On the third day of our marriage, my husband kicked the table and shouted, “A wife has to be beaten if you want her to obey.” I didn’t cry. I took out my phone, started recording, and asked him to repeat who had taught him that.<\/p>\n
“In this house, the wife hands over her salary, serves dinner, and learns to keep quiet,” Marvin said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “If she doesn’t understand the easy way, she’ll understand the hard way.”<\/p>\n
He said it three days after our civil wedding, right before his boot slammed into the side of the dining room table.<\/p>\n
Plates went flying. Rice spilled across the clean floor. Gravy from the roast chicken soaked into my new pants. A shard of broken ceramic grazed my left ankle, leaving a thin red line that began to sting.<\/p>\n
I stayed frozen in my chair, my fork still hanging in front of my open mouth, staring at the man who until the week before had called me his sweet darling.<\/p>\n
“My mother warned me about women like you,” Marvin went on, his face flushed from cheap whiskey and sudden anger. “A proper woman knows her place. Your paycheck goes straight into the account she controls.<\/p>\n
You’ll pay the mortgage. You’ll get up at five to make my breakfast. When I come home, I want a hot meal and a cold beer waiting. And when I speak, you stay quiet.”<\/p>\n
I lowered my fork and set it gently on the only plate that had survived.<\/p>\n
“And if I refuse?”<\/p>\n
Marvin took a step toward me, fists clenching at his sides.<\/p>\n
“Then I’ll settle you in right now and teach you how to obey.”<\/p>\n
Standing in that quiet room, I understood that the gentleman from the nice restaurants \u2014 the one who used to ask permission just to hold my hand \u2014 had never existed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He’d been a costume, worn long enough to get me into this marriage.<\/p>\n
His mother, Camryn, had done her own version of it: tolerating me at dinners while quietly asking how much I earned each month, how many children I planned to have, whether my family could cover the wedding.<\/p>\n
I’d swallowed her comments because Marvin swore that once we were married, we’d live our lives our own way.<\/p>\n
I looked down at a fragment of the china my mother had given me when I left home. Then I stood up.<\/p>\n
And instead of crying or begging, I looked Marvin in the eye and laughed.<\/p>\n
“What are you laughing at, you crazy woman?” he roared.<\/p>\n
“I’m laughing because you never once bothered to ask what I actually do for a living down at the municipal recreation center.”<\/p>\n
Before I finished the sentence, he reached across the table and grabbed my arm.<\/p>\n
I twisted my wrist against his thumb, broke his grip, and used his own momentum to take his balance. He stumbled backward and went down hard against the television stand, looking bewildered that a woman a head shorter than him had just put him on the floor.<\/p>\n
He shoved himself up and grabbed a heavy wooden kitchen chair.<\/p>\n
“I’m going to teach you to respect me!” he screamed, hoisting it above his shoulder.<\/p>\n
Dodging it was easy. I’ve trained in karate since I was seven and competed in kickboxing all through college. I’m a black belt and a certified self-defense instructor, and five days a week I teach teenagers how to break out of holds far worse than his.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I stepped inside his guard, stripped the chair out of his hands, and pinned him to the floor. Holding him there with one knee, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera.<\/p>\n
“Now repeat what you just said to me,” I told him, my voice flat. “And explain who taught you that hitting a wife is a normal way to run a household.”<\/p>\n
At first he spat insults, squirming under my weight. Then, when it became clear I had no intention of letting him up until he complied, the anger collapsed into fear.<\/p>\n
“My mom told me to,” he whimpered into the floorboards. “She said take away your debit card, control where you go, and hit you until you obeyed.”<\/p>\n
I reached into his front pocket and pulled out his phone. His conversation with his mother was still open. I tapped the last audio message and played it.<\/p>\n
Camryn’s sharp voice filled the wrecked room.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Put her in her place today, Marvin. If she resists, hit her until she submits, and I’ll come by early tomorrow to see whether she’s learned her lesson.”<\/em><\/p>\n I stopped the playback, slipped both phones into my pocket, and looked down at his terrified face.<\/p>\n “Perfect,” I said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll give your mother exactly the show she’s coming to see.”<\/p>\n Marvin went pale beneath the bruises. He couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen when his mother walked through that door.<\/p>\n The doorbell rang at seven sharp.<\/p>\n Camryn had come an hour earlier than promised, hauling paper bags of breakfast burritos, hot broth, and plastic containers meant exclusively for her boy.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n She walked in without greeting anyone, took in the wrecked living room, and found me sitting on the couch, looking crushed.<\/p>\n My shoulders were hunched. My hands trembled. My voice shook when I spoke.<\/p>\n All of it was an act.<\/p>\n For years I’d watched women arrive at my self-defense classes after living through exactly this. I knew their quiet steps, their lowered eyes, the nervous flutter of their hands.<\/p>\n I imitated every one of those gestures, and she bought it completely.<\/p>\n Marvin sat at the kitchen counter in a high turtleneck to hide the bruises from his fall, looking like he might faint.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Camryn smiled, deeply satisfied. “Is she obedient now, my son?”<\/p>\n “Yes, Mom,” Marvin murmured, eyes glued to the floor.<\/p>\n She lowered herself into the armchair like a queen and ordered a glass of cold water. I hurried to the kitchen, poured it, and handed it to her with both hands, my head bowed.<\/p>\n “Listen to me carefully, girl.” She tapped a long fingernail against the glass. “Your payroll card belongs to me from today. You’ll get up early and take care of my son.<\/p>\n You’ll give up that ridiculous sports nonsense. And by next year you’ll give me a grandchild. In this family, the man rests after work and the woman serves.<\/p>\n The more you learn to bow your head, the less you’ll suffer in this house.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then she reached out, seized my chin, and dug her nails into my jaw to force my face up.<\/p>\n “Your mother should have taught you these rules a long time ago.”<\/p>\n That one struck something.<\/p>\n My own mother had fled an abusive husband when I was small, giving up everything to keep us safe. The person who taught me never to kneel to anyone was Mr. Kenneth \u2014 the grizzled trainer who found me crying on a concrete staircase decades ago and took me into his neighborhood dojo.<\/p>\n I slapped her hand away from my face, straightened up, and looked down at her.<\/p>\n “Address me properly. And don’t touch me again.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The smile vanished from her face.<\/p>\n “My salary is mine,” I said, looking at them both. “Marvin has two working hands and can make his own breakfast. I will never be anyone’s servant, and my body is not a grandchild factory for your family.”<\/p>\n Camryn gasped and wheeled on her son.<\/p>\n “Hit her, Marvin! Make her respect you!”<\/p>\n Marvin took a fearful step backward into the corner of the kitchen.<\/p>\n “I can’t, Mom,” he whispered.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “What do you mean, you can’t?” she roared, coming up out of the chair.<\/p>\n I walked to the counter and laid down a blue folder holding my instructor licenses and black belt certificates. Then, with a deliberate click, I set my phone beside them.<\/p>\n “Yesterday your son destroyed our dining table, threatened me with violence, and confessed on video that you told him to hit me,” I said calmly. “I have the audio.<\/p>\n I have photographs of the damage. I have his confession. If either of you touches me or threatens me again, I’ll walk into the Prosecutor’s Office and request protective measures.”<\/p>\n The older woman sank onto the sofa, all the air going out of her.<\/p>\n I pulled a second folder from my bag and spread the papers out where she could see them.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “These are the deeds, the bank vouchers, and the receipts for this apartment. I paid the entire down payment with my own money, and I paid for the remodel.<\/p>\n Marvin’s savings are still under your control \u2014 he contributed nothing to this home.”<\/p>\n Then I walked to the entrance, picked up my packed suitcase, and stood by the open door.<\/p>\n “Barbara,” Marvin stammered, his eyes filling. “Please don’t leave. We can start over.”<\/p>\n “You never wanted a wife, Marvin,” I said. “You wanted a free employee who was too frightened to quit.”<\/p>\n I opened the door wide and looked back at Camryn one last time.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Women aren’t born to obey blows, ma’am. And the system you built to control people is going to turn on you eventually.”<\/p>\n I carried my suitcase down the concrete stairs into the cool Columbus morning. Jimmy, my colleague, was already waiting in his car to take me to the sports center.<\/p>\n On the drive he told me to document everything, get a full medical evaluation at a clinic, and never meet Marvin alone.<\/p>\n That afternoon, teaching a full class of teenage girls, I understood with total clarity that my marriage was over.<\/p>\n I also understood that Camryn would never accept losing control of her son without trying to destroy me publicly.<\/p>\n Five days later, she showed up at my workplace with two large women from her neighborhood, shouting my name in front of dozens of my students.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “That woman hit my son, stole his money, and almost killed me with her rage!” Camryn shouted at the main entrance of the municipal sports center. “I want the director, now!<\/p>\n A violent criminal can’t be allowed to work with children!”<\/p>\n I was leading warm-ups for my advanced class. Twenty of us were running laps around the indoor court when the commotion reached us from the lobby. Camryn stood there in a bright red winter coat, flanked by two robust acquaintances who nodded aggressively at every accusation without knowing a thing about the truth.<\/p>\n I raised a hand and stopped the group.<\/p>\n “Everyone go into the locker rooms, please.”<\/p>\n Nobody moved.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jimmy came out of the coaches’ office with a serious look. Behind him came Patrick, an eighteen-year-old who’d joined the club two years earlier after dropping out of school.<\/p>\n Kimberly, a quiet preschool teacher taking my classes because a man kept harassing her on the bus, stepped out into the hall.<\/p>\n Without me asking, my students formed a line behind my back.<\/p>\n Camryn marched forward until she was a meter from my face.<\/p>\n “Look at her, so brave with her little street gang.” She gestured at them. “At my house she played the innocent victim. In reality she beat up my son.”<\/p>\n I took out my phone and opened the voice recorder.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Repeat that for the record, ma’am. You’re publicly stating that I stole money and attacked Marvin for no reason.”<\/p>\n “That’s exactly what I’m saying!”<\/p>\n “Then we can also play the message where you ordered him to take my payroll card and beat me until I obeyed.”<\/p>\n The two companions stopped nodding and exchanged a glance. Camryn’s lips pressed into a thin line.<\/p>\n “You won’t intimidate me with lawyer words, girl,” she spat. “Everyone knows where you come from. Your father drank and beat people for fun. People like you always turn out the same.”<\/p>\n The insult echoed off the concrete walls.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I felt the old childhood pain go through me, sharp as ever. And I realized, standing there, that it no longer had any power over my life.<\/p>\n “That’s true,” I said evenly. “My father was a violent man, and my mother got us out however she could. I learned young exactly what happens when a whole neighborhood stays quiet.<\/p>\n That’s precisely why I’m not going to hide what you tried to do to me.”<\/p>\n I turned the glowing screen toward her.<\/p>\n “I have his audio. I have your son’s confession. I have photographs of the apartment and a medical report from the clinic. I’ve briefed the center’s administration on all of it.<\/p>\n If you keep harassing me at my workplace, I’ll file a criminal complaint.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Camryn looked around the room and froze.<\/p>\n Parents and students had their own phones out, recording her.<\/p>\n Her two companions edged backward.<\/p>\n “Let’s go home, Camryn,” one whispered, tugging at her red sleeve. “You didn’t say anything about recordings.”<\/p>\n “Shut your mouth!” Camryn snapped, shaking her off.<\/p>\n She lunged for my phone. Jimmy stepped into her path without laying a finger on her.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “The lady asked you to leave, ma’am,” he said in a low warning tone.<\/p>\n Patrick moved up beside him. Then Kimberly. Then the whole advanced class, as one.<\/p>\n No threats. No violence. Just a wall of people who had decided nobody was going to humiliate me again.<\/p>\n For the first time in her life, Camryn found that shouting didn’t win her the room. She wasn’t the feared matriarch here. She was an intruder harassing a respected employee in front of dozens of witnesses.<\/p>\n She left hurling insults, dragging her embarrassed companions with her.<\/p>\n That was the last time she came to my workplace.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n That night my family lawyer, Mr. Raymond, went through all the new recordings in his quiet office. He was a kind, white-haired man who’d known my mother for years, and he listened to every file without interrupting once.<\/p>\n “You did the right thing documenting all of this,” he said, taking off his glasses. “But understand something. Marvin will try to present himself as the victim, because he’s the one who ended up hurt.<\/p>\n We need to prove you acted to stop an active attack and left as soon as you safely could. No private meetings. No unrecorded calls. Everything in writing from here.”<\/p>\n We followed him exactly.<\/p>\n I submitted the photographs of the destroyed table, the finger marks on my arm, the scratch on my jaw, and the audio of Camryn’s instructions. Marvin received a legal notice to stay away from me while the police reviewed the facts.<\/p>\n He didn’t come to the sports center again, though he sent dozens of contradictory texts. First he apologized. Then he blamed me for his mother’s sudden hospitalization.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then he begged for another chance.<\/p>\n I never answered a single one.<\/p>\n Camryn had, in fact, ended up in the emergency room with a blood pressure crisis brought on by her public humiliation. But her hospital stay created a problem nobody had anticipated.<\/p>\n Marvin rushed to the pharmacy to buy her prescriptions and discovered he had almost no cash. He couldn’t remember the PIN for the account where his mother kept all his savings.<\/p>\n And Camryn \u2014 hooked to an IV, stubborn and furious \u2014 refused to give him back his own debit card.<\/p>\n In front of several stunned nurses, mother and son had a screaming argument in the middle of the ward.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “I’m thirty-two years old and I can’t buy my own things without your permission!” Marvin shouted.<\/p>\n “Everything you have is thanks to my work!” she screamed back. “You don’t know how to live one day without me!”<\/p>\n For the first time in his life, Marvin heard the exact words he had tried to impose on me.<\/p>\n Two weeks later he agreed to mediation at a coffee shop near the courthouse. I came with Mr. Raymond. Marvin came alone \u2014 dark circles under his eyes, an unkempt beard, a stained sweatshirt.<\/p>\n “My mom doesn’t live with me anymore,” he said before he even sat down. “She packed up and went to her sister’s out in the country.”<\/p>\n I didn’t answer.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My lawyer set the divorce documents on the table. The terms were simple: an immediate divorce, full return of the money I’d contributed to the down payment, and a mutual waiver of claims on personal property.<\/p>\n I agreed not to drag the process out publicly, so long as he respected the restraining order and signed.<\/p>\n Marvin stared at the pages for a long time.<\/p>\n “Is there really nothing left between us, Barbara?”<\/p>\n “What you broke that night wasn’t a kitchen table, Marvin. It was my sense of safety. And without safety, there’s no marriage.”<\/p>\n “I was angry,” he stammered, looking at his hands. “My mom filled my head with nonsense about how to treat a wife.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Your mother raised you badly. That’s true. But you were the one who picked up the chair,” I said. “You chose to obey her cruelty.”<\/p>\n He lowered his gaze.<\/p>\n “I can change.”<\/p>\n “Then do it for your own sake. Far away from me.”<\/p>\n He picked up the pen and signed.<\/p>\n The divorce went through quickly. I got my down payment back, and I gave up any claim to the apartment. I had no interest in living inside walls I’d paid for if every corner was going to remind me of that night.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n For a long while I lived in a cramped room behind the municipal court \u2014 a twin bed, a metal desk, a shared hallway shower. I slept better there than I ever had in the new apartment, because the building had twenty-four-hour security and nobody got in without being registered.<\/p>\n I went back to training the day after mediation. At the end of a long class, I gathered the students on the mats.<\/p>\n “What we learn here isn’t for showing off, or starting fights, or punishing someone who hurt you,” I told them. “It’s for creating one chance to get out.<\/p>\n Force without purpose just turns a victim into another aggressor. Force with purpose protects a life.”<\/p>\n Kimberly raised her hand from the back row.<\/p>\n “What do we do if there’s no way out?”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Then you do what you have to do to survive that moment,” I said. “And the second you’re free, you leave. Then you get help, you document everything, and you never go back to that person alone.”<\/p>\n Patrick hung back after the others had packed up. He pulled a padded training stick out of his backpack \u2014 not a weapon, just defensive practice equipment.<\/p>\n “Keep this, coach. So you remember you’re not out there alone.”<\/p>\n “Patrick, I can’t. That belongs to the club.”<\/p>\n “Jimmy said they’re replacing the team gear next month anyway.” He turned red and bolted for the door.<\/p>\n Months later, a proposal came from a group in the capital. A team of former competitors wanted to open a center devoted entirely to self-defense for women and teenagers.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Not just striking \u2014 psychologists, free legal advice, and workshops on recognizing financial control, isolation, threats, and family manipulation.<\/p>\n They were calling it Root Force.<\/p>\n When I resigned, the program director tried to keep me.<\/p>\n “I can give you head coordinator and a real raise.”<\/p>\n “I’m not running from anything here, boss,” I told him. “I’m just moving forward.”<\/p>\n Jimmy drove me to the bus station. Just before I boarded, Patrick came sprinting up the platform out of breath, carrying a paper bag: bottled water, chips, a sandwich wrapped in napkins, and a slightly bruised red apple.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Food for the road, coach,” he panted.<\/p>\n Then he put a small, roughly sanded wooden board in my hand. He’d burned one word into the center of it with a soldering iron.<\/p>\n Strength.<\/em><\/p>\n On the back, in careful handwriting: From a student who did learn.<\/em><\/p>\n I stood there unable to speak, tears rising. Mr. Kenneth used to tell me that a real victory was never about putting an opponent on the ground \u2014 it was about stopping fear from being handed down to the next generation.<\/p>\n That rough little piece of burned wood proved he’d been right.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Root Force opened in a small rented space in the middle of the city. Eight women came to the first session. Some could barely look at each other. One kept tugging her sleeves down over deep purple bruises.<\/p>\n Another had handed her entire salary to her husband for fifteen years because he told her she couldn’t manage money. A teenager came because her boyfriend checked her phone and threatened to publish her private photos if she left.<\/p>\n We didn’t start on the heavy bags.<\/p>\n We started by naming out loud what was happening to them.<\/p>\n “Control is not love,” I told them, every day, sitting in a circle. “Jealousy is not protection. Humiliation is not discipline. And marriage does not make a human being someone else’s property.”<\/p>\n Only then did we work on posture, balance, voice, distance, exits. Hours of practice getting a hand off a wrist, calling for help in public, pulling the attention of bystanders, running without losing your footing.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We rehearsed emergency calls under pressure and built safety plans for securing documents before leaving a violent home.<\/p>\n Over two years, it grew beyond anything I’d imagined. A local foundation funded scholarships for low-income women. The city let us run free weekend workshops in public parks.<\/p>\n Volunteer lawyers took divorce cases one day a week. Psychologists supported the women who weren’t ready to leave yet.<\/p>\n Two years later, on a cold winter night, Marvin called.<\/p>\n I stared at the ringing screen a long time before answering.<\/p>\n “Barbara,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to bother you. I just needed to say something.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He was operating a crane on a construction site up north. He’d cut off his mother’s control of his finances and now sent her a fixed monthly amount, strictly for her prescriptions.<\/p>\n He lived alone. He’d learned to cook pasta and fry eggs without dropping shell in the pan.<\/p>\n “I’ve been in therapy every week,” he added. “The psychologist helped me see that in my house growing up, we all confused fear with respect. My mother dominated my father.<\/p>\n My father hid from her. And I learned that to be a man I had to dominate someone.”<\/p>\n I said nothing, listening to him breathe.<\/p>\n “I’m not calling to ask you back,” he said. “I know that’s over. I just wanted to say it was my fault. Not my mom’s. Not the whiskey. I made the choice to threaten you.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I looked around the empty gym. On one white wall were the signatures of hundreds of students.<\/p>\n “I hope you keep working on it, Marvin,” I said. “I don’t hate you anymore. But forgiving someone doesn’t mean going back to them, and it doesn’t mean forgetting.”<\/p>\n “I know,” he whispered.<\/p>\n “Take care of yourself.”<\/p>\n I hung up.<\/p>\n The call changed nothing about my life. It just closed a heavy door that had still been creaking somewhere in the back of my memory.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In time, Root Force moved into a space three times the size of the original dojo. At the opening, Patrick appeared in the crowd holding a silver medal from a national tournament.<\/p>\n Kimberly came with several fellow preschool teachers she’d talked into joining. Jimmy brought a framed photo of our first training group.<\/p>\n And Mr. Kenneth \u2014 elderly now, frail \u2014 traveled across the state with his granddaughter.<\/p>\n He walked slowly to the center of the new white mats, leaning on his cane.<\/p>\n “Well, young lady,” he said, looking around. “Do you understand now what all that training was for?”<\/p>\n I smiled at him.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “So that nobody ever has to kneel on the floor picking up dishes somebody else threw in anger.”<\/p>\n He nodded slowly, his eyes going bright.<\/p>\n Before the first class began in the new space, I stood and looked at the line of women in front of me. Students. Tired mothers. Professionals. Retirees.<\/p>\n Survivors. Some were trembling. Others were lifting their chins for the first time in their lives.<\/p>\n I took my place at the front.<\/p>\n “We didn’t come here to learn how to hate men,” I said, my voice carrying across the room. “We came here to learn that no one has the right to control our bodies, our money, or our voices.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Strength doesn’t begin with your fists. It begins the moment you stop justifying the unjustifiable.”<\/p>\n I took a deep breath.<\/p>\n “In position.”<\/p>\n The floor shook with the sound of the whole class stepping forward together.<\/p>\n And in that sound, I understood that my father’s legacy had ended with me. Camryn’s could end with Marvin too, if he kept choosing it. Fear had traveled easily for years \u2014 house to house, parent to child, wound to silence.<\/p>\n But strength travels the same way. Teacher to student. Survivor to survivor. One woman getting up off the floor to the next one standing beside her.<\/p>\n And that, I decided, is the only family tradition worth keeping.<\/p>\n THE END.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" On the third day of our marriage, my husband kicked the table and shouted, “A wife has to…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":527,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-526","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/526","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=526"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/526\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":530,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/526\/revisions\/530"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/527"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=526"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=526"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laptopsvilla.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=526"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}PART 2<\/h3>\n
PART 3<\/h3>\n
PART 4<\/h3>\n