, he began meeting privately with Dr. Aaron Bennett, the physician coordinating much of his care.<\/p>\n The first time, I assumed they were discussing medication.<\/p>\n The second time, I noticed Dr. Bennett carrying a folder when he left.<\/p>\n The third time, I finally confronted Mark.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you two doing?\u201d<\/p>\n We were alone in his hospital room.<\/p>\n Rain streaked the windows.<\/p>\n Mark looked tired.<\/p>\n Too tired.<\/p>\n But there was a familiar spark of mischief behind his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cDoing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know exactly what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n He smiled faintly.<\/p>\n \u201cVery intimidating, Mrs. Dalton.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon’t charm your way out of this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI wouldn’t dare.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you arranging with Dr. Bennett?\u201d<\/p>\n His smile disappeared.<\/p>\n He looked toward the window.<\/p>\n \u201cSomething I need to take care of.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWithout me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n That answer hurt more than I expected.<\/p>\n \u201cWe don’t do secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n He reached for my hand.<\/p>\n His skin felt cool.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease trust me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do trust you. That’s why this scares me.\u201d<\/p>\n His thumb moved slowly across my wedding ring.<\/p>\n \u201cSome things are easier to receive after they\u2019re finished.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at me for a long moment.<\/p>\n Then down at my belly.<\/p>\n \u201cIt means I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n I became angry.<\/p>\n Actually angry.<\/p>\n \u201cThat’s not an answer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen give me one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can’t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n His eyes filled.<\/p>\n \u201cBecause if I tell you now, you’ll spend whatever time we have left grieving it before it happens.\u201d<\/p>\n The anger disappeared.<\/p>\n I sat beside him.<\/p>\n He leaned his forehead against mine.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, Sally.\u201d<\/p>\n So I stopped asking.<\/p>\n I trusted him.<\/p>\n Mark died sixteen days later.<\/p>\n It happened on a Tuesday morning while rain whispered against the hospital windows.<\/p>\n His breathing had become shallow during the night.<\/p>\n I sat beside him holding one hand between both of mine.<\/p>\n At 6:12 a.m., he opened his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cSally?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBaby okay?\u201d<\/p>\n Even then.<\/p>\n Even with death standing at the foot of his bed.<\/p>\n \u201cThe baby\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n He smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n I bent closer.<\/p>\n \u201cDon’t leave yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m trying.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTry harder.\u201d<\/p>\n A tiny laugh escaped him.<\/p>\n Then his eyes moved toward my stomach.<\/p>\n \u201cTell her\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n His breath caught.<\/p>\n I leaned closer.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell her I waited as long as I could.\u201d<\/p>\n I began sobbing.<\/p>\n \u201cTell her yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n His fingers tightened weakly around mine.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI love you too.\u201d<\/p>\n Another breath.<\/p>\n Then another.<\/p>\n Then no more.<\/p>\n Mark died with one hand in mine and the other resting against the place where his daughter was moving inside me.<\/strong><\/p>\n Afterward, the world became paperwork.<\/p>\n People imagine grief as screaming.<\/p>\n Mine was signatures.<\/p>\n Initial here.<\/p>\n Date there.<\/p>\n Personal belongings.<\/p>\n Funeral home.<\/p>\n Donation authorization.<\/p>\n Would I consent to the recovery of viable organs and tissue in accordance with Mark\u2019s registered wishes?<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n My pen shook.<\/p>\n The coordinator waited.<\/p>\n I signed.<\/p>\n Because Mark had asked me to.<\/p>\n Because keeping him intact would not bring him back.<\/p>\n Because somewhere another family might be sitting in another hospital room praying for the miracle I had just lost.<\/p>\n Hours later, I walked down the corridor carrying Mark’s coat folded over one arm.<\/p>\n His scent was still inside it.<\/p>\n I had almost reached the elevators when someone shouted behind me.<\/p>\n \u201cSally!\u201d<\/p>\n Footsteps.<\/p>\n Fast.<\/p>\n I turned.<\/p>\n Dr. Bennett was hurrying toward me.<\/p>\n His face looked pale.<\/p>\n One hand was hidden behind his back.<\/p>\n My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing. I\u2019m sorry. Nothing medical.\u201d<\/p>\n He stopped in front of me, catching his breath.<\/p>\n Then he brought his hand forward.<\/p>\n An envelope.<\/p>\n My name was written across it in Mark’s unmistakable handwriting.<\/p>\n Sally.<\/p>\n That one word nearly took my legs out from under me.<\/p>\n Dr. Bennett handed it to me.<\/p>\n \u201cMark gave this to me three weeks ago.\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at it.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe made me promise.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPromise what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat no matter how often you asked, I wouldn\u2019t tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n My eyes lifted to his.<\/p>\n \u201cAll those private meetings\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWeren’t about changing his treatment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat were they about?\u201d<\/p>\n Dr. Bennett swallowed.<\/p>\n \u201cRead the letter first.\u201d<\/p>\n I sat on a bench because I no longer trusted my knees.<\/p>\n The envelope tore unevenly beneath my fingers.<\/p>\n Inside was one sheet of paper.<\/p>\n Mark’s handwriting wandered slightly, evidence of how weak his hands had already become.<\/p>\n Sal,<\/p>\n If Bennett followed instructions, you’re furious with both of us.<\/p>\n Sorry.<\/p>\n Actually, I’m not.<\/p>\n You’ll forgive him eventually.<\/p>\n Hopefully me too.<\/p>\n I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n Then kept reading.<\/p>\n I need you to know something about the donation.<\/p>\n I’m not doing it because I’m brave.<\/p>\n I’m doing it because I’m terrified.<\/p>\n I’m terrified that when she grows up, there will be nothing physical left in this world that proves I was here.<\/p>\n Photos aren’t warm.<\/p>\n Videos don’t breathe.<\/p>\n Letters don’t have heartbeats.<\/p>\n So I asked Bennett for one favor.<\/p>\n If my heart can be donated, and if the recipient survives, and if someday that person is willing to meet you, I want you to go.<\/p>\n Not for you.<\/p>\n For her.<\/p>\n My vision blurred.<\/p>\n I wiped my eyes desperately.<\/p>\n There was more.<\/p>\n In the bottom drawer of Bennett’s desk is a stethoscope.<\/p>\n I bought it the week we learned she was a girl.<\/p>\n I wanted to use it when she got sick and pretend I knew what I was doing while you rolled your eyes at me.<\/p>\n If there ever comes a day when she can put that stethoscope against someone’s chest and hear my heart\u2026<\/p>\n Tell her that’s Dad saying hello.<\/p>\n I folded forward over the letter.<\/p>\n A sound came out of me that I had never heard before.<\/p>\n Dr. Bennett sat beside me without touching me.<\/p>\n After a long time, he reached into his coat.<\/p>\n And handed me a black stethoscope.<\/p>\n A tiny silver plate had been attached near the chest piece.<\/p>\n Three engraved words.<\/p>\n For our peanut.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cCan that happen?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n Dr. Bennett looked at me carefully.<\/p>\n \u201cWe can’t promise his heart will be medically suitable. And even if it is, transplant privacy rules mean the recipient decides whether contact happens.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo Mark knew it might never happen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n I laughed once through my tears.<\/p>\n \u201cThat sounds like him.\u201d<\/p>\n There was one final line in the letter.<\/p>\n Sal\u2014<\/p>\n If it never happens, don’t spend your life waiting for it.<\/p>\n You and our girl are not the part of my life I\u2019m leaving behind.<\/p>\n You are the part that continues.<\/p>\n Four weeks later, my daughter was born.<\/p>\n I named her Madeline Grace Dalton.<\/p>\n She had dark hair.<\/p>\n My nose, unfortunately.<\/p>\n And Mark’s stubborn chin.<\/p>\n When the nurse laid her against my chest, I cried so hard I frightened her.<\/p>\n \u201cHi, peanut.\u201d<\/p>\n Her tiny face wrinkled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou kept him waiting, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n I kissed her forehead.<\/p>\n \u201cHe loved you very much.\u201d<\/p>\n For months, I heard nothing about the transplant.<\/p>\n Then a letter arrived from the donation organization.<\/p>\n Mark had saved four lives.<\/p>\n Both kidneys had been transplanted.<\/p>\n His liver had gone to a woman in Ohio.<\/p>\n And his heart had gone to a forty-one-year-old father of two named Thomas.<\/p>\n I sat on the kitchen floor and read that sentence ten times.<\/p>\n His heart had survived.<\/strong><\/p>\n Somewhere, it was beating.<\/p>\n I wrote to Thomas through the transplant organization.<\/p>\n No request.<\/p>\n No pressure.<\/p>\n Just a letter.<\/p>\n I told him about Mark.<\/p>\n I told him about Madeline.<\/p>\n I did not mention the stethoscope.<\/p>\n A year passed.<\/p>\n No answer.<\/p>\n Then two.<\/p>\n I kept Mark’s promise.<\/p>\n I did not wait.<\/p>\n Madeline grew.<\/p>\n She learned to walk while holding onto the same porch swing where Mark had first talked about donation.<\/p>\n She called every man with brown hair \u201cDaddy\u201d for six embarrassing months.<\/p>\n At three, she discovered Mark’s photographs.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n I knelt beside her.<\/p>\n \u201cThat’s your dad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere is he?\u201d<\/p>\n I had practiced answers.<\/p>\n None worked.<\/p>\n \u201cHe died before you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n She considered that.<\/p>\n \u201cDid he know me?\u201d<\/p>\n The question broke something open.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n I placed my palm against her chest.<\/p>\n \u201cHe knew you from right here.\u201d<\/p>\n She frowned.<\/p>\n \u201cMy heart?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd his.\u201d<\/p>\n The call came when Madeline was five.<\/p>\n I almost didn’t answer because I was making pancakes.<\/p>\n \u201cMrs. Dalton?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy name is Thomas Avery.\u201d<\/p>\n The spatula slipped from my hand.<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n Then:<\/p>\n \u201cI have your husband’s heart.\u201d<\/p>\n I sat down.<\/p>\n Thomas’s voice broke.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry it took me so long.\u201d<\/p>\n I couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n \u201cI read your letter a hundred times,\u201d he continued. \u201cI just\u2026 I didn’t know how to meet the family of the man whose death gave me my life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don’t owe us anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n Another pause.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I have daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n My eyes closed.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I kept thinking about yours.\u201d<\/p>\n Three weeks later, we met in a quiet park halfway between our homes.<\/p>\n Thomas stood beneath a maple tree with his wife.<\/p>\n He looked terrified.<\/p>\n Madeline held my hand.<\/p>\n The stethoscope was inside my purse.<\/p>\n Thomas walked toward us.<\/p>\n When he saw Madeline, his face crumpled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou must be Maddie.\u201d<\/p>\n She nodded suspiciously.<\/p>\n \u201cYou have my daddy’s heart?\u201d<\/p>\n Thomas looked at me.<\/p>\n I nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n Madeline thought about that.<\/p>\n Then she pointed at his chest.<\/p>\n \u201cIn there?\u201d<\/p>\n Thomas laughed through tears.<\/p>\n \u201cRight in there.\u201d<\/p>\n My hands were shaking when I pulled out the stethoscope.<\/p>\n Thomas saw it.<\/p>\n He understood immediately.<\/p>\n He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and knelt in the grass so he was level with her.<\/p>\n Madeline placed the earpieces clumsily in her ears.<\/p>\n I guided the chest piece.<\/p>\n For one second, she heard nothing.<\/p>\n Then she froze.<\/p>\n Her eyes widened.<\/p>\n Thump.<\/strong><\/p>\n Thump.<\/strong><\/p>\n Thump.<\/strong><\/p>\n I could see the instant she heard it.<\/p>\n The heart that had raced when I walked down the aisle.<\/p>\n The heart that had pounded beneath my cheek while we danced barefoot in our kitchen.<\/p>\n The heart that had beaten faster when two pink lines appeared.<\/p>\n The heart that had felt his daughter kick beneath his palm.<\/p>\n Still beating.<\/p>\n Five years after Mark died.<\/p>\n Inside another father.<\/p>\n Madeline listened for a long time.<\/p>\n Nobody spoke.<\/p>\n Finally, Thomas whispered, \u201cWhat do you hear?\u201d<\/p>\n Madeline looked up at me.<\/p>\n Her eyes were wet, though I don’t think she understood why.<\/p>\n Then she smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cDaddy.\u201d<\/p>\n I turned away because I couldn’t hold myself together anymore.<\/p>\n Thomas covered his face.<\/p>\n His wife began crying.<\/p>\n And my five-year-old daughter leaned closer to the stranger who was alive because her father wasn’t, listening to the impossible rhythm inside his chest.<\/p>\n Later, as the sun dropped behind the trees, Madeline ran ahead of me through the grass.<\/p>\n Thomas stood beside me.<\/p>\n \u201cThere was something else,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n He reached into his jacket.<\/p>\n Another envelope.<\/p>\n My blood went cold.<\/p>\n \u201cI received this through the transplant team after the surgery. They told me I could open it whenever I was ready.\u201d<\/p>\n My hands started trembling.<\/p>\n On the front, Mark had written:<\/p>\n To whoever gets my heart.<\/strong><\/p>\n Thomas handed it to me.<\/p>\n Inside was only a short paragraph.<\/p>\n If you’re reading this, then I didn’t make it, and you did.<\/p>\n Please don’t feel guilty.<\/p>\n You didn’t take anything from me.<\/p>\n You gave the best part of me somewhere to go.<\/p>\n I have a daughter coming.<\/p>\n If you ever meet her, don’t tell her you carry her father’s heart.<\/p>\n Tell her something better.<\/p>\n Tell her her father kept his promise.<\/p>\n I read it twice.<\/p>\n Then I looked across the park.<\/p>\n Madeline had climbed onto a swing.<\/p>\n She pumped her little legs, higher and higher, her laughter floating through the evening air.<\/p>\n Thomas pressed one hand unconsciously to his chest.<\/p>\n And suddenly I understood what Mark had meant on our porch all those years ago.<\/p>\n Donation had never been about refusing death.<\/p>\n It had been about refusing to let death have the final word.<\/p>\n Mark never got to hold his daughter.<\/p>\n He never heard her laugh.<\/p>\n Never watched her take her first step.<\/p>\n Never carried her upstairs when she fell asleep in the car.<\/p>\n But somewhere between the hospital room where his life ended and this quiet park where his daughter was learning how high she could fly, something of him had crossed the distance.<\/p>\n Not a photograph.<\/p>\n Not a memory.<\/p>\n Not a grave.<\/p>\n A living rhythm.<\/p>\n A promise still keeping time.<\/p>\n Madeline swung toward the sky, Thomas’s borrowed heart beating behind me, and for one impossible second,\u00a0the man I had buried five years earlier was standing between us both.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mark and I had been married for three years when I finally saw two pink lines appear on a pregnancy test. For several seconds, I simply stared. Then I sat … <\/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-20198","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\/20198","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=20198"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20198\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20199,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20198\/revisions\/20199"}],"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=20198"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=20198"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=20198"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}