{"id":325,"date":"2025-11-20T14:58:06","date_gmt":"2025-11-20T14:58:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/?p=325"},"modified":"2025-11-20T14:58:06","modified_gmt":"2025-11-20T14:58:06","slug":"i-married-my-late-husbands-best-friend-but-on-our-wedding-night","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/?p=325","title":{"rendered":"I Married My Late Husband\u2019s Best Friend \u2014 but on Our Wedding Night"},"content":{"rendered":"\r\n\r\nI accepted my late husband’s closest friend’s proposal of marriage because I believed I had already dealt with the most difficult aspects of grieving.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHowever, my new husband’s remarks on our wedding night, while we were standing in front of an ancient safe with quivering hands, caused me to reevaluate everything I believed to be true about loyalty, love, and second chances.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nEven at 41, there are still days when I find it hard to believe this is my life.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI had been Peter’s wife for twenty years. In the genuine, messy, lovely way that matters, not in some great, storybook manner.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nOur four-bedroom colonial featured a back porch that needed constant repair and creaking floors. And two children who brought delight, confusion, and commotion to every nook and cranny.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy 19-year-old son is currently enrolled in an engineering program in the west. Just to show that she could, my daughter, who just turned 21, chose a college as far east as she could go.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWithout them, the place feels off. not include my Peter. It’s eerily empty and silent, like if it’s holding its breath.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Our life was ordinary,” Peter liked to say, and he meant it as the highest compliment. Saturday morning soccer matches. While ordering pizza, we would joke about burned dinners. disputes about who should take out the garbage first.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nEven though we both knew that trying to fix things himself would just make them worse, he would still attempt, and I would act irritated as I watched him swear at the kitchen sink.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe wasn’t flawless. He drove me mad at times, for heaven’s sake. However, he was gentle, solid, and provided me with a sense of security that I didn’t even realize I needed until it was gone.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nOn Peter’s way home from work six years ago, a drunk driver ran a red light. I recall sobbing on the porch when a policeman knocked on my home.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI have little recollection of the weeks that followed. Only pieces.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI can still picture my daughter crying in the restroom. My son is becoming quiet and shutting down entirely. At two in the morning, I was standing in the center of the kitchen, gazing at Peter’s coffee mug that was still next to the sink.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAnd Daniel was there through it all.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan was more than just Peter’s pal. In every significant way, they were brothers. They had grown up three houses away, made it through college together on ramen and poor choices, and when they were 22 and too poor to pay for motels, they took a road trip across the nation.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan has his own issues. He was trying his best to co-parent a little girl who deserved better than the disaster her parents had created after getting married young and getting divorced after three years.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe never disparaged his former partner. Never pretended to be the victim. I always admired such quality about him.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan simply appeared when Peter passed away. He didn’t wait for my permission or ask what I needed. Peter had been putting off fixing the garbage disposal, but he did it. When I neglected to eat, he brought groceries. He sat with my son in the garage and gave him some scrap wood and a hammer to work out his anger.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAt no point did Dan make it about him.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nOne evening, perhaps four months after the burial, I told him, “You don’t have to keep doing this.” In the hallway, he was changing a lightbulb, which I could have done myself but hadn’t bothered to do.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWithout turning to face me, he answered, “I know,” but added, “But Pete would’ve done it for me.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThat was the end of it. No hidden agenda. No secret agenda. A man honoring his commitment to his closest friend.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI didn’t initially recognize the feelings because they came on so gradually.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThree years had passed since Peter’s passing. My children were getting back on their feet. I was learning to be more than a widow; I was learning to be a human. I didn’t realize I needed the space Dan had given me because he wasn’t around as much.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHowever, I phoned him without giving it much thought when my kitchen sink began to leak at 11 p.m. one night.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWith a toolbox in hand, he arrived wearing sweats and an old college T-shirt.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe said, “You know you could’ve just turned off the water and called a plumber in the morning,” as he bent down to see beneath the sink.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI said, “I could’ve,” as I leaned over the counter. “But you’re cheaper!”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe chuckled. And a movement occurred in my chest.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nIt wasn’t overly dramatic. Neither cinematic moments nor fireworks were present. At midnight, when it was just the two of us in my kitchen, I realized that I no longer felt alone.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWe settled into what I can only characterize as comfortable throughout the course of the following year. Sunday morning coffee. Friday night movie nights. lengthy discussions about everything and nothing. My children were the first to notice.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDuring winter break, my daughter stated, “Mom, you know Dan’s in love with you, right?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“What? No, we’re just friends.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nShe looked at me. The one who claimed that I was the naive teenager and she was the adult.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Mom, come on!”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI had no idea what to do with that knowledge. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to use it for anything. Even after Peter had been gone for four years, I still felt guilty about thinking about someone else.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan didn’t push, though. I never asked for more than I was willing to provide. Perhaps that’s what made it acceptable. made it seem more like life simply going on and less like a betrayal.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWe were sitting on my porch watching the sun set when he finally told me how he felt. I had provided the wine, and he had brought Chinese food.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“I need to tell you something,” he began without looking at me. “And you can tell me to leave and never come back if you want. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy heart began to race. “Dan\u2026”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe said, as if he were admitting to a crime, “I’m in love with you, Isabel.” “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I know it’s wrong. I know Pete was my best friend. But I can’t help it.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI should have been taken aback. It should have taken some time to process. In actuality, though, I had known. For months, perhaps. Perhaps more time.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“It’s not wrong,” I said to myself. “I feel it too.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAt last, he turned to face me, and I noticed tears in his eyes.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Are you sure? Because I can’t become another loss for you. I can’t be something you regret.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI said, “I’m sure,” and I meant it.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nPeople weren’t immediately informed. We wanted to be sure that it wasn’t merely convenience, grief, or some perverse method of clinging to Peter.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHowever, we began allowing people in after six months, when it became evident that this was true.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nIn their different ways, my children offered assistance. Though he was more reserved about it, my son shook Dan’s hand and remarked, “Dad would’ve wanted Mom to be happy.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy daughter sobbed and gave us each a hug.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHowever, I was afraid of Peter’s mother. Her only kid had died. How could I possibly let her know that I was seeing his best buddy again?\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy hands trembled the whole time I invited her over for coffee.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI started to say, “I need to tell you something,” but she interrupted.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“You’re with Daniel.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI went cold. “How did you\u2026?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nShe held my hands across the table and said, “I have eyes, sweetheart. And I’m not blind.” “Peter loved you both so much. If he could pick someone to take care of you, to make you happy, it would’ve been Dan.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI broke down in tears. couldn’t resist.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nforcefully, “You’re not betraying him,” she stated. “You’re living. That’s what he would’ve wanted.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThus, we became engaged. Not very fancy. In the same kitchen where he had replaced my sink years earlier, it was just Dan on his knees.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe stated, “I can’t promise perfect,” “But I can promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI said to him, “That’s all I need,”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nIt was a tiny wedding. Only close friends and relatives in my backyard. We had arranged borrowed chairs on the grass and strung lights between the maple trees. I wore a basic cream dress\u2014nothing fancy. Dan looked flawless in his navy suit, both anxious and joyful.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nOur own vows were written. I started crying at what he said.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“I promise to honor the man who brought us together, even though he’s not here. I promise to love you in all the ways you deserve. And I promise that every single day, I’ll try to be the kind of man who’s worthy of you.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThe reception was just what we had hoped for. informal. Warm. Actual. Everyone laughed and wept during my daughter’s toast. I nearly burst out laughing when Dan’s 13-year-old daughter got up and said, “I’m really glad my dad found someone who makes him smile again.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI felt lighter than I have in years as we drove to Dan’s house (now our home) after the last visitors had left. I might actually be able to achieve this. I might be able to find happiness once more.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI kicked off my heels and went to wash my face, still feeling the warmth of all those hugs and catching glimpses of everyone’s grins. I thought Dan would be at ease and possibly out of his suit when I returned to the bedroom.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe was in front of the closet safe instead. His hands were shaking and his back was stiff.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Dan?” I asked, attempting to defuse any tension that might have gotten into the room with a little giggle. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe didn’t look back. did not respond. appeared to be still as he stood there.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Dan, seriously. You’re scaring me.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI gasped when he turned around at last because of the expression on his face. Guilt was the cause. Unadulterated, overwhelming shame. And another thing: fear.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“There’s something I have to show you,” he said. “Something in the safe\u2026 that you need to read. Before we\u2026 before our first night as a married couple.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy stomach fell. “What are you talking about?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe typed the code with trembling hands. In the silent chamber, the safe opened with a loud click.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe said, “I’m sorry,” and his voice broke. “I should’ve told you sooner.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe produced a simple white envelope that appeared to have been handled too much due to its worn edges. There was an ancient phone inside.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThere was a fracture in the screen. Prayers most likely kept the battery intact.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI said, “What’s this?” in a smaller-than-intended voice.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“My old phone.” He waited for it to light up after pressing the power button. “My daughter found it a few weeks ago. I hadn’t seen it in years. I charged it, and I found\u2026”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe turned the screen toward me, trailed off, and opened the messages.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nHe and Peter were having a talk. from seven years prior. prior to Peter’s passing.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan scrolled up to show me their back and forth as I watched. At first, it’s typical guy stuff. Sports-related jokes. Going to get some beer. Then the topic of discussion changed. Dan had been ranting about something, and I could tell.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan: Man, I’m not sure. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be as fortunate as you are when I see what you have. You know, Isabel and you simply work.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nPeter: It will be found. It simply takes time.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan: Perhaps. But really, you’re in luck with her. She is incredible. You realize how fortunate you are?\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAnd I gasped at Peter’s response:\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nPeter: Don’t. Really? Avoid going there.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nA pause. Next:\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nPeter: Make me a vow that you won’t ever try anything with her. Never. She is my spouse. Don’t go over the boundary.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI gazed at the text until it became hazy. My hands became numb. Now I could see what had transpired. Dan had made the error of openly admiring what Peter had, while going through his own divorce and likely feeling lost and broken. Furthermore, Peter had established a distinct boundary since he was possessive and protective, just like a loving husband.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThe words “I’d completely forgotten this conversation existed,” were uttered. He sounded trembling. “I was in such a bad place back then.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy marriage was falling apart. I was watching you and Pete at the barbecue, seeing how good you were together, and I said something stupid. I never planned anything back then. I swear to God, Isabel. You were his wife. My buddy’s wife. I never even let myself think about you that way.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nWith his head in his hands, he took a seat on the bed’s edge.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan glanced up at me, and I had never seen him seem so devastated. “When we started getting closer after he died, it wasn’t some long game. It wasn’t manipulation. It just\u2026 happened. And by then, Pete had been gone for years. But when I found this message\u2026”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“We’d already sent out the invitations. We’d already booked everything. And I panicked. Because what if I did break my promise? What if I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable? God, what if I’m the worst kind of person?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI went cold.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“I need you to tell me the truth,” he replied. “Do you think I manipulated you? Do you think I used your grief to get what I wanted?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Dan\u2026”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Because if you do, we can end this right now. I’ll sleep on the couch. We’ll figure out an annulment. Whatever you need.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI looked at this newlywed man who was so afraid of hurting me that he was offering to leave on our wedding night.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI questioned, “Do you love me?”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“Yes, God, yes.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI gripped his face in my hands, stepped forward, and forced him to look at me.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nBy whispering, “Peter didn’t plan to die,” I said. “He didn’t know what would happen. And if he could see us right now, I think he’d be relieved. Of all the men in the world, I ended up with someone good. Someone who never pushed me. Someone who never used my pain against me. Someone who’s torturing himself over a text message from seven years ago.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nDan started crying.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI went on, “You didn’t break a promise,” “Life happened. We both survived something horrible, and we found each other on the other side. That’s not a betrayal. That’s just being human.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“I was so scared to tell you,” he muttered.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n“I know. And that’s exactly why I know you’re the right person.”\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThen we shared a kiss. Not the ecstatic, ravenous kiss you might anticipate on a wedding night. There was more to this. Something that exposed all of our wounds, anxieties, and complex past, making it feel like we were choosing each other all over again.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThat night, in the silence, we reaffirmed our vows. promises that were entirely focused on the future we were creating together and had nothing to do with the past.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nTwo months have passed since then.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nI know I made the correct decision every morning when I wake up beside Dan. Not because it was straightforward, uncomplicated, or easy. Because perfection isn’t what love is all about. It’s about being there, even when it’s difficult. Being honest, even when it hurts, is important.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy story will always include Peter. He gave me two amazing children, twenty years of happiness, and a foundation of love that will last a lifetime. But my story doesn’t finish with him.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy second chapter is Dan. Perhaps that’s what no one teaches you about grieving, getting over it, and moving on.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThe people you lose are not replaced. You have to remember them. However, you also continue to live.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nMy age is forty-one. I’ve had two wives. When I thought it was impossible, I found love again after burying someone I loved.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nAnd if I’ve discovered anything, it’s that the heart is stronger than we realize. Even if it breaks, it will continue to beat. It is capable of multiple loves without undermining the previous ones.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nSo, I’m here to tell anyone who’s worried that they don’t deserve happiness because they’ve waited too long, loved the wrong person, or made too many errors. Life rarely goes as planned and is often chaotic and complex.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n
\"\"<\/figure>\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nBut occasionally, if we’re extremely fortunate, everything goes according to plan.\r\n\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I accepted my late husband’s closest friend’s proposal of marriage because I believed I had already dealt with the most difficult aspects of grieving.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":326,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-325","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-viral-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/325","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=325"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/325\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":327,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/325\/revisions\/327"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/326"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=325"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=325"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/davisrubin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=325"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}