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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
I had been avoiding it, but I couldn\u2019t anymore. It was time to stop hiding.<\/p>\n
I walked through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood. I stood at the window looking down at Central Park and thought about Daniel, about the life he wanted to give me, about the life I had lived instead.<\/p>\n
Small. Quiet. Grateful for scraps.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t that woman anymore.<\/p>\n
I pulled out my phone and called Mr. Brennan.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to sell the house in White Plains. The one Robert took.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. And I want the proceeds donated to Saint Vincent\u2019s Hospital. The nursing scholarship fund.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDone. Anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. I need you to prepare divorce papers for Robert.\u201d<\/p>\n
A pause.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Hayes, you can\u2019t file for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot for me. For him. I want everything ready. Division of property. Terms if needed. The works. When he\u2019s ready to choose, I want to make it easy.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Brennan was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cYou\u2019re not who I expected.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNeither am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert showed up at the motel on July third.<\/p>\n
I was folding laundry in the bathroom, underwear and T-shirts I had hand-washed in the sink, when someone knocked.<\/p>\n
I opened the door.<\/p>\n
He looked terrible. Unshaven, red-eyed, wearing the same wrinkled polo shirt he\u2019d had on three days earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t invite him in. I just stood there holding a damp towel.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we talk? Please?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stepped aside.<\/p>\n
He came in, looked around the tiny room, the sagging bed, the stained carpet, the mini-fridge humming in the corner, and his face crumpled.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, Mom. You\u2019ve been living here for three months? Why didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell you what? That your wife threw me out and you let her? I think you knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know it would be like this. I thought Vanessa said you had savings, that you\u2019d find an apartment. I didn\u2019t think\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t think at all, Robert. You just did what she told you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked up at me, and I saw it.<\/p>\n
The little boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, who cried when I dropped him off at kindergarten, who told me I was his best friend when he was seven.<\/p>\n
That boy was gone.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s pregnant,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
My stomach twisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVanessa. She\u2019s pregnant. Two months. She told me last week.\u201d<\/p>\n
He wiped his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said if I don\u2019t fix this, if I don\u2019t get us a place to live, she\u2019ll leave. She\u2019ll take the baby and I\u2019ll never see it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down in the plastic chair by the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you see a doctor\u2019s note?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe showed me the test. Two pink lines.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert.\u201d I kept my voice calm. \u201cHome pregnancy tests can be faked. You can buy fake ones online for twenty dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would she?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause she\u2019s desperate. Because you lost your job and I evicted you and she knows the walls are closing in.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen\u2019s the last time she let you go to a doctor\u2019s appointment with her?\u201d<\/p>\n
He was quiet.<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert. When?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said she wanted privacy. That it was her body. Her choice about who\u2019s in the room.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course she did.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pulled out my phone and called Mr. Brennan. He answered on the second ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need a private investigator today. Someone who can verify a pregnancy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know someone. Give me two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up and looked at Robert.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re going to ask Vanessa to take a blood test at a real clinic today.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you have your answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
The investigator\u2019s name was Nicole Chen.<\/p>\n
She met us at a Labcorp in Yonkers at four o\u2019clock.<\/p>\n
Robert had called Vanessa and told her they needed a blood test for insurance purposes for the new apartment I was supposedly helping them get. She either believed it, or she was confident enough to think she could bluff her way through.<\/p>\n
Vanessa arrived twenty minutes late in yoga pants and oversized sunglasses. She didn\u2019t acknowledge me. She walked straight up to Robert and kissed his cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is ridiculous,\u201d she said. \u201cI already showed you the test.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just a formality, babe,\u201d Robert said. \u201cFor the landlord.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sighed theatrically. \u201cFine. Let\u2019s get this over with.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nicole handed her the paperwork. Vanessa filled it out, rolled up her sleeve, and didn\u2019t even flinch when the needle went in. I watched her the whole time. She smiled at the phlebotomist and made small talk about the weather.<\/p>\n
She was good. I\u2019ll give her that.<\/p>\n
\u201cResults in forty-eight hours,\u201d Nicole said.<\/p>\n
We got them in twenty-four.<\/p>\n
Nicole called me at noon on July fifth.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s not pregnant. Never was. The hCG levels are zero.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cSend the report to my email. And to Robert\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlready done.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up and waited.<\/p>\n
Robert called thirty minutes later. He was crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe lied. She lied about everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI confronted her. She said it was a miscarriage. That it happened yesterday and she didn\u2019t want to tell me because I was already stressed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert, the report says she was never pregnant. Not two months ago. Not yesterday. Not ever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he broke down. Full sobs. The kind that sound like choking.<\/p>\n
\u201cI chose her over you. I let her destroy you. And she was lying the whole time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I did not say I told you so.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n
I just listened to my son fall apart.<\/p>\n
Finally, he whispered, \u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou leave her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you can. Mr. Brennan has divorce papers ready. You sign them today. Clean break. I\u2019ll pay for the lawyer. You don\u2019t owe her anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, I don\u2019t have anywhere to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you do. 429 Willow Street. The house I bought. It\u2019s yours. You move in tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you doing this?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about Daniel\u2019s letters. About the life he wanted to give me. About the second chances we do not always get.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you\u2019re still my son,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd because I loved you before I loved anyone else in this world. But Robert, this is the last time. You choose her again, you walk away from this house, you lie to me one more time, and I\u2019m done. Do you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSay it back to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is the last time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Now go pack your things. Don\u2019t tell Vanessa where you\u2019re going. Just leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
That night, I sat in the penthouse for the first time without crying.<\/p>\n
I had brought a sleeping bag, a pillow, and Chinese takeout. I ate on the floor in the living room while the city lights flickered on and the sun set over Central Park.<\/p>\n
My phone buzzed.<\/p>\n
A text from Linda.<\/p>\n
Vanessa called me. Said you ruined her marriage. Said you\u2019re hiding money and she\u2019s going to sue. What\u2019s going on?<\/p>\n
I blocked her number.<\/p>\n
Then I pulled out the emerald ring, my mother\u2019s ring, the one Vanessa had demanded, and took a photo of it.<\/p>\n
I uploaded the photo to Christie\u2019s auction site under estate jewelry.<\/p>\n
Estimated value: $8,500.<\/p>\n
Proceeds to benefit Saint Vincent\u2019s Hospital Nursing Scholarship Fund.<\/p>\n
I hit submit.<\/p>\n
Then I texted Vanessa the listing link.<\/p>\n
No message. Just the link.<\/p>\n
Three minutes later, my phone rang.<\/p>\n
Unknown number.<\/p>\n
I let it go to voicemail.<\/p>\n
You think you\u2019re so smart. Robert\u2019s going to come back to me. You\u2019ll see. He always does. And when he does, I\u2019m taking everything.<\/p>\n
I deleted the voicemail before she finished.<\/p>\n
Robert moved into the house on Willow Street on July sixth.<\/p>\n
I helped him unpack. Three suitcases, a box of books, his laptop. Everything else he owned was still at the Ashford.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe changed the locks,\u201d he told me, sitting on the floor of the empty living room. \u201cI went back for my clothes and she\u2019d already changed them. She texted me a list of demands. Fifty thousand in the divorce settlement or she\u2019ll drag it out for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I handed him a bottle of water.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet her try. Mr. Brennan says she has no case. You were married eight years, no kids, no joint assets except credit-card debt. She gets half of nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s going to make this hell.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down next to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you\u2019re not alone this time.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me, really looked at me, and his eyes filled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m so sorry, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how to make this right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t. Not all the way. But you can start by being honest. With me. With yourself. No more choosing the easy lie over the hard truth.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happens now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow you find a job. You pay your own bills. You learn to stand on your own. And you prove to me that you meant what you said, that this is the last time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long do I have?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSix months. If you\u2019re still here in January, still clean, still showing up, we\u2019ll talk about what comes next.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if I fail?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you fail. But you won\u2019t do it in my house.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vanessa filed for divorce three days later.<\/p>\n
Not Robert. Vanessa.<\/p>\n
She claimed emotional abuse, financial manipulation, and my personal favorite, alienation of affection caused by a controlling, vindictive mother-in-law.<\/p>\n
Mr. Brennan sent me the filing with a note.<\/p>\n
She\u2019s flailing. This will be fun.<\/p>\n
It was.<\/p>\n
Her lawyer was from the same cut-rate firm that handled the house transfer, Whitmore and Associates. They demanded mediation, claimed Robert had hidden assets, requested full financial disclosure.<\/p>\n
Mr. Brennan buried them in paperwork. Bank statements showing Robert\u2019s three hundred forty-dollar checking-account balance. Credit-card debt of twenty-three thousand, all in both their names. Pay stubs showing he had been unemployed for six weeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s the money?\u201d Vanessa\u2019s lawyer kept asking.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat money?\u201d Mr. Brennan replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Hayes is living in a rental property owned by a private family trust. He has no assets.\u201d<\/p>\n
They could not prove otherwise because technically Robert didn\u2019t own the house.<\/p>\n
I did, through an LLC they could not trace back to me.<\/p>\n
Vanessa hired a private investigator. He followed Robert for two weeks, photographed him grocery shopping, going to job interviews, eating dinner alone.<\/p>\n
Nothing.<\/p>\n
She tried to subpoena my bank records. The judge denied it. I wasn\u2019t a party to the divorce.<\/p>\n
By mid-August, her lawyer stopped returning calls.<\/p>\n
On August twenty-second, Vanessa signed the papers.<\/p>\n
No settlement. No alimony. She kept her leased Audi and half the credit-card debt.<\/p>\n
Robert called me from the courthouse steps.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s over.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Come home. I\u2019m making dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dinner was spaghetti and store-bought sauce. I had never been a great cook. Daniel used to joke that my specialty was edible.<\/p>\n
Robert ate two plates and said it was the best meal he\u2019d had in months.<\/p>\n
We sat at the small kitchen table in the Willow Street house, and for the first time in years, it felt easy. Quiet. No Vanessa critiquing my cooking or rolling her eyes at my stories. Just my son and me, eating pasta and not talking about anything important.<\/p>\n
\u201cI got a job,\u201d Robert said. \u201cFinally.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAssistant manager at a construction supply company in Tarrytown. It\u2019s not much. Forty-two thousand a year. But it\u2019s something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI start Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pushed his food around his plate.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, can I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you get the money for this house?\u201d<\/p>\n
I had been waiting for that question.<\/p>\n
I took a sip of water and chose my words carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father left me some things. More than I expected. I used it to make sure you had a second chance.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert.\u201d<\/p>\n
I set down my glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight now, you need to focus on your job, your life, and proving you can stand on your own. When you\u2019ve done that, when I\u2019m sure you\u2019re solid, then we\u2019ll talk about the rest. But not before.\u201d<\/p>\n
He wanted to push. I could see it. But he nodded instead.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
In September, Linda called.<\/p>\n
I had unblocked her number by then, more out of curiosity than forgiveness.<\/p>\n
\u201cMargaret, we need to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout Vanessa. She came to my house last week. She said you stole money from Daniel\u2019s estate. That you manipulated Robert. She asked me to testify in a lawsuit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cLinda, what did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said I\u2019d think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice sounded small. Defensive.<\/p>\n
\u201cMargaret, she offered me fifteen thousand dollars. I\u2019m broke. Tom\u2019s not paying child support. The bank is threatening to foreclose.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStop.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re my sister. The only family I have left besides Robert. And you were going to testify against me for fifteen thousand dollars from a woman who has been lying to everyone for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t say yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you didn\u2019t say no.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes and felt the weight of forty years of disappointment settle in my chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cLinda, I\u2019ve spent my entire life helping people who never helped me back. I\u2019m done. You want money? Get a job. You want family? Start acting like it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMargaret, please\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t block her again.<\/p>\n
I just stopped answering.<\/p>\n
Eventually, she stopped calling.<\/p>\n
October came.<\/p>\n
Robert kept his job. Paid his bills. Started seeing a therapist. His idea, not mine.<\/p>\n
We had dinner every Sunday, sometimes at Willow Street, sometimes at a diner in town. We talked about small things. His work. The weather. A movie he watched. We did not talk about Vanessa. We did not talk about the money.<\/p>\n
But one Sunday in late October, Robert asked, \u201cDo you ever go back to the old house on Maple Avenue?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. I sold it.\u201d<\/p>\n
His head snapped up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI sold it in June. Donated the proceeds to Saint Vincent\u2019s Hospital. The nursing scholarship fund.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat house was worth\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know what it was worth. But it wasn\u2019t mine anymore. You signed it over to Vanessa, and I didn\u2019t want it back, so I let it go.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou donated eight hundred ninety thousand dollars?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI donated what it sold for, which was nine hundred twenty thousand. The market was good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, that money could have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCould have what? Sat in a bank account? Bought me things I don\u2019t need?\u201d<\/p>\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert, I spent thirty years at Saint Vincent\u2019s. I worked with nurses who couldn\u2019t afford to finish school, who took second jobs just to pay tuition. That money will send twenty students through a four-year program. That matters more than anything I could have bought.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was quiet for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cI don\u2019t deserve you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably not. But you\u2019re trying. That\u2019s enough for now.\u201d<\/p>\n
In November, I finally moved into the penthouse.<\/p>\n
Not full-time at first. I still kept Room 12 at the motel paid through December, just in case. But I brought my things. The quilt. The photograph. Daniel\u2019s letters.<\/p>\n
I hired a decorator, a woman named Patricia, who didn\u2019t ask questions. She just listened when I said, \u201cSimple. Comfortable. Nothing flashy.\u201d<\/p>\n
She filled the space with soft couches, warm rugs, bookshelves, lamps that made the rooms feel golden instead of cold.<\/p>\n
It started to feel like a home.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t tell Robert. Not yet.<\/p>\n
On Thanksgiving, I cooked dinner at Willow Street. Turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans. Robert brought wine. We sat at the table he bought secondhand, and he said grace for the first time since he was a child.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for this food, for this home, and for second chances. Amen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAmen,\u201d I echoed.<\/p>\n
After dinner, we sat on the porch. The air was cold and the sky was clear. Robert wrapped himself in a blanket, and I could see his breath in the dim light.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, can I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you happy?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about it.<\/p>\n
Really thought about it.<\/p>\n
About Daniel. About the motel. About the letters and the money and the choices I had made.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m getting there,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He smiled. \u201cGood. You deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n
On December fifteenth, six months to the day after Robert moved into Willow Street, I invited him to the penthouse.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet dressed,\u201d I said over the phone. \u201cSomething nice. Meet me at 785 Park Avenue at two.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, what\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust trust me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He showed up in a suit, the same one he wore to Daniel\u2019s funeral, but pressed and clean. The doorman let him in without question. The elevator opened directly into the apartment.<\/p>\n
I was waiting in the living room, standing by the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom,\u201d he said, looking around, \u201cwhose place is this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMine.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took in the furniture, the view, the space.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
I handed him an envelope.<\/p>\n
Inside was a copy of Daniel\u2019s letter from 1985, the summary of the estate, and a single key.<\/p>\n
He read in silence.<\/p>\n
When he finished, his hands were shaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty-eight million.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty-six now,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ve been busy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve had this the whole time? Since March?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you lived in a motel?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI needed to see who you\u2019d become without money. Without Vanessa. Without me bailing you out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took the letter back and folded it carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father left this to me because he knew I\u2019d protect it. Protect you, even from yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert sat down on the couch and covered his face with his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to say anything. You just have to keep showing up. Keep being honest. Keep proving that the man you\u2019re becoming is worth the second chance you\u2019ve been given.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
I held up the key.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is to the house on Willow Street. It\u2019s yours. Legally. Completely. No strings. You\u2019ve earned it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took the key and stared at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about the rest?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe rest is mine for now. Maybe forever. I haven\u2019t decided yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you don\u2019t need it, Robert. You never did. You just needed to believe in yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stood up, crossed the room, and hugged me.<\/p>\n
Not a polite hug.<\/p>\n
A real one.<\/p>\n
The kind he used to give me when he was small and scared and needed to know I\u2019d keep him safe.<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI love you too.\u201d<\/p>\n
We stood there for a long time, looking out at the city. The sun was setting, casting gold across the buildings, and Central Park stretched below us like a promise.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happens now?\u201d Robert asked.<\/p>\n
I thought about Daniel\u2019s letters. About the life he wanted for me. About the life I was finally starting to build.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow,\u201d I said, \u201cwe figure it out together.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I had been avoiding it, but I couldn\u2019t anymore. It was time to stop hiding. I walked through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood. I stood at … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1337,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1339","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\/1339","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=1339"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1339\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1340,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1339\/revisions\/1340"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1337"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1339"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1339"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1339"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}