![\"\"](\"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/1776890421-300x167.png\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, like every waiting room in America where people try to pretend they aren\u2019t terrified.<\/p>\n
They took Mia\u2019s vitals again. They checked her hydration, her breathing, her skin. They asked me what she\u2019d eaten that day. I couldn\u2019t answer, because I didn\u2019t know what Lorraine had done besides lock her away like a problem.<\/p>\n
Mia stayed glued to my body. When a nurse tried to lift her onto the exam table, Mia screamed and clung harder.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Mia whispered, voice raw. \u201cNo dark. No door.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat burned.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d I told her. \u201cI\u2019m not leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n
They gave her fluids and a small snack, and Mia ate like someone who\u2019d been running. Her hands shook slightly as she held the cracker.<\/p>\n
A pediatrician asked gentle questions. A social worker appeared, calm and direct, introducing herself as the hospital\u2019s mandated reporter liaison.<\/p>\n
She explained what I already knew but needed to hear clearly: a CPS investigation would open automatically. Police reports would be forwarded. Lorraine would have a protective order restricting contact. Jackson\u2019s household would be evaluated because he was the father, and they\u2019d need to ensure Mia\u2019s safety going forward.<\/p>\n
The social worker\u2019s eyes were kind but serious. \u201cWe\u2019re not here to punish you,\u201d she said. \u201cWe\u2019re here to protect your child.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed. Protecting Mia had started the moment I saw Rosie on the porch.<\/p>\n
Later, a psychologist came in: Dr. Patricia Montgomery, petite with calm eyes and a voice that didn\u2019t soften reality. She explained play therapy. She explained how toddlers process trauma through body sensations and fear responses rather than logic.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn\u2019t understand \u2018Grandma made a mistake,\u2019\u201d Dr. Montgomery said. \u201cShe understands that she was trapped and alone, and no one came. She will likely develop fear responses around confined spaces, closed doors, separation from you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at Mia, who was stacking hospital napkins like blocks, keeping one eye on the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I do?\u201d I asked, my voice rough.<\/p>\n
\u201cConsistency,\u201d Dr. Montgomery said. \u201cPredictability. Control. Nightlights, doors she can open herself. No isolation-based punishments. You check closets together if she asks. You build safety with routines.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she added something I didn\u2019t expect.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you need support too,\u201d she said. \u201cBecause anger and guilt can make you exhausted. You\u2019ll need strength for the long haul.\u201d<\/p>\n
Guilt. It sat heavy in my stomach. I\u2019d known Lorraine was difficult. I\u2019d felt uneasy. I\u2019d still agreed because Jackson had pushed and I\u2019d wanted peace for one afternoon.<\/p>\n
Temporary peace.<\/p>\n
Mia paid the price.<\/p>\n
Two hours after we\u2019d been admitted, Jackson finally arrived with a bouquet of flowers like a bad movie apology. His face was carefully arranged into concern.<\/p>\n
He leaned toward Mia. \u201cHey, princess,\u201d he said softly. \u201cDaddy\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia\u2019s eyes flicked to him, then she tucked her face into my shoulder. She didn\u2019t reach for him. She didn\u2019t smile.<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s expression faltered. \u201cMia?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia\u2019s voice came out small and scratchy. \u201cDaddy\u2026 Grandma locked me in the dark.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s face tightened. For a second, I thought the truth had finally hit.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cGrandma didn\u2019t mean to scare you. Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The word mistake lit my anger like gasoline.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat wasn\u2019t a mistake,\u201d I said, low. \u201cThat was a choice.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s shoulders rose defensively. \u201cShe was stressed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStressed because Mia cried?\u201d I said. \u201cSo she locked her in a closet and left the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson looked away, jaw clenched. \u201cCalling the police was extreme.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him. \u201cExtreme would be me ignoring my instincts and coming back to a dead child.\u201d<\/p>\n
His head snapped up. \u201cDon\u2019t say that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen don\u2019t minimize what happened,\u201d I shot back.<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s voice lowered, condescending in a way that made my skin crawl. \u201cYou\u2019re emotional right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed once, sharp. \u201cOf course I\u2019m emotional. Our daughter was trapped. And instead of being furious, you\u2019re worried about your mother\u2019s reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s eyes flashed. \u201cShe\u2019s my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Mia is your daughter,\u201d I said. \u201cPick a side.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at Mia\u2019s trembling hands, at the way she refused to look at him, and something like confusion crossed his face, as if he couldn\u2019t understand why love wasn\u2019t automatic.<\/p>\n
The social worker returned while Jackson was still there and explained the protective order and the CPS steps. Jackson tried arguing, saying Lorraine was \u201cnot a danger,\u201d and the social worker calmly repeated the facts: a toddler locked in a closet while caretakers left the home.<\/p>\n
Facts beat excuses.<\/p>\n
When we were discharged, I didn\u2019t go home.<\/p>\n
I went to my mother\u2019s apartment with Mia.<\/p>\n
My mother opened the door and didn\u2019t ask questions first. She took one look at Mia\u2019s face and pulled both of us into a hug.<\/p>\n
That night, Mia woke every hour screaming. Each time, she begged me to check the closet. She begged me to leave the door open. She begged me to keep the nightlight on.<\/p>\n
I did all of it.<\/p>\n
In the morning, my phone rang. Cassandra.<\/p>\n
I answered because I wanted to hear what kind of person demanded forgiveness before accountability.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need to drop the charges,\u201d Cassandra said immediately. \u201cThis is destroying our family.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared out my mother\u2019s window, watching the sun rise like the world still made sense.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour family destroyed itself,\u201d I said. \u201cYou left my child locked in a closet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was just\u2014\u201d Cassandra started.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d I said, voice cold. \u201cDon\u2019t try to make it smaller. Don\u2019t try to make it softer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cassandra\u2019s voice went pleading. \u201cLorraine could go to jail. Do you want that?\u201d<\/p>\n
What I wanted was for Mia to never be trapped again.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe state is pressing charges,\u201d I said. \u201cNot me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou called the police,\u201d Cassandra hissed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cBecause I\u2019m Mia\u2019s mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up.<\/p>\n
Jackson called later, angry, saying I was \u201coverreacting,\u201d saying family should handle it privately. When I told him I wouldn\u2019t bring Mia near Lorraine again, he said I was using the incident to \u201cpunish\u201d his mother.<\/p>\n
That word, punish, snapped something in me.<\/p>\n
This wasn\u2019t punishment.<\/p>\n
This was protection.<\/p>\n
When I filed for a temporary restraining order against Lorraine beyond the automatic protective order, my lawyer\u2014Rebecca Walsh, sharp and efficient\u2014nodded as if she\u2019d been expecting it.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t just one event,\u201d Rebecca said, scanning my notes. \u201cThis is a system. And now we document everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
I started a journal.<\/p>\n
Dates. Calls. Text messages. Jackson\u2019s excuses. Lorraine\u2019s attempts to reach out. Cassandra\u2019s pressure.<\/p>\n
Because I was done being the person who tried to keep the peace while other people endangered my child.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The first custody hearing was on a rainy Tuesday that made the courthouse steps slick and gray. The building smelled like wet coats and old paper, like every decision made inside had been soaked in disappointment before it even started.<\/p>\n
Rebecca walked beside me with a folder thick enough to look like a weapon. \u201cLet me do the talking,\u201d she murmured. \u201cYou focus on breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson sat at the other table with his attorney and his father, all three of them wearing the same expression: wounded outrage. Lorraine wasn\u2019t there, because she\u2019d been ordered not to come near me or Mia, and because she\u2019d been released on bail with conditions that made every one of her choices legally visible.<\/p>\n
When Jackson saw me, his face hardened. He didn\u2019t look like a husband concerned about his traumatized child. He looked like a man preparing to win an argument.<\/p>\n
The judge was a middle-aged woman with a tired face and eyes that missed nothing. She listened while Jackson\u2019s attorney painted him as a devoted father \u201cunfairly punished\u201d for his mother\u2019s \u201cisolated lapse.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then Rebecca spoke.<\/p>\n
Rebecca didn\u2019t raise her voice. She didn\u2019t dramatize. She laid out facts like bricks.<\/p>\n
\u201cResponding officers found a three-year-old child locked in a closet,\u201d she said. \u201cCaretaker was not present. Child was dehydrated, distressed, and injured from attempting escape. The caretaker admitted locking the child inside because she was crying, then left the residence to go shopping.\u201d<\/p>\n
The judge\u2019s pen paused.<\/p>\n
Rebecca continued. \u201cMr. Hayes has repeatedly minimized the incident, pressured the mother to drop charges, and expressed an intent to reintroduce the child to the offending caretaker despite a protective order.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s attorney tried to object. The judge lifted a hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cMister Hayes,\u201d she said, looking directly at Jackson, \u201cdo you acknowledge your child was locked in a closet for hours?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson swallowed. His eyes flicked to his father, then back to the judge. \u201cI acknowledge it happened,\u201d he said carefully. \u201cBut I don\u2019t believe my mother intended harm.\u201d<\/p>\n
The judge\u2019s gaze sharpened. \u201cIntent does not erase impact,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd your continued alignment with the offending party raises concern about your judgment.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s jaw tightened. \u201cShe\u2019s my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Mia is your daughter,\u201d the judge replied, voice flat. \u201cThe court\u2019s priority is the child\u2019s safety.\u201d<\/p>\n
The judge ordered supervised visitation for Jackson in a neutral location, four hours every other Saturday, monitored by a professional supervisor. No family members. No friends. No \u201ctrusted relatives.\u201d Jackson would pay for the supervision.<\/p>\n
When the judge said it, Jackson looked like he\u2019d been slapped.<\/p>\n
Outside the courtroom, Jackson tried to approach me. Rebecca stepped between us without hesitation.<\/p>\n
\u201cDirect contact is inappropriate,\u201d she said firmly. \u201cCommunicate through counsel.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jackson\u2019s face twisted. \u201cYou\u2019re doing this to hurt me,\u201d he hissed.<\/p>\n
I stared at him, surprised by how little his anger affected me now. \u201cI\u2019m doing this to protect Mia,\u201d I said. \u201cIf you feel hurt, ask yourself why.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a while, Jackson followed the rules. Then he started testing them.<\/p>\n
He brought up Lorraine during visits, according to the supervisor\u2019s report. He tried to \u201cexplain\u201d that Grandma was sorry. Mia responded by going quiet and coloring harder, pressing the crayon so hard it broke.<\/p>\n
The supervisor noted in her report: child displays distress when grandmother mentioned; father prioritizes justification over emotional attunement.<\/p>\n
Then Jackson did something worse.<\/p>\n
He brought his new girlfriend, Taylor, to a supervised visit without approval.<\/p>\n
The supervisor sent Taylor outside. Jackson spent half the visit arguing that it was \u201cunfair\u201d that his girlfriend couldn\u2019t join them. Mia stayed silent, drawing circles like she was trying to disappear into paper.<\/p>\n
When Rebecca filed the violation, the judge warned Jackson that future violations could suspend visits.<\/p>\n
Jackson called me after that hearing, voice shaking with anger. \u201cYou\u2019re controlling. You\u2019re trying to erase me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m trying to keep her safe,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd you keep proving you don\u2019t understand what that means.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lorraine\u2019s criminal case moved forward quickly because there was nothing to debate. Her own admission. Receipts with timestamps from the shopping bags. Officer testimony. Photos of Mia\u2019s hands. Dr. Montgomery\u2019s report describing the trauma response and predicted impact.<\/p>\n
The prosecutor offered Lorraine a plea deal: probation, mandatory parenting classes, counseling. Lorraine refused.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe did nothing wrong,\u201d her attorney said in court, and I watched him say it like it physically hurt.<\/p>\n
The jury deliberated less than three hours.<\/p>\n
Guilty.<\/p>\n
The sentencing day, Lorraine stood before the judge, chin lifted, eyes sharp with self-righteousness. She didn\u2019t apologize. She didn\u2019t acknowledge harm. She framed herself as a victim of \u201chysteria\u201d and \u201coverreaction.\u201d<\/p>\n
The judge\u2019s expression didn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou locked a three-year-old child in a confined space and left the residence,\u201d the judge said. \u201cYou attempted to flee upon discovery. Your refusal to acknowledge wrongdoing indicates you remain a danger.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lorraine was sentenced to eighteen months in county jail, followed by probation and a permanent restriction against unsupervised contact with minors.<\/p>\n
Jackson sat in the gallery, devastated.<\/p>\n
Not devastated for Mia.<\/p>\n
Devastated for Lorraine.<\/p>\n
That was the moment something inside me sealed shut.<\/p>\n
Two weeks after Lorraine\u2019s sentencing, I filed for divorce.<\/p>\n
Jackson called me at work, voice strained with disbelief. \u201cYou\u2019re divorcing me over this?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at my office wall, thinking of Mia\u2019s whimper in the dark.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m divorcing you because when our daughter needed protection,\u201d I said, \u201cyou defended the person who hurt her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not fair,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cFair isn\u2019t the point,\u201d I replied. \u201cSafety is.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mother became my anchor during the divorce process. She picked Mia up from preschool. She cooked. She sat with me while I filled out forms. She listened when I cried, not because I missed Jackson, but because I was grieving the version of my life I\u2019d wanted.<\/p>\n
One night, after Mia finally fell asleep, my mother said quietly, \u201cI never liked Lorraine.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe always talked to you like you were competition,\u201d my mother continued. \u201cLike you were something to be managed instead of loved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
My mother raised an eyebrow. \u201cWould you have listened?\u201d<\/p>\n
She was right. I\u2019d been desperate for the idea of family. I\u2019d mistaken endurance for loyalty. I\u2019d tolerated disrespect because I thought marriage required it.<\/p>\n
Now I knew better.<\/p>\n
The divorce finalized three months later. Jackson kept supervised visitation. Lorraine stayed out of our lives. Cassandra disappeared, except for the occasional social media post about betrayal and forgiveness and how some people \u201cweaponize the system.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped reading.<\/p>\n
Mia began therapy twice a week.<\/p>\n
She stopped screaming every night after a few months, but she still asked me to check the closet. She still panicked when a door closed unexpectedly. She still refused to play hide-and-seek if the hiding place was dark.<\/p>\n
Dr. Montgomery told me progress wasn\u2019t linear. \u201cThe goal is not to erase,\u201d she said. \u201cThe goal is to build control.\u201d<\/p>\n
So we built control.<\/p>\n
Mia learned she could open every door in our apartment. She learned that nightlights meant darkness wasn\u2019t absolute. She learned that if she was scared, she could say it and someone would come.<\/p>\n
I moved us into a new place with bright windows and no weird closet doors that stuck. I made the home feel safe in small, obsessive ways, because trauma recovery happens in details.<\/p>\n
And Rosie\u2014the broken doll\u2014went into a box.<\/p>\n
Not as a trophy.<\/p>\n
As a reminder of the day I trusted my instincts, called for help, and refused to let anyone talk me out of protecting my child.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mia turned four with a cupcake smeared across her cheek and a crown made of construction paper. She smiled for photos, sang loudly, and insisted Rosie\u2019s replacement doll sit in the \u201cbirthday chair\u201d beside her.<\/p>\n
But the trauma didn\u2019t vanish just because she could blow out candles.<\/p>\n
Some days she was perfectly fine, chattering about preschool friends and asking a thousand questions like nothing had ever happened. Other days she\u2019d freeze if someone closed a closet door too hard. She\u2019d panic if I stepped into another room and she couldn\u2019t see me. She\u2019d wake up from nightmares whispering, \u201cI couldn\u2019t get out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I learned to measure progress by tiny shifts.<\/p>\n
The first time she let me close the bathroom door halfway without crying, I felt like celebrating.
\nThe first time she walked past a dark hallway without running, I wanted to cry.
\nThe first time she said, \u201cI\u2019m scared,\u201d instead of melting down, I felt proud, because naming fear is power.<\/p>\n
Dr. Montgomery used play therapy to help Mia rebuild control. They played a game where Mia was in charge of doors. Mia opened and closed them. Mia decided when it was safe. Mia placed toy animals in \u201chouses\u201d and decided who could come in and who had to stay out.<\/p>\n
Sometimes Mia would lock a toy in a pretend closet and then rescue it dramatically, saying, \u201cI\u2019m coming!\u201d like she was reenacting the moment I found her, but this time she controlled the ending.<\/p>\n
It hurt and healed at the same time.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile, Jackson remained a distant orbit in our lives. Supervised visits continued. The supervisor\u2019s notes were consistent: Mia remained withdrawn; Jackson struggled to validate her feelings; Jackson frequently reframed the incident as a \u201cmistake.\u201d<\/p>\n
When Mia was five, she came home from a visit and asked me a question while she colored at the kitchen table.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy Daddy say Grandma sorry but Grandma not here?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
I set down the dish towel in my hands. My heart tightened because these questions always came without warning, like stepping on a hidden nail.<\/p>\n
\u201cDaddy loves his mom,\u201d I said carefully. \u201cSometimes grown-ups love someone so much they have trouble seeing what they did wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia\u2019s brow furrowed. \u201cBut Grandma did wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said softly. \u201cShe did.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia nodded like she was filing the information away, then went back to coloring. She drew a house with a big sun and a little stick figure holding another stick figure\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n
For a while, Jackson tried sending longer letters. Apologies that didn\u2019t name what he was apologizing for. Compliments about how brave Mia was. Complaints about how \u201chard\u201d everything was.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t show Mia most of them when she was little. I kept them in a folder, because someday she\u2019d have the right to decide what she wanted to know.<\/p>\n
When Mia was six, Jackson petitioned the court to end supervised visitation.<\/p>\n
Rebecca asked for proof of change: therapy records, parenting education, evidence he accepted what happened and understood the impact.<\/p>\n
Jackson provided none of that. What he did provide was proof he still visited Lorraine weekly, even after her release.<\/p>\n
The judge denied the petition.<\/p>\n
\u201cChild safety remains the priority,\u201d the judge stated, blunt and unmoved.<\/p>\n
Lorraine, through her attorney, attempted something called grandparents\u2019 rights.<\/p>\n
Rebecca responded with a single sentence that ended the conversation.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrandparents\u2019 rights do not apply when the grandparent has a criminal conviction for abuse against the child in question.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lorraine wrote a letter anyway. Not to me directly\u2014her restraining order prohibited that\u2014but to my attorney, filled with self-pity and excuses.<\/p>\n
She claimed she\u2019d been \u201cunder stress.\u201d
\nShe claimed Mia had only been in the closet \u201ca few minutes.\u201d
\nShe claimed the police \u201coverreacted.\u201d
\nShe claimed I was \u201cvindictive.\u201d<\/p>\n
I read the letter once and felt something settle in my chest: relief.<\/p>\n
Because it confirmed what I needed to know. Lorraine wasn\u2019t sorry. She was inconvenienced.<\/p>\n
She would never be safe.<\/p>\n
By the time Mia started first grade, she was thriving. She loved reading. She loved soccer. She loved drawing animals wearing silly hats. She still didn\u2019t like dark closets, but she could walk past them without freezing. She still asked to keep her bedroom door cracked, but she slept through most nights.<\/p>\n
Dr. Montgomery said Mia would likely carry a scar into adulthood. Not always a visible one. Sometimes trauma turns into a preference: bright rooms, open doors, keeping keys within reach. Sometimes it turns into anxiety that flares during stress.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d Dr. Montgomery told me during a parent consultation, \u201cshe also carries a stronger memory.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat memory?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat her mother came,\u201d Dr. Montgomery said. \u201cThat fear didn\u2019t stop you. That when something felt wrong, you acted.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about Rosie\u2019s broken seam. About the quiet porch. About Jackson telling me to wait.<\/p>\n
And I felt proud in a way that didn\u2019t need anyone\u2019s approval.<\/p>\n
A year later, my life changed in a quieter, healthier way.<\/p>\n
I met someone.<\/p>\n
His name was Ethan. He was a pediatric nurse I ran into repeatedly at Mia\u2019s clinic appointments for routine things, and he had a calm steadiness that made me feel less like I was constantly bracing for impact.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t try to win Mia over fast. He didn\u2019t push. He sat on the floor and built block towers with her at her pace. He asked her about her drawings like they mattered.<\/p>\n
One day, Mia looked up at him and said, \u201cYou don\u2019t close doors fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan blinked, surprised. \u201cI try not to,\u201d he said gently.<\/p>\n
Mia nodded, satisfied, as if that answered everything.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t rush into anything. I didn\u2019t want to repeat old mistakes. But little by little, Ethan became part of our life.<\/p>\n
He came to soccer games.
\nHe cooked dinner with us.
\nHe showed up when Mia had a nightmare and didn\u2019t act impatient or confused. He simply asked, \u201cWhat do you need to feel safe?\u201d<\/p>\n
The first time I heard that question aimed at my daughter, I almost cried.<\/p>\n
Because it was the opposite of what Lorraine had done.<\/p>\n
And it reminded me that while some people cause damage that never fully disappears, other people can help build a world where healing is normal.<\/p>\n
Part 3 The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, like every waiting room in America where people try to pretend they aren\u2019t terrified. They took Mia\u2019s vitals again. They … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1196,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1197","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story","category-story-daily"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1197","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1197"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1197\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1200,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1197\/revisions\/1200"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1196"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1197"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1197"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1197"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}