{"id":16612,"date":"2026-08-08T23:44:06","date_gmt":"2026-08-08T23:44:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/?p=16612"},"modified":"2026-08-08T23:44:06","modified_gmt":"2026-08-08T23:44:06","slug":"my-family-let-my-son-and-me-sit-without-dinner-while-everyone-else-ate-you-shouldve-brought-food-for-him-my-father-said-my-sister-handed-us-a-basket-of-bread-for","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/?p=16612","title":{"rendered":"My family let my son and me sit without dinner while everyone else ate. \u201cYou should\u2019ve brought food for him,\u201d my father said. My sister handed us a basket of bread\u2026 forgetting I\u2019d spent over $18,000 saving her life. I smiled and said, \u201cI\u2019ll remember this.\u201d Three days later, one document destroyed everything they thought they owned."},"content":{"rendered":"

PART 1<\/b><\/h3>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u201cWe didn\u2019t order food for your son,\u201d my sister said, sliding a basket of stale bread rolls across the table. \u201cYou should have packed him something from home.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father didn\u2019t even look up from his prime rib.<\/p>\n

\u201cA six-year-old child doesn\u2019t need an eighty-dollar plate,\u201d he added coldly. \u201cYou knew this dinner was for adults.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked down at Matthew, who was sitting beside me at a tiny cocktail table tucked right next to the kitchen doors. He was wearing his favorite blue button-down shirt and had spent the entire week excited for his grandfather\u2019s retirement party. Now, he was holding a dry piece of bread like a consolation prize for belonging to our family.<\/p>\n

\n

I smiled softly at my son. \u201cUnderstood.\u201d<\/p>\n

We were at the Pacific Horizon Yacht Club in San Diego. My mother, Victoria, had spent six months planning this retirement dinner for my father, Arthur Vance, celebrating his forty years as a corporate attorney.<\/p>\n

Even our humiliation felt carefully orchestrated.<\/p>\n

The head table had six seats: my parents, my sister Chloe, her boyfriend, my Uncle Richard, and his wife. Matthew and I were placed twenty feet away, seated like second-class guests right by the busing station.<\/p>\n

At first, I tried to convince myself it was a seating mix-up. But then came the towers of chilled seafood, imported wines, wagyu cuts, and buttered lobster tails. The waiters served everyone at the main table while completely skipping ours.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d Matthew whispered, tugging my sleeve. \u201cIs our food coming soon?\u201d<\/p>\n

I flagged down a waiter. \u201cExcuse me, I think our order was missed.\u201d<\/p>\n

The waiter lowered his eyes nervously. \u201cI was instructed that the fixed menu was strictly for the head table, ma\u2019am. Your father mentioned your table wasn\u2019t included.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood up, walked over to the main table, and quietly asked why my son had been left without dinner.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t cause a scene, Clara,\u201d my father snapped. \u201cIt\u2019s eighty dollars a plate. He wouldn\u2019t even appreciate the truffle oil.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe pushed the bread basket toward me. \u201cJust give him this. Kids love bread.\u201d<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when I noticed that beneath the tablecloth, Chloe was cutting a piece of her tenderloin steak and feeding it to her French bulldog, resting comfortably in her designer purse.<\/p>\n

Her dog was eating prime steak. My son was offered scraps.<\/p>\n

For six years, I had quietly bailed Chloe out of unpaid bills, overdue rent, and financial disasters. Every time I hesitated, my parents hit me with the same guilt trip:\u00a0\u201cYour sister is going through a tough time, Clara.\u201d<\/i>\u00a0As if I were never exhausted, or as if raising a child alone didn\u2019t take every ounce of my energy.<\/p>\n

I walked back to our small table, pushed the bread basket aside, and raised my hand.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to order \u00e0 la carte,\u201d I told the waiter. \u201cFor my son, bring a dry-aged ribeye, a lobster tail, truffle mac and cheese, and the largest chocolate souffl\u00e9 you have.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother let out a sharp gasp from the head table. \u201cClara! That\u2019s well over two hundred dollars!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCharge it to the family club account,\u201d I replied smoothly.<\/p>\n

My father bolted out of his chair. \u201cYou don\u2019t have authorization to use that account!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou added me three years ago so I could pick up your catering orders,\u201d I said, looking him dead in the eye. \u201cYou never took me off.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned back to the waiter. \u201cAlso, please cancel everything that hasn\u2019t come out for the main table yet\u2014the second bottle of wine, the extra seafood towers, and all four desserts.\u201d<\/p>\n

A suffocating silence fell over the patio.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t do that!\u201d my father growled.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just did. And tonight, you\u2019re going to watch your grandson eat.\u201d<\/p>\n

When the sizzling steak was set down in front of Matthew, my family realized that the daughter who always paid, always forgave, and always fixed their problems was officially gone.<\/p>\n

But none of them had any idea what I was about to find when I audited my accounts that night.<\/p>\n

PART 2<\/b><\/h3>\n

My phone buzzed incessantly on the drive home. I didn\u2019t touch it until Matthew was fast asleep in bed, full and happy.<\/p>\n

Chloe had texted:\u00a0\u201cYou\u2019re insane. You completely ruined Dad\u2019s retirement. Wire me $400 for the cancellation charges or I\u2019m telling everyone you had a mental breakdown.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s text was even colder:\u00a0\u201cYou are not the daughter I raised. You embarrassed us in front of everyone.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

My father didn\u2019t text at all. Instead, I received an automated banking notification: my access to the family club account had been revoked.<\/p>\n

I let out a bitter laugh. They thought I depended on their money. The reality was the exact opposite.<\/p>\n

I opened a fresh spreadsheet on my laptop and titled it:\u00a0The Rescue Ledger.<\/b><\/p>\n

For years, I had served as Chloe\u2019s personal emergency fund. I paid her car note when she lost a client, cleared her credit card after an expensive trip to Miami, funded a \u201cjewelry line\u201d that never existed outside of Instagram, and watched her kids during her \u201cspiritual retreats.\u201d<\/p>\n

I started pulling up bank transfers and old statements.<\/p>\n

Rent assistance: $1,800.<\/i><\/p>\n

Car repairs: $1,200.<\/i><\/p>\n

Overdue credit card: $5,200.<\/i><\/p>\n

Jewelry launch funds: $3,600.<\/i><\/p>\n

Adding in travel expenses, parking tickets, and personal loans, the grand total came out to\u00a0$18,400<\/b>.<\/p>\n

There were months when I had delayed my own savings just to cover Chloe\u2019s impulse expenses\u2014expenses my parents rebranded as \u201cfamily emergencies.\u201d That money could have been a down payment on a home or Matthew\u2019s college fund. Instead, I spent it trying to buy a place in a family that refused to feed my son an eighty-dollar dinner.<\/p>\n

I drafted an email to Chloe, CCing my parents and my Uncle Richard:<\/p>\n

\u201cEffective immediately, all financial support is permanently terminated. The auto loan in my name must be refinanced under your own name within thirty days. I am done rescuing you.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I attached every single bank receipt and hit send.<\/p>\n

My phone blew up instantly. I switched it to Do Not Disturb and went to sleep.<\/p>\n

The next morning, Uncle Richard\u2014a retired appellate judge\u2014called me after reviewing the attachments.<\/p>\n

\u201cClara, this isn\u2019t sisterly help,\u201d Richard said sternly. \u201cThis is systematic financial abuse. Some of these signed agreements might even constitute civil fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n

He helped me draft formal demand letters, freeze my credit reports, and separate every shared digital account.<\/p>\n

Three days later, while searching for tax documents in some old storage boxes my dad had left in my garage, I stumbled upon a small black leather notebook.<\/p>\n

I opened it. Printed in my father\u2019s neat handwriting on the very first page was my name:<\/p>\n

Clara: Dental braces \u2014 $2,200. Recoverable.<\/i><\/p>\n

Clara: Summer camp \u2014 $350. Debt.<\/i><\/p>\n

Clara: College tuition \u2014 $8,500. To be reimbursed.<\/i><\/p>\n

He had even logged a routine medical procedure I had when I was twelve years old.<\/p>\n

I flipped to the section labeled\u00a0Chloe<\/i>:<\/p>\n

Dance academy \u2014 Investment.<\/i><\/p>\n

Trip to Europe \u2014 Cultural enrichment.<\/i><\/p>\n

First car \u2014 Gift.<\/i><\/p>\n

There was not a single debt logged under Chloe\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

My whole life, I believed my parents\u2019 favoritism was just an emotional wound. Now, I held physical proof that it was a calculated family policy written in black ink.<\/p>\n

I took the notebook straight to Uncle Richard.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cIn court, this proves a clear pattern of financial coercion,\u201d Richard advised. \u201cIn front of the family, it will completely destroy your father\u2019s pristine reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n

That afternoon, my mother called from an unknown number.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father and I are coming over tomorrow,\u201d she demanded icy. \u201cWe need your signature to refinance the family home.\u201d<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when the ultimate truth hit me: they weren\u2019t furious because I had spent their money.<\/p>\n

They were terrified because they had finally run out of mine.<\/p>\n

PART 3<\/b><\/h3>\n

My parents arrived at 9:00 AM on Saturday in my dad\u2019s Mercedes. From my window, I watched my mother adjust her pearl necklace before getting out, as if a polished exterior could cover up a mountain of deceit.<\/p>\n

Matthew was in his room watching cartoons. I set copies of the black ledger, bank statements, and the legal demand letter on the dining table.<\/p>\n

When the doorbell rang, I opened it, but I didn\u2019t step aside to let them in.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe need to talk inside, Clara,\u201d my father said, trying to push past me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can talk right here on the porch.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother glared at me. \u201cClara, we are your parents!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich is precisely why you aren\u2019t walking into my house without my permission.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father\u2019s jaw tightened. \u201cThis ridiculous financial demand letter has to stop. You are destroying this family over a dinner menu!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was never about a dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

I handed him the copy of the black ledger.<\/p>\n

My mother instantly recognized the handwriting. My father flipped through the pages, forcing a confused laugh. \u201cThis was just an internal household ledger!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith a column explicitly titled\u00a0\u2018Debt to be recovered\u2019<\/i>?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were never actually going to make you pay us back for your childhood!\u201d my mother snapped.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve been making me pay for it for thirty years,\u201d I countered. \u201cBy making me fund Chloe\u2019s entire adult life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe gave you food, shelter, and an education!\u201d my father shouted.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cThose were your legal obligations as parents, not a personal loan with interest!\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother closed the book, her eyes flashing with cold anger. \u201cChloe was always more fragile than you! You were strong! We knew you could handle things on your own!\u201d<\/p>\n

That single sentence summarized my entire existence. My sister was allowed to destroy, demand, and squander because she was \u201cfragile.\u201d I was expected to endure, finance, and stay quiet because I was \u201cstrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t make me strong,\u201d I said softly. \u201cYou abandoned me to handle everything alone, and then congratulated yourselves when I survived.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father thrust a legal folder toward me. \u201cThe bank needs your signature as a co-signer to refinance our mortgage. It\u2019s just a temporary formality for a few months.\u201d<\/p>\n

The loan amount was for $450,000.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want to leverage my income and credit score because yours are ruined,\u201d I realized.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a routine transaction!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust like Chloe\u2019s car loan, right?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Uncle Richard had uncovered that Chloe\u2019s car note\u2014which was under my name\u2014was three months past due. On top of that, my mother had been secretly using an authorized credit card under my account that she had sworn was destroyed years ago.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not signing a single document,\u201d I said firmly.<\/p>\n

My father slammed the folder against his leg. \u201cAfter everything we did for you, you owe us this!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t owe you a dime.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pulled out another copy of the ledger. \u201cUncle Richard has the original digitized. I\u2019ve also sent copies to the rest of the family. If you attempt to use my credit or slander my name, everyone will see exactly how you quantified your love.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother went deathly pale. \u201cYou showed that to the family?!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo the exact relatives you\u2019ve been telling for years that I\u2019m an ungrateful daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are humiliating us!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I replied. \u201cI am simply refusing to keep your secrets anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father tried to negotiate, offering to drop his demands if I signed the refinance papers and agreed to \u201cwork things out\u201d with Chloe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want $18,400 paid back in full, in writing, with strict monthly deadlines,\u201d I demanded. \u201cAnd Chloe\u2019s car must be removed from my credit within thirty days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s impossible!\u201d he yelled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll see you in court.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me as if I were a complete stranger. The daughter he thought he knew would have caved at the first sign of conflict. But that daughter was left behind at a Yacht Club table, watching her son eat dry bread while a dog was fed tenderloin.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet off my property.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother began to weep. \u201cAre you really going to keep Matthew away from his grandparents?!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am keeping my son away from people who teach him that he is worth less than a dog,\u201d I said coldly.<\/p>\n

I closed the door and turned the deadbolt. For a few seconds, my hands shook from the sheer weight of enforcing a boundary I should have set a decade ago.<\/p>\n

Matthew walked out of his room holding his stuffed tiger. \u201cWas that Grandma and Grandpa?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAre they mad about my steak?\u201d<\/p>\n

The question nearly broke my heart.<\/p>\n

I knelt down and pulled him into a tight hug. \u201cNone of this was about your food, Matthew. It was about Mom taking way too long to realize that nobody is allowed to treat you like you don\u2019t matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid I do something bad?\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did everything right, my sweet boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time in my life, I wasn\u2019t just protecting him from a cruel family\u2014I was breaking a cycle of generational guilt.<\/p>\n

The weeks that followed were chaotic.<\/p>\n

Chloe posted a tearful video on social media from her apartment, claiming her \u201ccold-hearted sister\u201d had abandoned her during a financial crisis. She conveniently left out the Yacht Club dinner, the $18,400 debt, and the defaulted car payments.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t engage. Uncle Richard sent a formal cease-and-desist letter to her attorney alongside itemized bank statements and a clear warning: if she continued her slander, we would file a civil lawsuit for defamation and fraud.<\/p>\n

The video vanished from her profile that night.<\/p>\n

My mother sent a barrage of voicemails that shifted in tone every day.<\/p>\n

First came the guilt:\u00a0\u201cYour father\u2019s blood pressure is spiking! Think of his health!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Then came the threats:\u00a0\u201cIf you keep this up, you are completely written out of our will!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Finally came the bargaining:\u00a0\u201cWe can acknowledge part of the debt, but those bank transfers were gifts!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I saved every single recording.<\/p>\n

When my father sent formal emails threatening legal action for \u201creputational harm,\u201d Uncle Richard replied with a single line:<\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cArthur, her reputation wasn\u2019t damaged by Clara. It was exposed by your own handwriting.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Shortly after, the truth about my parents\u2019 financial state came to light. The lavish retirement party had been a total facade. My father had lost a massive chunk of his savings in a failed real estate venture in Nevada, while my mother had been maintaining her high-society lifestyle entirely on credit cards. To keep Chloe afloat, they had taken out high-interest personal loans against their own house.<\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t the daughter who needed their help. I was the last remaining asset they had left to exploit.<\/p>\n

When I froze my credit and refused to co-sign the refinance, the bank rejected their application. My parents were forced to put their vacation property on the market to cover their debts. Meanwhile, the bank repossessed Chloe\u2019s vehicle after she failed to refinance it under her own name.<\/p>\n

She called me over twenty times until I finally answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want, Chloe?\u201d I asked flatly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou destroyed my credit!\u201d she shrieked. \u201cI can\u2019t pay back $18,400!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen present a realistic repayment plan.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m your sister! You can\u2019t treat me like a collection agency!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou treated me like an ATM for six years.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence stretched over the line.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad made the decision about the dinner menu, Clara, not me!\u201d she whined.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou fed your dog prime steak while handing my six-year-old son dry bread.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCoco has a strict veterinary diet!\u201d she snapped back.<\/p>\n

The excuse was so absurd it almost made me laugh. \u201cThank you, Chloe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor what?!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor reminding me why I should never feel a single second of guilt.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two weeks later, my parents\u2019 attorney requested a formal mediation settlement. We met at Uncle Richard\u2019s law office. My father looked visibly aged; my mother wore dark sunglasses inside the conference room; Chloe sat quietly without her phone.<\/p>\n

Their initial offer was to pay back $10,000 over three years in exchange for me surrendering the original black ledger and signing a mutual non-disparagement agreement.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe original ledger stays with my attorney,\u201d I stated firmly.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cThat book is private property!\u201d my father protested.<\/p>\n

Uncle Richard raised a hand. \u201cIf we go to court over the book, Arthur, we will also subpoena Chloe\u2019s bank records, the unauthorized credit card usage, and the fraudulent loan applications. I strongly advise you not to open that door in front of a judge.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father sank back into his leather chair, completely defeated.<\/p>\n

Chloe looked at me, her voice barely a whisper. \u201cI can sell my designer bags\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should have done that before defaulting on a car under my name,\u201d I replied coldly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy job depends on my image!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy son\u2019s future depended on the money I wasted rescuing you.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother took off her sunglasses, revealing red, swollen eyes. \u201cWe made mistakes, Clara. But showing that notebook to the family was cruel.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCruel was logging my childhood dental braces as a recoverable debt while calling Chloe\u2019s European vacation an \u2018investment,\u2019\u201d I countered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou never asked for anything!\u201d she sobbed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI stopped asking because every time I did, you made me feel like a burden.\u201d<\/p>\n

After four hours of intense negotiation, we signed a legally binding settlement. My parents agreed to pay back $14,000 immediately upon the sale of their vacation home, while Chloe agreed to a court-ordered monthly wage garnishment to cover the remaining $4,400.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t recover every single penny of the $18,400. But I reclaimed something far more valuable: total control over my life.<\/p>\n

When the first settlement payment cleared, I established a high-yield investment trust for Matthew and named it\u00a0The Freedom Fund<\/b>. Every month, I deposited the exact amount I used to spend rescuing Chloe.<\/p>\n

One afternoon, while reviewing the account online, Matthew sat beside me and asked why I called it The Freedom Fund.<\/p>\n

I sat him on my lap and explained that it was money reserved for his college, his dreams, and his future\u2014but that it would never, ever be used to buy anyone\u2019s love.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you buy love, Mom?\u201d he asked innocently.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sweetie. Sometimes people try to charge you for it, but that isn\u2019t real love.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded with the quiet wisdom children possess when understanding a truth that adults spend lifetimes avoiding.<\/p>\n

My parents didn\u2019t disappear entirely. They sent polite, distant text messages on holidays. I responded with civil brevity, but I never permitted unannounced visits, nor did I ever engage in conversations about money.<\/p>\n

Chloe blocked me on social media, sold her luxury wardrobe, moved into a smaller apartment, and took a second job. We never reconciled\u2014and deep down, I knew we never would. True reconciliation requires genuine accountability, not just the regret of getting caught.<\/p>\n

I spent months in therapy unpacking decades of what I used to call \u201cnormal family dynamics.\u201d I learned that setting boundaries didn\u2019t make me a bitter daughter. It simply stopped my son from inheriting the same emotional debt I had carried since childhood.<\/p>\n

Six months later, I took Matthew to a casual seafood shack overlooking the San Diego bay. There were no white linen tablecloths or expensive wines. We ordered grilled fish tacos, fries, and fresh lemonade.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d Matthew said, his cheeks smeared with tartar sauce, \u201cthis food is way better than that fancy club.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed. \u201cI think so too, buddy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd it cost way less, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA lot less.\u201d<\/p>\n

He thought about it for a second. \u201cSo Grandpa\u00a0could<\/i>\u00a0have bought me dinner that night.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no anger in his voice\u2014just the clean, uncomplicated logic of a child.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sweetie. He could have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t he want to?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked out at the ocean waves crashing against the pier. \u201cBecause some people believe money is meant to decide who matters and who doesn\u2019t. But they\u2019re wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Matthew took another big bite of his taco. \u201cI matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMore than you\u2019ll ever know.\u201d<\/p>\n

That night, my son didn\u2019t have an eighty-dollar steak. He didn\u2019t need one. He had a mother who would never again ask for permission to stand up for him, and a table where he would never have to earn his right to sit.<\/p>\n

I realized then that my real victory was never the legal settlement, the sold vacation house, or Chloe losing her car.<\/p>\n

My victory was the silence.<\/p>\n

There were no more frantic late-night calls demanding emergency money, no more guilt trips, and no more walking on eggshells. Peace filled the space where obligation used to live.<\/p>\n

For years, I thought vengeance meant making the people who hurt you suffer. Now I knew better.<\/p>\n

The cleanest victory is simply refusing to drink the poison you\u2019re served. It\u2019s building your own table. It\u2019s watching your child eat until he\u2019s full, knowing he will grow up understanding that love is never invoiced, never tallied, and never used as collateral.<\/p>\n

My father kept a black notebook where every dollar spent on me was logged as a debt. Now, I keep a different ledger: every deposit into The Freedom Fund, every quiet evening with my son, and every single \u201cno\u201d spoken without an ounce of guilt.<\/p>\n

My son will never have to pay a ransom to be loved.<\/p>\n

And neither will I.<\/p>\n

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

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