{"id":3792,"date":"2026-06-22T13:01:15","date_gmt":"2026-06-22T13:01:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/?p=3792"},"modified":"2026-06-22T13:01:15","modified_gmt":"2026-06-22T13:01:15","slug":"they-broke-my-daughters-jaw-to-bury-a-secret-they-forgot-her-father-had-spent-his-life-digging-truth-out-of-war-zones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/?p=3792","title":{"rendered":"They Broke My Daughter\u2019s Jaw to Bu:ry a Secret. They Forgot Her Father Had Spent His Life Digging Truth Out of War Zones."},"content":{"rendered":"

A doctor showed me an X ray of my daughter\u2019s face and quietly explained that her jaw had been shattered in six places. Hours earlier, she had been a normal college student, but now she lay in a hospital bed, unable to speak, and completely unable to explain what had happened to her. I had survived war zones and the absolute chaos of the battlefield, but nothing in my training could have ever prepared me for the night I learned that someone had nearly beaten my little girl to death. My name is Frank Anderson, though I prefer people just call me Frank because that is who I have been for the last decade since I retired from the service. For most people in our sleepy town of Crestwood, I am just a retired military veteran living a quiet life, spending my days fixing things around the house and drinking far too much coffee.<\/p>\n

\"May<\/p>\n

I have a habit of calling my daughter, Maya, more often than she thinks is necessary because she is only twenty years old and a sophomore at Ashford University. She is the absolute brightest thing in my life, and on a rainy Thursday night, everything I knew about my world changed in an instant. The phone call came at exactly 11:47 p.m., and I remember the specific time because I had just finished switching off the television and was heading toward the kitchen when my phone buzzed across the wooden table. It was an unknown number, and under normal circumstances, I would have simply ignored it, but something in my gut told me that I needed to answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello?\u201d I asked, my voice steady despite the sudden spike of anxiety in my chest.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The voice on the other end was calm, almost too calm for the situation, and the man simply asked if I was indeed Frank Anderson.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, that is me, who is calling?\u201d I said, leaning against the counter.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is Crestwood Central Hospital, and I am calling to inform you that your daughter, Maya Anderson, has been admitted to our emergency department,\u201d the voice replied, and my stomach instantly tightened into a knot.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened to her?\u201d I demanded, my pulse beginning to explode against my temples.<\/p>\n

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and the person on the other end finally said that I needed to come down there immediately.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am asking you what happened to my daughter,\u201d I repeated, my voice rising in volume and urgency.<\/p>\n

The woman who eventually took over the line hesitated for a second before she told me the words that turned my blood cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir, I am so sorry, but your daughter was found outside and she was attacked,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

The drive to the hospital felt like it lasted an eternity, with the rain hammering against the windshield while my hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned bone white. Every single terrible possibility raced through my mind as I sped through the empty streets, and by the time I finally arrived, I felt like I could barely breathe.<\/p>\n

The hospital doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the sharp, clinical smell of antiseptic hit me immediately while nurses rushed through the brightly lit hallways. Machines were beeping in the distance, and I could hear someone crying behind a privacy curtain, which served as a cruel reminder that life continued normally for everyone else while mine had just come to a grinding halt.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am looking for Maya Anderson,\u201d I said to the nurse at the front desk, and she looked up at me with weary eyes.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The moment she saw my face, her professional expression softened with a look of genuine pity.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to go to room 305,\u201d she said, and I did not wait for anything else before I practically ran down the hallway.<\/p>\n

When I reached the room and pushed the door open, I froze in my tracks because nothing in my long military career had prepared me for the sight of my daughter lying motionless beneath the crisp white hospital blankets. Bandages were wrapped heavily around her head and jaw, one of her eyes was swollen completely shut, and the other was barely able to open. Bruises were darkening her cheeks and forehead, and a thick tube was running into her arm to deliver medication.<\/p>\n

On a nearby chair sat a clear plastic evidence bag containing her favorite blue hoodie, the one I had bought for her for Christmas, and the sight of it nearly broke me. I stepped closer to the bed and whispered her name, and her fingers twitched slightly, which was the only sign that she was still present.<\/p>\n

\u201cSweetheart, I am here now, and you are safe,\u201d I said as I sank into the hard plastic chair beside her bed.<\/p>\n

A single tear slipped down her bruised cheek, and I felt something crack deep inside my chest that had remained sturdy for years. Moments later, a surgeon entered the room carrying several X ray films. His exhausted face told me everything I needed to know before he even opened his mouth to speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow bad is it, Doctor?\u201d I asked, looking at the images he placed on the light board.<\/p>\n

I stared at the screen, and I could clearly see fractures running across her jaw like cracks spreading through shattered glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are six separate breaks here,\u201d he said quietly, and I found that I could not look away from the damage.<\/p>\n

\u201cSix different breaks in her jaw?\u201d I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.<\/p>\n

The doctor nodded slowly and pointed to the images. \u201cOne near the hinge and multiple fractures along the lower jaw, which indicates significant trauma.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice grew lower as he added that whoever did this to her must have struck her with an incredible amount of force.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill she recover from these injuries?\u201d I asked, holding my breath as I waited for the answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe believe so, but she will require multiple reconstructive surgeries to get her jaw functioning again,\u201d he said carefully.<\/p>\n

I swallowed hard and then asked the most important question of all.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho did this to her, and why?\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor sighed and shook his head. \u201cWe do not know, and the police have not given us a name yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean you do not know?\u201d I asked, standing up to face him directly.<\/p>\n

\u201cCampus security found her unconscious near the science building on the north side of the grounds,\u201d he explained.<\/p>\n

I stared at him in disbelief, wondering how this could happen in a place that was supposed to be safe.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you telling me that a university campus full of students, and you found nobody who saw anything?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

The doctor looked away, and for the first time that night, something felt wrong in a way that I could not immediately define. Campuses have students, students have phones, and attacks like this do not simply happen without someone knowing the truth. As I looked at Maya lying helpless in that hospital bed, one question consumed my thoughts: who was trying so hard to make sure nobody ever found out what really happened that night?<\/p>\n

Chapter 2: The Secret and the Shadow<\/h3>\n

By the next morning, the rain had stopped, but the world outside Maya\u2019s window still looked drowned and gray. A police officer came to see me at 6:20 a.m., but he was young, clearly nervous, and carried a thin notebook that he barely opened during our conversation.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Anderson, we are currently treating this as an aggravated assault case,\u201d he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are treating it as that, or are you actually going to do something about it?\u201d I asked, my tone sharp.<\/p>\n

He looked down at his shoes. \u201cWe are waiting on the campus footage to be released to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean the footage that should already exist?\u201d I asked, crossing my arms.<\/p>\n

His eyes flicked toward the floor, and that tiny movement told me more than his words ever could. I had spent years reading fear on the faces of men, and I knew what fear looked like before a lie collapsed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you not saying to me?\u201d I asked, stepping into his personal space.<\/p>\n

The officer swallowed hard and cleared his throat. \u201cTwo cameras near the science building were down at the time of the incident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDown, you say?\u201d I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir, the systems were undergoing maintenance,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn the same night my daughter was attacked, the cameras just happened to be off?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

He did not answer, and I knew that he had been ordered to keep his mouth shut. Before he could respond, Maya made a faint sound from the bed, and I turned instantly to her side. Her good eye had opened a little wider, and her fingers moved weakly against the rough hospital blanket.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cSweetheart, take it easy, do not try to talk yet,\u201d I said, leaning over her.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Her hand trembled as she reached for the nurse\u2019s clipboard and a pen. Maya\u2019s fingers curled around the pen, and with every movement, she seemed to be losing strength, but she managed to write one jagged word on the paper.<\/p>\n

MASON.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The officer leaned in, his interest finally piqued. \u201cIs Mason the person who attacked you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s hand shook violently, and she wrote again: NOT HIM.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Then, underneath that, she wrote: HE SAW.<\/p>\n

My breath caught in my throat as I looked at the name.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is Mason?\u201d I asked the officer.<\/p>\n

The officer frowned. \u201cMason Foster, he is a junior, and the son of Senator Gregory Foster.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room went cold, and even before the officer said the rest, I understood why the cameras went dark, why the witnesses disappeared, and why nobody wanted to speak. It was a senator\u2019s son, a prestigious college campus, a girl with a shattered jaw, and a silence that was so thick it smelled like old money and political protection.<\/p>\n

By noon, a woman from the university arrived wearing a sharp gray suit and a sympathetic smile that never reached her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Anderson, I am Dean Pamela Clark, and I want to say how deeply sorry we are for what happened,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not,\u201d I said, holding up a hand.<\/p>\n

She blinked, clearly surprised. \u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not start with being sorry if you only came here to manage me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Her smile tightened. \u201cWe are cooperating fully with the authorities, I assure you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cWere the cameras working that night, Dean?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is currently under review by our technical team,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas Mason Foster questioned about my daughter?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI cannot discuss the actions of other students,\u201d she replied, her voice growing colder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas my daughter found alone, or was someone else there?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cCampus security discovered her, and that is all we know,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not what I asked, and you know it,\u201d I said, stepping closer to her.<\/p>\n

Dean Clark looked toward Maya\u2019s bed and then back at me. \u201cMr. Anderson, emotions are running high, and I understand that, but public speculation could harm your daughter\u2019s future.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed once, a short, humorless sound. \u201cYou think I am worried about speculation? My daughter cannot speak because someone broke her face, and you are worried about the headlines hurting the school\u2019s reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face hardened for a second, and then she said the sentence that confirmed everything I suspected.<\/p>\n

\u201cPowerful families are involved in this, so you should think very carefully before making wild accusations,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

There it was, not comfort, not help, but a direct warning.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have buried friends in places you could not even find on a map,\u201d I said, my voice ice cold. \u201cI have watched men with guns lie much better than you ever could, so listen carefully to me, Dean Clark. I am not making accusations, I am making a promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

That afternoon, I went to the university campus, and it looked peaceful in the pale light of the afternoon. There were wet sidewalks, red brick buildings, and students walking around with backpacks and coffee cups, the kind of place parents paid for because they believed their children would be safe. Near the science building, yellow tape fluttered weakly in the wind, and a campus security guard blocked my path.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe area is restricted,\u201d he said, trying to look tough.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am Maya Anderson\u2019s father,\u201d I said, and his expression changed to one of sheer panic.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry, sir, but you need to leave right now,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho told you to say that?\u201d I asked, looking past him.<\/p>\n

He glanced toward a black SUV parked near the curb, and inside, a man in a dark coat was watching me. I knew that posture; it was security detail, not campus police, but professional private protection. I walked toward the SUV, and the man stepped out before I even reached the bumper, looking clean cut and expensive.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Anderson, I suggest you go home,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem to know my name,\u201d I said, stopping in front of him.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople are concerned,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout my daughter, or about this getting out of hand?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

I looked past him at the science building, and then I saw something. A security camera above the loading entrance was angled downward, and it was not one of the two cameras the officer had told me were down.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that camera down too?\u201d I asked, pointing up.<\/p>\n

The man\u2019s jaw tightened, and that was all the confirmation I needed. I walked away before he could stop me, but I did not go home. I went to a small bar two blocks from campus, ordered a coffee, and made a call I had sworn I would never make again.<\/p>\n

The line clicked, and a gravelly voice answered. \u201cAnderson?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Ghost,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

There was a long silence on the other end, and then he asked if I was dead or retired.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am retired,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo retired man calls me at this hour,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy daughter was attacked,\u201d I said, and the humor vanished from his voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cSend me everything you have,\u201d he commanded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not have everything, but I know where to look,\u201d I said, and I gave him the names, the times, and the location of the cameras.<\/p>\n

Ghost listened without interrupting, and at the end, he said that I was stepping into the middle of a political war.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cThey stepped into my daughter\u2019s hospital room, and now they are going to pay.\u201d<\/p>\n

That night, Ghost sent me one file, which was a grainy video from a private delivery camera across the alley behind the science building. The footage was timestamped at 10:36 p.m., and Maya appeared first, running for her life. Her blue hoodie was torn, and her hair was stuck to her face from the rain. Behind her came two young men and one woman, and as one of the men grabbed her arm, she fought back with everything she had.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The woman slapped Maya hard enough to spin her sideways, and then another figure rushed into the frame. It was Mason Foster, and he shoved the attackers back, yelling at them to stop. Then, the tall young man in a varsity jacket swung something metal, and Mason dropped to the ground. Maya screamed, and the second blow hit her hard. I stopped breathing as I watched the video, but I saw enough. I saw the attackers drag Mason toward the loading dock, I saw the woman take Maya\u2019s phone, and I saw the guy in the varsity jacket lean close to Maya while she lay on the ground.<\/p>\n

Then he said something the camera did not capture, and he kicked her once before running away. I played it again and again until the rage inside me became a cold, focused intent. The attacker was not Mason Foster, because he had tried to save my daughter. The person who nearly killed her was wearing a jacket with a name stitched across the back: CLARK.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

It was Dean Clark\u2019s son.<\/p>\n

Chapter 3: The Truth Unfolds<\/h3>\n

The next morning, every local news station received the same anonymous clip, just enough to tell the story. By 8:05 a.m., Bradley University\u2019s official statement had collapsed, and by 8:30, Senator Gregory Foster stood in front of the cameras with his face pale and furious.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy son is not a suspect,\u201d he said. \u201cMy son is in a private hospital with a fractured skull because he tried to protect Maya Anderson from these thugs.\u201d<\/p>\n

At 9:12, Dean Clark called me, but her voice was no longer polished or arrogant.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do not understand what you have done to this institution,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I sat beside Maya\u2019s bed, watching my daughter sleep as I spoke into the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you do not understand what I still have in my possession,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou leaked private material to the press,\u201d she said, her voice shaking.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saved the public truth,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy son just made a mistake,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I closed my eyes as I thought about the six broken places in my daughter\u2019s jaw.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cTell your son to run, Dean,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n

She went silent, and then asked if that was a threat.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cIt is just some fatherly advice.\u201d<\/p>\n

The police arrested Matthew Clark that afternoon, taking him from a luxury apartment near campus while the cameras rolled. He wore sweatpants and the same arrogance that men wear when they have never been told no in their entire lives. His girlfriend, Farrah Mitchell, was arrested an hour later, and the second male student, Jacob Turner, turned himself in before dinner, immediately asking for a deal.<\/p>\n

But the story was not complete yet, because Ghost sent me another file that night, which was audio recovered from Maya\u2019s damaged phone. The screen had been shattered and the device had been found in a storm drain, but Maya had been smart enough to activate an emergency recording before she ran. Her voice came through first, breathless and terrified as she begged them to stop.<\/p>\n

\u201cMatthew, stop, I am going to report you for this,\u201d Maya cried out.<\/p>\n

Then Matthew Clark\u2019s voice came through, cold and dismissive. \u201cYou did not see anything, so shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw you spike her drink, Matthew,\u201d Maya said.<\/p>\n

A female voice, likely Farrah, snapped that she should give them the phone. Mason shouted for them to leave her alone, and then there was nothing but the sound of rain, footsteps, and Maya\u2019s muffled crying. Finally, Matthew said the words that made every hair on my arms rise.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother will bury this story before the sun comes up tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the hospital bed and saw that Maya\u2019s eye was open. She had heard it too, and tears slid into her hairline. I took her hand and squeezed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou tried to protect someone,\u201d I whispered to her.<\/p>\n

Her fingers squeezed mine back, confirming that she knew she had done the right thing. Later, we learned the girl Matthew had drugged was named Elena Scott, who had left a fraternity party confused and barely conscious. Maya had seen Matthew put something into Elena\u2019s cup, followed them, recorded them, and threatened to call the police. Mason Foster had followed because he knew Matthew was dangerous, and Maya had not been attacked because she was careless.<\/p>\n

She had been attacked because she was brave.<\/p>\n

The trial became national news, and Dean Clark resigned before she could be fired. Her emails revealed she had ordered campus security to pause external cooperation until she could speak with the family attorney, and she had referred to the camera outage as a technical blessing. That single phrase destroyed her career.<\/p>\n

Matthew\u2019s friends testified one by one, with Farrah crying on the stand and saying she only took the phone because she was scared of Matthew. Jacob admitted Matthew had carried a heavy steel flashlight that night. Mason Foster walked into court with a visible scar along his temple and looked directly at Maya before he testified.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe saved Elena,\u201d he said, looking at the jury. \u201cI only tried to save her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Matthew\u2019s attorney tried to paint Maya as confused, emotional, and unreliable, but then the prosecutor played the audio. The courtroom heard Maya say, \u201cI saw you spike her drink,\u201d and they heard Matthew say, \u201cMy mother will bury this before sunrise.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched the jurors flinch, and Matthew Clark finally lowered his eyes in shame. When the verdict came, the room held its breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cGuilty,\u201d the foreman said.<\/p>\n

It was aggravated battery, witness intimidation, evidence tampering, conspiracy, and attempted obstruction. Elena Scott sobbed into her mother\u2019s shoulder, and Mason closed his eyes in relief. Dean Clark, sitting in the back row with hollow cheeks and trembling hands, made a sound like something inside her had finally snapped.<\/p>\n

But the true ending came six months later, not in court, not on television, and not with revenge. It came on a quiet spring morning at the university. Maya insisted on returning to finish her degree, even though I hated the idea. She wrote on a whiteboard at home that she would not let him own the place where she survived.<\/p>\n

So I drove her back, and I saw that the university had installed new lights, new cameras, and new emergency stations everywhere. The science building loading dock was closed and replaced by a small garden with a stone bench.<\/p>\n

Maya walked slowly, her scars faint but visible, and her shoulders were straighter than before. Elena Scott met her there, and then Mason Foster arrived. For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, young people who had been forced to grow old in one terrible night.<\/p>\n

Then Maya did something I did not expect. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the blue hoodie, the same one from the evidence bag. It was cleaned and repaired, but still torn at the sleeve. She handed it to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad,\u201d she said, her voice rough now, but unmistakably hers. \u201cI want you to stop looking at this like it is the night I almost died.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could not speak, and she touched the torn fabric of the sleeve.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the night I saved someone,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Elena broke down into tears, and Mason turned away, wiping his own eyes. As for me, I stood there, a retired soldier who had survived bombs, bullets, and war zones, finally defeated by the quiet courage of a twenty-year-old girl.<\/p>\n

I thought the story ended with justice, but I was wrong. A year later, Maya changed her major to criminal justice. Three years after that, she stood on a stage in a black graduation gown, her scars barely visible and her smile impossible to miss. When they called her name, the whole auditorium rose to their feet.<\/p>\n

Not because they knew everything, and not because they understood the pain. But because some stories travel even when no one says them out loud. Maya crossed the stage, accepted her diploma, and looked straight at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am still here,\u201d she mouthed to me.<\/p>\n

That was the ending no one saw coming, not the prison sentence, not the ruined dean, and not the powerful families brought to their knees. The real shock was that they tried to silence my daughter by breaking her jaw, but in the end, her silence became the loudest testimony of all. Every person who tried to bury the truth learned the same lesson. You can break bone, you can steal phones, and you can shut off cameras, but you cannot bury the truth when the person you tried to destroy decides to live loudly enough for the whole world to hear.<\/p>\n

THE END.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A doctor showed me an X ray of my daughter\u2019s face and quietly explained that her jaw had been shattered in six places. Hours earlier, she had been a normal … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3333,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[21,22,1,5,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3792","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\/3792","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=3792"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3792\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3793,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3792\/revisions\/3793"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3333"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3792"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3792"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nextstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3792"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}