{"id":812,"date":"2025-12-17T10:25:32","date_gmt":"2025-12-17T10:25:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/?p=812"},"modified":"2025-12-17T10:25:36","modified_gmt":"2025-12-17T10:25:36","slug":"the-other-half-of-my-heart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/?p=812","title":{"rendered":"The Other Half of My Heart"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div class=\"wp-block-cover aligncenter is-light mycontentblock has-medium-font-size wp-duotone-var--ast-global-color-4-ffffff-1\" style=\"margin-top:0;margin-bottom:var(--wp--preset--spacing--50);padding-top:0;padding-bottom:0;min-height:73px;aspect-ratio:unset;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"186\" class=\"wp-block-cover__image-background wp-image-198 size-large\" alt=\"\" src=\"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1024x186.png\" style=\"object-position:50% 50%\" data-object-fit=\"cover\" data-object-position=\"50% 50%\" srcset=\"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1024x186.png 1024w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-300x54.png 300w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-768x139.png 768w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1536x279.png 1536w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-2048x372.png 2048w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1320x239.png 1320w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><span aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-cover__background has-background-dim-0 has-background-dim\"><\/span><div class=\"wp-block-cover__inner-container is-layout-constrained wp-block-cover-is-layout-constrained\">\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center my-cover-title has-ast-global-color-8-color has-ast-global-color-5-background-color has-text-color has-background has-link-color has-small-font-size wp-elements-b6fef6418ed68a33e4d84f8701cbd8c8\"><strong>The Other Half of My Heart<br><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-01b88811b3c8ecb99c4bfb50abc20c86\">The scent of pine and fresh-cut grass used to feel like home to me, but now it just felt like a constant, quiet reminder of how much I was struggling. <strong>It had been nearly a year since I married David, and his daughter, Clara, was still an island I couldn\u2019t seem to reach.<\/strong> She was ten, all sharp edges and silent accusations, her movements stiff and reserved like a fragile piece of porcelain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n    atOptions = {\n        'key' : '9e49f4ce267f7bab92bbdb38b733742b',\n        'format' : 'iframe',\n        'height' : 90,\n        'width' : 728,\n        'params' : {}\n    };\n<\/script>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\" src=\"\/\/brillianceremisswhistled.com\/9e49f4ce267f7bab92bbdb38b733742b\/invoke.js\"><\/script>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-684fe54750a6b167b530b5f18aea4a30\">Her mother, Sarah, David\u2019s first wife, had passed away from a sudden illness two years prior. Sarah\u2019s memory, a loving ghost in their comfortable suburban house in Ohio, seemed to stand guard, making sure I never truly settled in. <strong>Clara barely spoke to me, offering one-word answers or a dismissive shrug<\/strong> when I tried to engage her. She spoke volumes with her silence, and the message was clear: I was an intruder, a pale imitation of the woman she truly missed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-1067d21c00a03448059fc9741b5b5ed7\">David, bless his heart, tried his best to bridge the chasm. He\u2019d suggest family movie nights, which Clara would attend with the practiced reluctance of a hostage, or weekend trips that usually ended with her retreating into her room, headphones on. He knew how much I wanted to connect with her, how much it hurt me to see her hurting and to feel like I was the cause of her isolation. He\u2019d gently remind me, \u201cShe just needs time, honey. It\u2019s not you, it\u2019s the grief.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-db198d337484a2634a28b4ac7ff5f54e\">I spent my days trying to walk on eggshells and make myself invisible, focusing on redecorating the guest room, now my office, or working in the small patch of garden in the backyard. I was a freelance graphic designer, and my work, <strong>usually a source of satisfaction, felt thin and meaningless compared to the emotional weight of our house.<\/strong> I tried cooking her favorite meals, the ones David had listed for me\u2014spaghetti with meatballs, lemon chicken\u2014but she\u2019d only pick at them, her small, pointed chin set firmly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-801f12a4a7d5e6037b809ba7ee1dc339\">One cold Tuesday evening, about eleven months into my marriage, David was working late at the hospital. A major accident had left him on call for the whole night. The house felt cavernously large and unnervingly quiet. I was curled up on the sofa with a book, the pages a blur, when I heard a soft creak on the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-51e53a9d04d23190affa51c281ce3912\">Clara stood at the edge of the living room carpet, clutching a worn-out teddy bear named Bartholomew. His fur was matted, and one of his plastic eyes was missing, a sure sign of deep, long-standing affection. Her red pajamas, covered in tiny, faded stars, hung loosely on her small frame. Her usually hard gaze was clouded, her bottom lip trembling just slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-3e0fccf56798d9cacb3c8753daa1b4fa\">\u201cCan I sit with you?\u201d she whispered, the words barely audible. It was the longest sentence she\u2019d addressed to me since I moved in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-a07118642e4019bcf65dc7f21ba45da6\">I set my book aside slowly, careful not to startle her. \u201cOf course, sweetie,\u201d I said, patting the cushion next to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-2c898401c2abd114cb471efce1f752e7\">She walked over, hesitant, and settled down about two feet away. The silence stretched out again, but this time, it felt less hostile, more expectant. She tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, staring intently at the crackling gas fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-1a354018bf2ed5448021566232a97d81\">\u201cDo you believe in angels, Alex?\u201d she asked suddenly, her voice thin but serious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-a9bede55633784cc49d7ba3968cd0bc3\">The question caught me completely off guard. It wasn\u2019t the kind of thing I expected from the fiercely pragmatic girl I thought I knew. I took a deep breath, trying to formulate an answer that wasn\u2019t too religious, too dismissive, or too clinical.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b74929444826c1ffdb6c55f6bd3735f4\">\u201cI believe in love, Clara,\u201d I said, keeping my tone gentle and steady. \u201cAnd I believe that the people we love, the people who shape us, they find ways to stay close. Maybe not in the way they used to, but their love never really leaves us. It becomes a part of who we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-7c6c6a1f3a69e909854d6ec2258c0145\">She turned her head then, her eyes, the same warm brown as David\u2019s, searching mine. It felt like the first time she had really looked at me. \u201cMom used to tell me that she\u2019d always be my star, even if I couldn\u2019t see her,\u201d she confessed, her voice thick with unshed tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-c20b7a8b9ad7f6f6d0b87bd0029eefc0\">\u201cShe sounds like a very wise woman,\u201d I replied softly. \u201cAnd I\u2019m sure she is. A big, bright star. Stars are always there, aren\u2019t they? Even in the daytime, they\u2019re just hidden by the sun. Your mom\u2019s love is like that. It\u2019s always there, even when the pain of missing her covers it up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-d0b9bc3a0a48f0190a856452ce439f86\">She didn\u2019t respond immediately. She just rested her head against the armrest and closed her eyes, clutching Bartholomew tight. I didn\u2019t push, didn\u2019t try to fill the quiet with awkward assurances. I just sat there, breathing in the shared air of the silent room, a tiny, tentative connection forming between us in the soft glow of the firelight. After a while, I heard the even, shallow rhythm of her breathing, and I knew she was asleep. I carried her to bed, tucked her in, and the act felt natural, not forced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-fcec30d78bb71141272049a86480115a\">A whole week went by after that conversation, and the dynamic didn\u2019t instantly shift into a heartwarming movie montage. Clara remained mostly quiet, but her silences were no longer loaded with palpable resentment. They were just\u2026 quiet. She started nodding when I asked if she wanted a sandwich, and once, she actually used a full sentence: \u201cThe book report is due Friday.\u201d Baby steps, I told myself, marveling at the small victory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-fe553cdb05e1acd3bc3dba6cc6e0517f\">Then came the following Tuesday. I was preparing to leave for a meeting with a new client when Clara approached me in the hallway. She wasn\u2019t wearing her usual stiff expression; she looked nervous, almost vulnerable. In her small, upturned palm, she held a silver chain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-130365ad433223f8f27ed8b2d8bd85ab\">Dangling from the chain was a pendant: a silver heart, cleanly split down the middle. One half of the heart was smooth and polished. The other half, the one in her hand, had a delicate, swirling script engraved on its surface, too small for me to read from a distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-adda3788893859d0cf1d9731df4c96e8\">\u201cI want you to have this,\u201d she said, holding it out to me. Her gaze was fixed on the carpet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-6e9cdc2396cb9a38426d11a686f6e05e\">I hesitated, feeling a sudden, tight lump form in my throat. \u201cClara, this looks really special. Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-af6dda2a0f356569adc35e4cfb416779\">She nodded quickly. \u201cIt belonged to Mom. She had the other half, the one with the smooth side, on a tiny little chain, tucked into her jewelry box. The lady at the shop said they were meant to be two halves of the same heart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-fcd77046fe1f6f6dccc9a8ce2f474ef0\">She finally lifted her eyes, and they were shining with earnestness. \u201cMom told me that she and my Grandma\u2014her mom\u2014were going to wear them. They were going to have the words engraved, \u2018Always and Forever,\u2019 when Grandma came back from her trip, but she\u2026 she died before she got back. And then Mom died before she ever got to wear it, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-cb4c2de15d659468ae1becfc7aa88690\">My breath hitched. David had told me that Sarah\u2019s mother, Clara\u2019s paternal grandmother, had died suddenly in a hiking accident a few years before Sarah herself passed away. I knew David had a complicated relationship with his own mother, but I never pressed for details.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-682e54765079ae2b87f711ec5c8bc106\">Clara continued, rushing the words out now, as if afraid I\u2019d interrupt her. \u201cI took Mom\u2019s half, the smooth one, and had the inscription put on this one instead. Because you said that the people we love stay close. And this is how Mom can stay close to you, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-cf5773b93230cbf6dce155acaa8564dd\">I took the small, cold piece of silver from her hand, my fingers brushing hers. On the smooth half of the heart, I could now clearly see the inscription she had organized: Always.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-61f5ce3d8d330bb305122abf6787bf1c\">\u201cYou did this for me?\u201d I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-cb55a2e5f1076907d47223402e91e36f\">Clara shuffled her feet, looking down again. \u201cWell, you\u2019re the one who is here now. And David said you needed the other half of our family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-892091cee1d275463ca16dd393d03b03\">I fought back the tears that were blurring my vision. This was more than a necklace; it was a surrender, an invitation, a shared piece of grief and hope. I reached for her, and this time, she didn\u2019t flinch away. She stepped into my embrace, and I held her tightly, the fragile metal digging into my palm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-3c83139b6c192de7e3ca1c28653976c0\">\u201cThank you, Clara. This is the most beautiful gift I\u2019ve ever received,\u201d I murmured against her hair, which smelled faintly of lemon shampoo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-05682ea0f916e1a28915ad971774b275\">Later that afternoon, when I came home from my meeting, I told David about the necklace and the conversation we\u2019d had. His face softened with a mixture of pride and relief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-915c3682271639b7f026948dd540aac6\">\u201cI knew she\u2019d come around,\u201d he said, pulling me into a hug. \u201cShe just needed to see that you understood her pain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-2763d70f00f46f6fb77a25f32f123ecb\">\u201cBut who has the other half, David? The one with the \u2018Forever\u2019 inscription?\u201d I asked, holding up the piece she had given me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-45c1529aa6aca12e0791781e6d1eb7e9\">He paused, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. \u201cThere\u2019s no \u2018Forever\u2019 half, honey. I only ever bought one necklace for Sarah, and I was going to give it to her on our anniversary. It was just a complete heart, no split, no inscription. She died before I could give it to her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ef1ea77471e1ec6003afc14f71a2411b\">My brow furrowed. \u201cBut Clara said Sarah was going to wear it with her mom, your mother, and that they had it split, and that the \u2018Forever\u2019 inscription was meant for the other half.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-f752990f08f45c06ca720bbb562896b6\">David shook his head slowly, a gentle, sad smile playing on his lips. \u201cI don\u2019t know where she got that story, Alex. Maybe she made it up to make the necklace seem more important, or perhaps it\u2019s an imaginary memory from her grief. She\u2019s ten, remember. She\u2019s processing things in her own way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-66b4a0de830af7616770b4bd58e09714\">I looked down at the silver half heart resting against my collarbone. Clara had said the smooth side, Always, was Sarah\u2019s half, and she had the inscription moved to my half.<strong> But if David only ever bought one complete heart, and he never gave it to Sarah, then where did the smooth half come from?<\/strong> And why did Clara claim David\u2019s mother was going to wear it? The piece in my hand was real. The story felt real, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ef2f14bcc48afb8cf8f4997a8d2b187c\">I decided not to press David any further. The connection with Clara was too precious to risk shattering with questions. She\u2019d given me a story and a symbol of belonging, and that was enough. I would wear it, cherish it, and let the mystery remain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-8479dfb4139d399b901176c00af4a818\">A few months later, I found myself going through some old boxes in the attic, looking for a misplaced photo album of my own childhood. Tucked away in a dusty corner, underneath a heavy wool blanket, was a small, ornate wooden box that I\u2019d never seen before. It wasn\u2019t David\u2019s style, and I knew it wasn\u2019t mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-854bfece9f9af8d05c8f3e834bc9db0a\">Curiosity won out. I opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of old, faded velvet, was the other half of the silver heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-109a3bb18b690fef75799b68a2f45363\">This half, however, was engraved with the word: Forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-92c6aa0b2fc85c2c62c35ccf3e8c1b61\">But there was more. Tucked beside the pendant was a tiny, yellowed photograph. It was a picture of a younger Sarah, holding a baby Clara. Sarah wasn\u2019t looking at the camera; she was looking down at the baby with an expression of pure, unconditional love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-a2b6e5d9af582493baff55ac435695fe\">And around Sarah\u2019s neck, on a thin silver chain, was the Always half of the heart, the one Clara had claimed was hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-4137ee6f9840d4c42020fdb709bac5e1\">My mind raced. Clara hadn\u2019t been making up a story about her mother owning the necklace. She hadn\u2019t just made up the story about the two halves. David had been the one who had been wrong, or perhaps, he hadn\u2019t known the full truth. Sarah had owned one of the halves, the one with Always, and she had clearly worn it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-9e5ae9a4b9cf3c5519dbca0de48f4372\">But who was the Forever half for? And why was it hidden in a box in the attic?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e18fbbebd5efab7b566e7c2dcdafac7c\">My gaze drifted back to the small photograph. Sarah\u2019s face, etched with that serene, loving expression, seemed to hold the answer. And then I noticed the delicate silver chain David\u2019s mother wore in a family photo I\u2019d seen in the living room, a picture David had told me was taken right before her death. I remembered David\u2019s distant relationship with his mother and Sarah\u2019s desire to connect with her own mother\u2019s memory. It all clicked into place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-44a7c6cb96759ee820d5766a8def06f1\">Sarah must have bought the necklace set for herself and David\u2019s mother, hoping to create a bond, a shared symbol of family that David perhaps struggled to see or accept. She must have wanted that connection badly. When both women died tragically, the necklace became a symbol of a dream unfulfilled, a reminder of the two people David had lost. Maybe he hadn\u2019t known about the split, or maybe he simply couldn\u2019t bear to acknowledge the plan because it reminded him of his own complicated history with his mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e2752ef1a25a103b15604ebadfcf522e\">When I looked at my own half, the one Clara gave me, the pieces connected again. She hadn\u2019t made up the story about her mother having one, and she hadn\u2019t made up the story about a missing half. Clara, in her ten-year-old wisdom, had seen a fissure in our family\u2014a missing piece. She had given me Sarah\u2019s Always half, passing on a piece of her mother\u2019s love and longing for connection, and by doing so, she had symbolically filled the gap, accepting me as the person who would help complete the circle of love her mother had started. She hadn\u2019t given me her mother\u2019s necklace; she had given me the one her mother had worn, the one that represented a wish for unity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-3d2575b2ddd66624da6742f78d89160a\">The original \u2018Always\u2019 inscription that Sarah had worn was still faintly visible on my half of the heart. Clara had engraved Always on the piece she gave me, symbolically connecting me to Sarah\u2019s legacy of love. The smooth half was the one David purchased, the one that was supposed to be his. The piece in my hands, the one Clara had handed over, was the real one, the one that meant I was now a part of their circle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-6ef4f5a61f000907eb37bc14b748eb54\">I closed the lid of the box, the Forever half safely inside. I would keep it there, a silent promise to honor the women who came before me. I didn\u2019t need to ask <strong>David about it or show him the evidence. I understood that the truth of the heart wasn\u2019t in the metal itself,<\/strong> but in the connection Clara and I had finally forged. She had found a way to bridge the chasm of grief and make me family, not by replacing her mother, but by inviting me to hold a piece of her love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b53c79e40fad4db4efe688c356beb0ed\">I realized then that sometimes, the simplest truths are buried beneath the most complex layers of grief and misunderstanding. That silver half-heart, resting against my skin, didn\u2019t just represent Sarah\u2019s love for the family she was building; it represented Clara\u2019s courage to let me into their story. I learned that true connection isn\u2019t about erasing the past or replacing what was lost, but about honoring the love that came before and finding your own genuine place within its enduring light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-ast-global-color-8-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ec3771120a934064b0381e5f663dab88\"><strong>If this story touched your heart, please share it and let others know that love always finds a way.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The scent of pine and fresh-cut grass used to feel like home to me, but now it just felt like a constant, quiet reminder of how much I was struggling. It had been nearly a year since I married David, and his daughter, Clara, was still an island I couldn\u2019t seem to reach. She was &#8230; <a title=\"The Other Half of My Heart\" class=\"read-more\" href=\"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/?p=812\" aria-label=\"Read more about The Other Half of My Heart\">Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":813,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-812","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/812","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=812"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/812\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":814,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/812\/revisions\/814"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/813"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=812"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=812"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=812"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}