{"id":8514,"date":"2026-09-14T11:18:53","date_gmt":"2026-09-14T11:18:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/?p=8514"},"modified":"2026-09-14T11:18:53","modified_gmt":"2026-09-14T11:18:53","slug":"last-night-my-son-raised-his-hand-and-hit-me-and-even-then-i-didnt-cry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/?p=8514","title":{"rendered":"Last night, my son raised his hand and hit me, and even then, I didn’t cry."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n

Dylan entered the kitchen wearing sweatpants and yesterday’s T-shirt.<\/p>\n

He didn’t notice Robert immediately.<\/p>\n

His eyes went first to the table.<\/p>\n

Pancakes.<\/p>\n

Bacon.<\/p>\n

Eggs.<\/p>\n

Coffee.<\/p>\n

The good plates.<\/p>\n

Then he looked at me.<\/p>\n

A satisfied little smile appeared.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you finally learned.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert shifted in his chair.<\/p>\n

Dylan froze.<\/p>\n

The smile vanished.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMorning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan’s eyes moved between us.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert didn’t answer.<\/p>\n

Instead, he looked at me.<\/p>\n

He was leaving this part to me.<\/p>\n

For once, nobody was going to speak for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit down, Dylan.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat’s this, an intervention?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Something in my voice worked.<\/p>\n

He pulled out a chair.<\/p>\n

Then noticed the papers.<\/p>\n

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

I pushed the first document toward him.<\/p>\n

\u201cA formal notice terminating your permission to live here.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me.<\/p>\n

Then laughed again.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’re kicking me out?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m beginning the legal process to make you leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

That distinction mattered.<\/p>\n

Robert had insisted on it.<\/p>\n

Dylan had lived in my house for years. Whether the law treated him as a tenant, occupant, or something else depended on facts I wasn’t qualified to decide at my kitchen table.<\/p>\n

I couldn’t simply throw his clothes onto the lawn and change the locks while he was at breakfast.<\/p>\n

So I wasn’t going to.<\/p>\n

I had spoken with an attorney by phone before dawn.<\/p>\n

Robert had helped arrange it.<\/p>\n

The documents in front of Dylan were the first steps.<\/p>\n

Not magic papers that instantly erased his rights.<\/p>\n

A beginning.<\/p>\n

\n

Dylan shoved the page away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’re insane.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cYou can’t throw your own son into the street.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can stop allowing an adult who hit me to live in my home.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes sharpened.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, here we go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert leaned forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cCareful.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan turned on him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou stay out of this. You left us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert’s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I left the marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou left me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI moved thirty-five miles away, Dylan. I called. I came to your games. You stopped answering when you were sixteen because you were angry at me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou chose Chicago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI made mistakes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert’s voice remained steady.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut none of my mistakes put your hand on your mother’s face last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence.<\/p>\n

Dylan looked at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou called him because of one slap?\u201d<\/p>\n

One slap.<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

The sentence that ended the final piece of doubt inside me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou still think the problem is how many times you hit me.\u201d<\/p>\n

His expression shifted.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn’t mean\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou threatened me first.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was angry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you hit me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were screaming at me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn’t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were provoking me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop.\u201d<\/p>\n

I raised my hand.<\/p>\n

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

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

\u201cI need to hear him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then I turned back to Dylan.<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep going.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan stared.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cTell me why I deserved it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn’t say you deserved it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’ve given me three reasons in thirty seconds.\u201d<\/p>\n

His mouth closed.<\/p>\n

\n

Then I slid another piece of paper toward him.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t legal.<\/p>\n

It was handwritten.<\/p>\n

A list.<\/p>\n

$900 \u2014 February<\/strong><\/p>\n

$1,200 \u2014 March<\/strong><\/p>\n

$650 \u2014 car repair<\/strong><\/p>\n

$400 \u2014 \u201cjob clothes\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

$1,800 \u2014 credit card<\/strong><\/p>\n

$750 \u2014 May<\/strong><\/p>\n

And on.<\/p>\n

For eighteen months.<\/p>\n

Money I’d given him.<\/p>\n

Money he’d borrowed.<\/p>\n

Money he’d promised to repay.<\/p>\n

Some of it genuinely helped him.<\/p>\n

Some paid bills.<\/p>\n

Some disappeared.<\/p>\n

The total was just over $14,000.<\/p>\n

His face changed.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat I’ve spent trying to prevent you from experiencing consequences.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought helping you meant making sure you never hit bottom.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tapped the page.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll I did was make my floor your bottom.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time, he had nothing sarcastic to say.<\/p>\n

\n

Robert opened the folder again.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan glared at him.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cYour mother called me last night. I photographed her face when I arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan looked at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou took pictures?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

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

\u201cBecause by this morning I knew you’d try to make me doubt myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

His expression hardened.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo now you’re trying to get me arrested?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cI haven’t decided every step yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was true.<\/p>\n

But before Robert arrived, I’d spoken with a local domestic-violence hotline.<\/p>\n

The advocate had told me something simple:<\/p>\n

I didn’t need to decide my son’s entire future before breakfast.<\/p>\n

I needed to decide whether I was safe.<\/p>\n

I wasn’t.<\/p>\n

She’d explained options for documentation, medical care, police reporting, protective orders, and removing an abusive household member through lawful procedures.<\/p>\n

I intended to learn what applied.<\/p>\n

\n

Dylan stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m done with this.\u201d<\/p>\n

He headed toward the stairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy room.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

He stopped.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’re going to pack what you need for the next few days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m not leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n

Robert began to rise.<\/p>\n

I stopped him again.<\/p>\n

Then I looked at Dylan.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you refuse, I’ll call the police and explain what happened last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face changed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wouldn’t.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence hurt almost as much as the slap.<\/p>\n

Not because he feared the police.<\/p>\n

Because he genuinely believed motherhood meant I wouldn’t protect myself from him.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cYou’d destroy my life.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

My voice shook, but I didn’t lower it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am finally refusing to let you destroy mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

He didn’t hit me again.<\/p>\n

He didn’t smash the kitchen.<\/p>\n

He did something more familiar.<\/p>\n

He cried.<\/p>\n

At first angrily.<\/p>\n

Then desperately.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’re my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cI have nowhere to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have your father.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dylan looked at Robert.<\/p>\n

Robert shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cTemporarily.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned toward him, surprised.<\/p>\n

Robert explained.<\/p>\n

Dylan could stay in his spare room for a limited period if he followed strict conditions.<\/p>\n

No drinking in the house.<\/p>\n

No threats.<\/p>\n

No money.<\/p>\n

Active job search.<\/p>\n

Counseling.<\/p>\n

And if Dylan became aggressive, he was out.<\/p>\n

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.<\/p>\n

Robert seemed to read my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn’t rescuing him, Helen. It’s getting him out of your house safely today. What happens after that is his responsibility.\u201d<\/p>\n

That distinction mattered.<\/p>\n

\n

Dylan packed two bags.<\/p>\n

Before leaving, he stood in the hallway.<\/p>\n

He wouldn’t look at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that’s it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor today, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’re choosing Dad over me.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

I almost laughed at the absurdity.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m choosing myself over being afraid of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He flinched.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said I was sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven’t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said you didn’t mean it. You said I provoked you. You said it was one slap. Those aren’t apologies.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at the floor.<\/p>\n

Then he walked out.<\/p>\n

Robert followed.<\/p>\n

For the first time in years, the front door closed and I didn’t immediately wonder what mood Dylan would be in when it opened again.<\/p>\n

\n

I locked it.<\/p>\n

Then I sat at the breakfast table.<\/p>\n

The pancakes were cold.<\/p>\n

The bacon had gone greasy.<\/p>\n

Three cups of coffee sat untouched.<\/p>\n

And finally, I cried.<\/p>\n

Not because I’d lost my son.<\/p>\n

Because I understood how close I’d come to losing myself while trying to save him.<\/p>\n

\n

The next few weeks were ugly.<\/p>\n

Dylan called constantly.<\/p>\n

Sometimes apologetic.<\/p>\n

Sometimes furious.<\/p>\n

Sometimes both within the same conversation.<\/p>\n

One afternoon:<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, I’m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Five minutes later:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know you pushed me too far.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hung up.<\/p>\n

Another time:<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ll change.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then:<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you hadn’t brought Dad into this, we could’ve handled it privately.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hung up again.<\/p>\n

I stopped arguing with explanations designed to put me back on trial.<\/p>\n

\n

Robert didn’t have an easy time either.<\/p>\n

On the ninth day, Dylan came home drunk.<\/p>\n

Robert wouldn’t let him inside.<\/p>\n

Dylan shouted from the porch.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou abandoned me once! You’re doing it again!\u201d<\/p>\n

Robert later told me he’d nearly opened the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn’t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked tired.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause guilt has been making decisions for both of us for twenty years.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence stayed with me.<\/p>\n

My guilt said Dylan needed protection because his father left.<\/p>\n

Robert’s guilt said Dylan deserved endless chances because he’d been the father who moved out.<\/p>\n

Between us, we’d spent years cushioning every consequence.<\/p>\n

Dylan learned something from that.<\/p>\n

Not that we loved him.<\/p>\n

That eventually one of us would give in.<\/p>\n

\n

This time, neither did.<\/p>\n

Robert helped him find a room in a shared apartment.<\/p>\n

He paid the first month’s rent.<\/p>\n

One month.<\/p>\n

Not six.<\/p>\n

Not indefinitely.<\/p>\n

I thought even that was too much.<\/p>\n

Robert said:<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. But I’m allowed to make one imperfect decision without pretending it’s a lifelong strategy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fair enough.<\/p>\n

After that, Dylan had to work.<\/p>\n

\n

He found a warehouse job.<\/p>\n

Lost it after six weeks for repeatedly arriving late.<\/p>\n

For the first time, I didn’t pay his rent.<\/p>\n

He called.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m going to get evicted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen speak to your landlord.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have money.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cSo you’re just going to let this happen?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

He hung up.<\/p>\n

I vomited afterward.<\/p>\n

That’s the part people don’t talk about when they tell you to set boundaries.<\/p>\n

Sometimes the boundary is right and your body still experiences it as cruelty.<\/p>\n

I spent that entire night imagining him sleeping under a bridge.<\/p>\n

He didn’t.<\/p>\n

He borrowed money from a friend, picked up temporary work, and paid enough to remain housed.<\/p>\n

He solved a problem because nobody solved it first.<\/p>\n

\n

The legal process regarding my house continued.<\/p>\n

With professional advice, I formally ended whatever right he had to remain there.<\/p>\n

I changed the locks only when I was legally permitted to.<\/p>\n

I changed alarm codes.<\/p>\n

I removed his access to my credit cards.<\/p>\n

I moved important financial documents into a safe-deposit box.<\/p>\n

I updated my estate plan.<\/p>\n

Not to punish him.<\/p>\n

Because I’d learned that love without boundaries can become access.<\/p>\n

And access can become entitlement.<\/p>\n

\n

For almost four months, Dylan and I barely spoke.<\/p>\n

Then he called.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I see you?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cI want to apologize.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost said no.<\/p>\n

Instead:<\/p>\n

\u201cPublic place.\u201d<\/p>\n

We met at a diner.<\/p>\n

Robert knew where I was.<\/p>\n

I drove myself.<\/p>\n

I sat near the front.<\/p>\n

Maybe that sounds dramatic.<\/p>\n

It didn’t feel dramatic to me.<\/p>\n

It felt like accepting that the person who frightened me happened to be someone I’d once carried inside my body.<\/p>\n

\n

Dylan looked different.<\/p>\n

Thinner.<\/p>\n

Tired.<\/p>\n

He had another job.<\/p>\n

He’d started seeing a counselor after an incident in which he’d punched a hole in his apartment wall and his roommate told him to get help or leave.<\/p>\n

For once, Dylan didn’t begin with what had happened to him.<\/p>\n

He began with what he’d done.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I waited.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me no, and I thought I had the right to punish you for it.\u201d<\/p>\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n

He continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ve spent months trying to explain it with Dad leaving, drinking, being depressed, losing jobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cThose things explain why I was angry. They don’t explain why I believed I was allowed to scare you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn’t rescue him from the silence afterward.<\/p>\n

Then he said:<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the first apology I believed.<\/p>\n

I still didn’t invite him home.<\/p>\n

\n

People sometimes think forgiveness is a door.<\/p>\n

You either open it or keep it closed.<\/p>\n

Mine wasn’t.<\/p>\n

It was a hallway.<\/p>\n

Some days Dylan and I moved closer.<\/p>\n

Other days I stepped back.<\/p>\n

He attended counseling.<\/p>\n

Then stopped.<\/p>\n

Then returned.<\/p>\n

He kept a job for eight months.<\/p>\n

Lost it.<\/p>\n

Found another without calling me for money.<\/p>\n

He stopped drinking for a while.<\/p>\n

Had a setback.<\/p>\n

Told Robert himself.<\/p>\n

Progress wasn’t a straight line.<\/p>\n

Neither was trust.<\/p>\n

\n

Two years later, Dylan came to my house for Thanksgiving.<\/p>\n

It was the first time he’d been inside since the morning he left.<\/p>\n

Robert came too.<\/p>\n

Our divorce had never magically disappeared.<\/p>\n

We weren’t getting back together.<\/p>\n

But something had changed between us.<\/p>\n

We had stopped using our son to pay old emotional debts to each other.<\/p>\n

I put the embroidered tablecloth on the table.<\/p>\n

Dylan noticed immediately.<\/p>\n

He stood in the doorway staring at it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou still have that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n

He ran his fingers across the edge.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember that morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

His face tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hate who I was.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cDon’t waste your life hating him.\u201d<\/p>\n

He seemed surprised.<\/p>\n

\u201cUnderstand him. Take responsibility for him. Make sure you don’t become him again.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\n

During dinner, Dylan asked whether he could have more potatoes.<\/p>\n

The question was so ordinary that nobody else noticed it.<\/p>\n

I did.<\/p>\n

Years earlier, he’d stopped asking for almost anything.<\/p>\n

Money.<\/p>\n

Food.<\/p>\n

My car.<\/p>\n

My time.<\/p>\n

My home.<\/p>\n

He simply assumed access.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He passed me the bowl instead of reaching across my plate.<\/p>\n

Small things.<\/p>\n

People laugh at small things.<\/p>\n

But families are often destroyed and rebuilt through them.<\/p>\n

\n

I’m sixty-three now.<\/p>\n

Dylan is twenty-six.<\/p>\n

Our relationship is not what it was when he was a little boy.<\/p>\n

It never will be.<\/p>\n

That boy existed.<\/p>\n

So did the man who hit me.<\/p>\n

I no longer erase one version to make the other easier to love.<\/p>\n

He comes over sometimes.<\/p>\n

He calls before coming.<\/p>\n

If I say I’m busy, he says:<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. Another day.\u201d<\/p>\n

The first time he said that, I sat alone after the call and cried.<\/p>\n

Because three years earlier, no<\/strong> had earned me a slap.<\/p>\n

Now it was simply an answer.<\/p>\n

\n

I still have the tablecloth.<\/p>\n

There is a tiny coffee stain near one corner from that morning.<\/p>\n

I’ve washed it a dozen times.<\/p>\n

It never disappeared completely.<\/p>\n

I could replace the cloth.<\/p>\n

I don’t want to.<\/p>\n

Not because I enjoy remembering what Dylan did.<\/p>\n

Because I remember what I<\/strong> did afterward.<\/p>\n

For years, I believed being a good mother meant keeping my son from suffering consequences.<\/p>\n

That morning taught me something different.<\/p>\n

Sometimes loving your child means refusing to become the place where his worst behavior can live without consequence.<\/p>\n

Dylan came downstairs smiling because he thought my silence meant I’d learned my place.<\/p>\n

In a way, he was right.<\/p>\n

I had finally learned my place.<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was not beneath my son’s anger.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/section>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dylan entered the kitchen wearing sweatpants and yesterday’s T-shirt. He didn’t notice Robert immediately. His eyes went first to the table. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Coffee. The good plates. Then he looked at me. A satisfied little smile appeared. \u201cSo you finally learned.\u201d Robert shifted in his chair. Dylan froze. The smile vanished. \u201cDad?\u201d \u201cMorning.\u201d Dylan’s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5183,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8514","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-interesting"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8514","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8514"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8514\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8515,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8514\/revisions\/8515"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5183"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8514"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8514"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tappyli.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8514"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}