![\"May](\"https:\/\/scontent-lax3-1.xx.fbcdn.net\/v\/t39.30808-6\/710745747_122104790996339857_8994289045847078067_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s640x640_tt6&_nc_cat=110&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=127cfc&_nc_ohc=UiPFz0-pnWsQ7kNvwHNKbd2&_nc_oc=AdooMATEMrvuEc2Dj4dv5HDO2yYeFgmCnAla_QSww_Xg-AsDZZpUGQ10qJHwCqM9y6E&_nc_zt=23&_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.xx&_nc_gid=IiSyK54uP7ZpdFPp01G4Qw&_nc_ss=792a8&oh=00_Af7ziq7ZYJ5zSWhEAosXWSVR5DpcDuwQSKAw_D5Ri7J-cA&oe=6A1F39B2\")
<\/p>\nThat was the first time I understood healing was not the absence of grief. It was grief no longer holding the steering wheel. Spring came slowly. The protective order became permanent for two years. Vivian moved into a rehabilitation facility outside Hartford. Her attorney withdrew the custody threats after Ethan signed a sworn statement disavowing any action filed in his name. Victor Lang\u2019s estate went into litigation briefly, then settled with almost insulting speed once DNA confirmed Ethan\u2019s claim. He inherited more money than either of us could understand. He kept none of it for himself. True to the idea born in my nursery, he created The Grace Harper Fund, dedicated to legal and medical support for women facing coercion, domestic control, reproductive abuse, and institutional intimidation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At the first board meeting, Ethan asked my mother to serve as founding director. She said no. Then cried. Then said yes. I watched her sign the papers with shaking hands and realized Grace had not vanished after all. She had returned as a force. Lily grew. She learned to smile first at the ceiling fan, then at me, then\u2014unfairly\u2014at Ethan whenever he made a ridiculous popping sound with his mouth. He visited three times a week. Then four. He never came unannounced. He never brought Vivian. He never asked for more than I offered. And that, more than any apology, began to change the shape of the room when he entered it. One evening, when Lily was four months old, I found him asleep on my couch with her tucked safely on his chest, one hand curved protectively around her back.<\/p>\n
The sight struck me with such force I had to grip the doorway.<\/p>\n
Not because it was perfect.<\/p>\n
Because it was ordinary.<\/p>\n
Because I had once dreamed of this exact softness and then buried the dream like a dead thing.<\/p>\n
Ethan opened his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t move. She\u2019ll wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n
He froze.<\/p>\n
I sat in the armchair across from him.<\/p>\n
For twenty minutes, we listened to Lily breathe.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cI signed the final divorce property amendment.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cAngela told me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI transferred the apartment proceeds.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat apartment was more yours than mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He smiled faintly. \u201cStill honest.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill right.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes warmed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m moving.\u201d<\/p>\n
That surprised me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo blocks over. Same neighborhood. Separate place. Easier for Lily. Only if you\u2019re comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
I considered it.<\/p>\n
Once, Ethan moving closer would have felt like invasion.<\/p>\n
Now it felt like logistics.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
His relief was visible but quiet.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lily sighed in her sleep, and both of us looked down at her with ridiculous reverence.<\/p>\n
Then Ethan whispered, \u201cI still love you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room did not explode.<\/p>\n
The walls did not crack.<\/p>\n
My heart did not collapse into the old shape.<\/p>\n
I only breathed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He nodded, accepting that as all I could give.<\/p>\n
But after he left that night, I stood at the window and watched him walk down the street beneath the yellow lamps.<\/p>\n
For the first time, I did not feel haunted.<\/p>\n
I felt curious.<\/p>\n
Six months after Lily\u2019s birth, an ivory envelope arrived.<\/p>\n
My first thought was Vivian.<\/p>\n
My second was dread.<\/p>\n
But the return address belonged to the rehabilitation facility.<\/p>\n
Inside was not a legal threat.<\/p>\n
It was a letter.<\/p>\n
Vivian\u2019s handwriting had changed. The stroke had left it uneven, stripped of elegance, but every word looked painfully deliberate.<\/p>\n
Chloe,<\/p>\n
I do not ask forgiveness.<\/p>\n
I am writing because my therapist says apology without expectation is the only kind that is not another demand.<\/p>\n
I harmed you.<\/p>\n
I lied to my son.<\/p>\n
I tried to take from you because I was afraid of being left with nothing.<\/p>\n
I see now that I made myself the emptiness I feared.<\/p>\n
I will not contact Lily.<\/p>\n
I will not ask Ethan to bring her.<\/p>\n
I have enclosed something that belongs to him, and perhaps to her someday.<\/p>\n
Vivian Chen.<\/p>\n
A photograph slipped from the envelope.<\/p>\n
Daniel Chen, young and laughing, holding a baby Ethan wrapped in a blue blanket. Beside him stood Vivian, beautiful and exhausted, her hand resting on Daniel\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n
On the back, Vivian had written:<\/p>\n
The first day I became his mother.<\/p>\n
I did not cry.<\/p>\n
But I sat down.<\/p>\n
When Ethan came over that evening, I handed him the letter.<\/p>\n
He read it in silence.<\/p>\n
Then the photograph.<\/p>\n
His eyes filled, but no tears fell.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you okay?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d He smiled sadly. \u201cBut I\u2019m not destroyed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Progress, I had learned, often sounded like that.<\/p>\n
He tucked the photograph carefully into his wallet.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something else,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mother asked if I would attend a family therapy session with her. Alone. No Lily. No you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited for the old fear to rise.<\/p>\n
It came, but weaker now.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me for a long time.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to go and not be twelve years old when I walk in.\u201d<\/p>\n
That answer was good enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen go.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
Two weeks later, he went.<\/p>\n
When he returned, he brought takeout and a stunned expression.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe apologized,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I paused with a carton of noodles in my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBadly. Then better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds like her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe admitted she knew Grace\u2019s name. She admitted she found Victor Lang\u2019s estate information before Lily was born.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went cold.<\/p>\n
\u201cBefore?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe had been watching me. Financial records, hospital gossip, old contacts. When she realized you were pregnant and I didn\u2019t know, she thought\u2026\u201d He stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe thought Lily could be used.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded once.<\/p>\n
I set the food down.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut there\u2019s more,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Of course.<\/p>\n
There was always more.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t send the packages.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said she planned to use the adoption file eventually, but she didn\u2019t send those letters. She was furious someone beat her to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
My blood chilled.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen who did?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan took out his phone and placed it on the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor found out.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pressed play.<\/p>\n
A recorded voice filled the room.<\/p>\n
Older. Female. Shaking with emotion.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Grace Harper. If you have found this recording, then my son is grown, and perhaps the truth has finally done what I was too afraid to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down hard.<\/p>\n
Ethan\u2019s face was pale.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s alive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The world stopped.<\/p>\n
My Aunt Grace\u2014the ghost, the wound, the whispered name at holiday tables\u2014was alive.<\/p>\n
The recording continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked Eleanor to send the letters if Vivian Chen ever threatened a woman and child with the truth of Ethan\u2019s birth. I know Vivian. I met her once. She looked at me like I had given her a gift and committed a crime in the same breath.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand found Ethan\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Neither of us seemed to decide it.<\/p>\n
It simply happened.<\/p>\n
Grace\u2019s voice trembled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI gave my son away because I believed he would be safer without my name attached to his. But no child is safe inside a lie forever.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan\u2019s fingers tightened around mine.<\/p>\n
Then Grace said the sentence that changed everything again.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am dying. I would like to meet him. And if Chloe can forgive my silence, I would like to meet the child named Lily Grace.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lily, playing on her mat nearby, squealed and kicked a stuffed rabbit.<\/p>\n
The sound broke something open.<\/p>\n
Ethan covered his mouth.<\/p>\n
I squeezed his hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
He looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re sure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d My eyes filled. \u201cBut we\u2019re going anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grace Harper lived in a white cottage near the Maine coast, where the sea threw itself against black rocks and the wind smelled like salt, pine, and endings.<\/p>\n
She was thinner than I expected.<\/p>\n
Smaller.<\/p>\n
Her silver hair was braided over one shoulder. A quilt covered her lap. Her hands trembled as Ethan stepped through the door carrying Lily.<\/p>\n
For a moment, no one spoke.<\/p>\n
Then Grace whispered, \u201cDaniel\u2019s eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan froze.<\/p>\n
Grace began to cry.<\/p>\n
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just tears slipping down a face that had waited thirty-four years to see what became of the child she had surrendered to mercy and secrecy.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know I don\u2019t have the right,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Ethan\u2019s voice was rough. \u201cTo what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo ask you to come closer.\u201d<\/p>\n
He crossed the room immediately.<\/p>\n
He knelt beside her chair, Lily held carefully between them.<\/p>\n
Grace looked at him as if seeing both infant and man at once.<\/p>\n
\u201cI loved you,\u201d she said. \u201cEvery day. Uselessly, maybe. Cowardly, maybe. But I loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan closed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had good parents,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Grace nodded, crying harder. \u201cI hoped so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI had one good parent,\u201d he corrected softly. \u201cAnd one who was too afraid to love without owning.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grace absorbed that with a grief that was not surprise.<\/p>\n
Then Lily reached out and grabbed her braid.<\/p>\n
Grace laughed.<\/p>\n
It was sudden and bright and young.<\/p>\n
The sound filled the cottage.<\/p>\n
I turned toward the window so no one would see me fall apart.<\/p>\n
But Ethan saw.<\/p>\n
He always did.<\/p>\n
This time, he did not ask me to carry his feeling. He only reached for my hand.<\/p>\n
And I gave it.<\/p>\n
We stayed three days.<\/p>\n
Grace told stories in fragments. She told Ethan about the lullaby she sang before signing the adoption papers. She told me how my grandmother had hidden her pregnancy with oversized sweaters and fierce silence. She told my mother, over a video call, that she had missed her every year and been too ashamed to return.<\/p>\n
My mother flew up on the second day.<\/p>\n
The reunion between Marian and Grace was not graceful.<\/p>\n
They shouted first.<\/p>\n
Then cried.<\/p>\n
Then held each other so tightly I thought their bones might crack.<\/p>\n
On the last evening, Grace asked to sit outside.<\/p>\n
We wrapped her in blankets and carried tea to the porch. Ethan held Lily. I sat beside him. My mother and Grace sat together, hands linked like girls.<\/p>\n
The sunset burned pink over the water.<\/p>\n
Grace looked at Ethan.<\/p>\n
\u201cI left you something,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
He shook his head. \u201cI don\u2019t need money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt isn\u2019t money.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled faintly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a name.\u201d<\/p>\n
He frowned.<\/p>\n
Grace reached into her blanket and pulled out a small envelope.<\/p>\n
Inside was a birth certificate application.<\/p>\n
On it, in careful handwriting, was the name she had given him before the adoption:<\/p>\n
Noah Grace Harper.<\/strong><\/p>\n Ethan stared at it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou were Noah for three days,\u201d Grace said. \u201cThen you became Ethan Chen. Both names are yours. Neither one cancels the other.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at the paper for a long time.<\/p>\n Then he laughed softly through tears.<\/p>\n \u201cNoah Ethan Harper Chen,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s a lot for a coffee order.\u201d<\/p>\n Grace smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou survived worse.\u201d<\/p>\n Two weeks later, Grace died in her sleep.<\/p>\n Peacefully, Eleanor said.<\/p>\n I did not believe death could be peaceful for those left holding the silence, but I was glad she had met her son. I was glad she had felt Lily\u2019s small fingers on her face. I was glad the truth had arrived before the ending.<\/p>\n At Grace\u2019s memorial, Vivian came in a wheelchair.<\/p>\n I had agreed only after Ethan asked me with no pressure in his voice.<\/p>\n Vivian looked smaller now, stripped of pearls and command. When she saw Lily, her eyes filled, but she did not reach out.<\/p>\n She looked at me instead.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor letting me see what I lost.\u201d<\/p>\n There was nothing manipulative in it.<\/p>\n Only ruin.<\/p>\n I nodded once.<\/p>\n That was all I had.<\/p>\n During the service, Ethan spoke.<\/p>\n He stood before a room of people who had known Grace as neighbor, patient, friend, mystery.<\/p>\n \u201cMy mother Grace gave me life,\u201d he said. \u201cMy father Daniel gave me love. Vivian gave me a home, though fear twisted that love into something that hurt people. Chloe gave me the truth I deserved least and needed most. And my daughter Lily gave me a future I intend to earn every day.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at me then.<\/p>\n Not pleading.<\/p>\n Not performing.<\/p>\n Just present.<\/p>\n Afterward, outside beneath the spring trees, Vivian wheeled herself toward me.<\/p>\n Ethan stiffened, but I touched his arm.<\/p>\n Vivian stopped several feet away.<\/p>\n \u201cI have signed the trust papers,\u201d she said. \u201cI relinquished any claim or administrative petition. The fund belongs to Ethan.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo the women it helps,\u201d Ethan corrected.<\/p>\n Vivian nodded.<\/p>\n Then she looked at Lily, asleep against my chest.<\/p>\n \u201cShe is beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cShe has Ethan\u2019s eyebrows.\u201d<\/p>\n I almost laughed.<\/p>\n \u201cSo everyone keeps telling me.\u201d<\/p>\n Vivian\u2019s mouth trembled.<\/p>\n \u201cI will not ask to hold her.\u201d<\/p>\n Something in me loosened.<\/p>\n Not enough to hand over my child.<\/p>\n Enough to speak without hatred.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe someday, if you keep becoming safe.\u201d<\/p>\n Vivian closed her eyes.<\/p>\n A tear slipped down her cheek.<\/p>\n \u201cSomeday,\u201d she whispered, as if the word itself were a mercy.<\/p>\n One year after Lily\u2019s birth, Ethan and I stood again in Hartford Memorial.<\/p>\n Not in a delivery room.<\/p>\n In the lobby, beneath a new brass plaque.<\/p>\n The Grace Harper Center for Women and Families.<\/strong><\/p>\n The first clinic funded by Victor Lang\u2019s estate opened inside the very hospital where Lily had been born, where Vivian had collapsed, where Ethan had lowered his mask and discovered the life he had missed.<\/p>\n Reporters came.<\/p>\n Doctors came.<\/p>\n Women came quietly, holding folders, children, bruised hopes.<\/p>\n My mother cut the ribbon.<\/p>\n Eleanor Park cried and pretended not to.<\/p>\n Vivian watched from the back in her wheelchair beside her therapist, hands folded, face unreadable except for the single tear that fell when Ethan took the stage.<\/p>\n He thanked the hospital.<\/p>\n He thanked the board.<\/p>\n He thanked Grace.<\/p>\n Then he turned to me.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Chloe Harper,\u201d he said, voice steady, \u201cwho taught me that love without boundaries is not love. It is hunger.\u201d<\/p>\n The room went silent.<\/p>\n He continued.<\/p>\n \u201cShe once told me I didn\u2019t ask. She was right. I didn\u2019t ask what she needed. I didn\u2019t ask what she feared. I didn\u2019t ask what my silence cost her. So today, in front of everyone, I am not asking for forgiveness. I am asking only to spend my life becoming someone who never again needs silence to feel safe.\u201d<\/p>\n My heart hammered.<\/p>\n He stepped down from the podium.<\/p>\n I should have been embarrassed.<\/p>\n I should have been angry that he had made our wound public.<\/p>\n But all I saw was the man who had finally stopped hiding behind good intentions.<\/p>\n Lily, now one year old, chose that moment to shout, \u201cDa!\u201d<\/p>\n The room laughed.<\/p>\n Ethan looked at her as if she had handed him the moon.<\/p>\n Later, after the crowd thinned, we stood outside the center. The evening light turned the windows gold.<\/p>\n Ethan held Lily. I held the diaper bag. Romance, as it turned out, often smelled faintly of applesauce and wipes.<\/p>\n He looked nervous.<\/p>\n That made me suspicious.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n He shifted Lily to his other hip.<\/p>\n \u201cI have something for you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEthan.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not a ring.\u201d<\/p>\n My stomach did something ridiculous.<\/p>\n He reached into his coat and pulled out a key.<\/p>\n I stared at it.<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not to my apartment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe key to the center. Your mother said you should have one. You\u2019re on the emergency access list.\u201d<\/p>\n I took it slowly.<\/p>\n He smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cI learned. No one gets a key to your life unless you choose to give it.\u201d<\/p>\n Tears burned my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cThat was unfairly good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI practiced.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked down, then back at me.<\/p>\n \u201cChloe.\u201d<\/p>\n There it was.<\/p>\n My name in his mouth, no longer a wound, not yet a promise, but something tender standing in the open.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you,\u201d he said. \u201cI will love you whether you marry me again or never let me past your porch without texting first. I will love you raising our daughter together. I will love you on the days you trust me and on the days you remember why you didn\u2019t. I\u2019m not asking for the old life back. I\u2019m asking whether we can build one that never existed before.\u201d<\/p>\n The surprising thing was not that I cried.<\/p>\n The surprising thing was that I laughed.<\/p>\n Because after all the secrets, courtrooms, letters, ghosts, inheritances, betrayals, and impossible bloodlines, the ending was not a grand revelation.<\/p>\n It was this.<\/p>\n A man holding a baby with his eyebrows.<\/p>\n A woman holding a key.<\/p>\n A future standing between them, waiting to be chosen.<\/p>\n I stepped closer.<\/p>\n \u201cAsk me again,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n His eyes widened.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n I smiled through tears.<\/p>\n \u201cYou heard me, Dr. Chen.\u201d<\/p>\n He swallowed hard.<\/p>\n \u201cCan we build a life that never existed before?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at Lily.<\/p>\n Then at the center behind us.<\/p>\n Then at Ethan, who had once failed me so completely I thought love had died there, only to return not as a miracle, but as work.<\/p>\n Daily work.<\/p>\n Honest work.<\/p>\n Chosen work.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Ethan closed his eyes.<\/p>\n Lily clapped her sticky hands against his cheek.<\/p>\n And one year after the day he lowered his mask and found me in labor, I reached up, touched the tiny scar near his chin, and kissed him.<\/p>\n Not as the wife he had lost.<\/p>\n Not as the woman he had broken.<\/p>\n But as someone new.<\/p>\n Someone who had survived the worst sentence he had ever earned from me.<\/p>\n You didn\u2019t ask.<\/strong><\/p>\n Now, at last, he had.<\/p>\n And this time, I answered.<\/p>\n Yes.<\/strong><\/p>\n THE END.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" That was the first time I understood healing was not the absence of grief. It was grief no longer holding the steering wheel. Spring came slowly. The protective order became … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2728,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[21,22,1,5,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2993","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-daily-article","category-reddit-stories","category-story","category-story-daily","category-viral-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2993","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=2993"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2993\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2994,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2993\/revisions\/2994"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2728"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2993"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2993"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2993"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}