{"id":10478,"date":"2026-02-12T18:13:42","date_gmt":"2026-02-12T18:13:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=10478"},"modified":"2026-02-12T18:13:42","modified_gmt":"2026-02-12T18:13:42","slug":"on-the-way-home-from-preschool-my-daughter-asked-if-id-cry-when-she-went-to-the-ocean-with-her-other-mom-and-dad","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=10478","title":{"rendered":"On the Way Home from Preschool, My Daughter Asked If I\u2019d Cry When She Went to the Ocean with \u2018Her Other Mom and Dad\u2019"},"content":{"rendered":"
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When four-year-old Tess mentions her \u201cother mom,\u201d Piper\u2019s world quietly shatters. But some betrayals aren\u2019t met with screams, they\u2019re met with stillness, strategy, and strength. As Piper pieces together the truth, she discovers the power of walking away\u2026 and what it really means to be the one her daughter runs to first.Six weeks ago, my daughter asked if I\u2019d cry when she left for the ocean with her other mom and dad.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/header>\n
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<\/div>\n
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That was the moment the truth stopped whispering and finally screamed.We were driving home from preschool. Tess had her shoes off, a half-eaten fruit snack stuck to her leggings, and was staring out the window like she could read something in the clouds.The sun filtered in warm stripes through the glass. It was quiet\u2026 the kind of quiet only a four-year-old can make sacred.\u201cMommy, will you cry when I go to the ocean with Dad and my other mom?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I blinked.My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles going white, but I kept my voice steady.\u201cYour\u2026 other mom? Tess, what are you talking about?\u201d\u201cMom Lizzie says you\u2019re the evil one,\u201d she shrugged. \u201cShe\u2019s the kind mom. And soon, we\u2019re going to the ocean with Daddy.\u201dThe car didn\u2019t swerve, but everything inside me did.\u201cWho\u2019s Mom Lizzie, sweetheart?\u201dShe looked at me like I\u2019d told her I didn\u2019t know where we lived.\u201cShe\u2019s always at our house. You know her, Mommy! Don\u2019t pretend.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash<\/p>\n

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Pretend. Right.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHey,\u201d I said, somehow smiling through it all. \u201cWant to stop by Gran\u2019s for cookies? Or cake? Or brownies? Or whatever she\u2019s made today?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYes, please!\u201d Her eyes lit up.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My mother, Evelyn, opened the door before I even knocked. She had flour on her cheek and a dishtowel over one shoulder, like I\u2019d interrupted something comforting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A smiling older woman | Source: Freepik<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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But she didn\u2019t seem to mind one bit.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou two look like you\u2019ve been driving through your own thoughts,\u201d she said, pulling Tess and me into a hug that smelled like vanilla and old books.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cShe\u2019s tired, Mom,\u201d I said. \u201cMind if she naps here for a bit?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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My mother\u2019s eyes scanned my face, reading the subtext like it was printed in bold.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cOf course not!\u201d she said. \u201cGo on, sweet pea. The couch is waiting for you. And when you\u2019re up, you\u2019ll have freshly baked cookies!\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A tray of cookies | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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My daughter smiled and nodded, fighting off a yawn.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I tucked Tess under the lavender knit blanket Gran kept folded at the edge. She curled onto her side, her thumb brushing her cheek, already halfway to sleep.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I sat with her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall like the tide.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Then, I pulled out my phone and opened the nanny cam app.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman using her phone | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cPiper? I\u2019ll make some tea, yeah?\u201d my mother called from the doorway to the kitchen.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYes, please, Mom,\u201d I sighed before turning back to my phone.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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The camera was hidden behind a row of old paperbacks in the living room, discreet, angled, forgotten. I\u2019d installed it months ago, back when Lizzie\u2019s perfume clung to the hallway long after she\u2019d left\u2026 and when Daniel\u2019s smile started slipping around the edges.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I hadn\u2019t looked at the footage in weeks.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman standing in a hallway | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Now, I tapped \u201cLive.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And there it was, clear for me to see.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Lizzie, barefoot, curled on our couch like she owned it. Daniel beside her, his hand on her arm, laughing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He kissed her temple like he was kissing a memory he wanted to keep close.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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My stomach dropped. Not because I was shocked, but because a part of me had known. For weeks. Maybe longer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A couple laying on a couch | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I paused the video. Closed my eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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The silence was deafening. The kind of silence you only hear when someone has finally told you the truth\u2026 without saying a single word.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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There was no yelling. No sobbing. Just silence and screenshots. Clear screenshots. Time-stamped screenshots.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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They were more than enough.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I didn\u2019t rage. I didn\u2019t scroll back to see how long they\u2019d been touching. I didn\u2019t count the kisses. I simply tapped the screen until it froze on a moment that said it all.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Her hand on his knee, his mouth grazing her hair, both of them smiling like they\u2019d won something.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That still frame became the truth.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cPiper?\u201d my mom called. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on, baby?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A couple standing together | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI\u2019ll explain when I get back,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I need to leave Tess here, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d my mother asked, worry written all over her face.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cMom, let me just do this first,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cFine,\u201d she said, wiping her hands on her apron. \u201cBut I\u2019ll have dinner ready and waiting when you come back. You don\u2019t have to tell me anything, but you will be fed.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman sitting at a kitchen table | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I hugged her then. I really hugged her. And then I left.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I got to my car and called Daniel.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cWhat\u2019s up, Piper?\u201d he asked, breathless. \u201cYou fetched Tess?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI did,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cBut we\u2019re at my mom\u2019s. She\u2019s not feeling well, so I\u2019m going to spend the night here. Tess will be with me, unless you want me to bring her home?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman sitting in a car | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cNo,\u201d he said quickly. Too quickly. \u201cYou know she prefers when you put her to bed. I\u2019ll see you guys when you get back.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Next, I drove to a local print shop two towns over. I didn\u2019t want the teenage clerk near our house seeing what I was printing. His mother was a known gossip. I didn\u2019t want the entire town to know what I was up to\u2026<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Not yet.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I chose matte paper. Clean and professional. Not glossy. Nothing about this was supposed to hine.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A person holding sheets of paper | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Back at my mom\u2019s place, I slid the photos into a manila envelope and laid it on the table like a weapon made of facts. Then, I picked up the phone and called my lawyer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cPiper,\u201d my mother said, standing in the doorway to the study, Tess right behind her. \u201cI will not call you again. Dinner is ready. Come on.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I sat down at the kitchen table and tucked into roast chicken and mashed potatoes. I tried to formulate how I was going to tell my mother everything. But she needed to know.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An older woman busy in a kitchen | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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She needed to know the reality of what Daniel was all about. After Tess went to sleep, I told her\u00a0everything<\/i>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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By morning, the paperwork was underway.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Daniel didn\u2019t know I\u2019d seen anything until two days later when a courier dropped the envelope at his office. There was no note. No post-it. Just the facts, printed, dated, annotated.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He called within minutes, his voice already in damage control mode.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"People<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

People holding documents | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cPiper,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s not what you think. It\u2019s not what it looks like\u2026 Lizzie has been helping. And you\u2019ve been distant with me. I\u2019ve felt\u2026 isolated.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I stayed silent. The line hissed between us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou work so much,\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t know how to say I was unhappy.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Ah, the classic script. As if my exhaustion was betrayal. As if I had taken vows I didn\u2019t keep.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I hung up. Then blocked his number. Not out of rage, but because silence, when chosen, is louder than anything he could say.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The court proceedings were quick.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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We lived in a no-fault state. There wasn\u2019t much to argue. I didn\u2019t fight him on visitation. I wouldn\u2019t use Tess as leverage, I would never do that to her. That sweet girl deserved steady love, not parental tug-of-war.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Daniel moved in with Lizzie the day after the papers were filed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"Divorce<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Divorce paperwork being signed | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Tess asked if Lizzie would still braid her hair. If she\u2019d sing bedtime songs to her. She asked me if she could still love Lizzie.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I told her yes. That she could love everyone who loved her. I smiled, even when it hurt.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And I didn\u2019t cry. Not then.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But last week, I picked Tess up early from preschool and buckled her into the seat.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A child sitting in a preschool | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cGirls\u2019 trip,\u201d I said, handing her a juice box.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cJust us, Mommy?\u201d Her eyes lit up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cAnd Gran!\u201d I said. \u201cShe\u2019s packing snacks right now. And she made a playlist of terrible road trip songs. We\u2019re going to fetch her and get some ice cream too!\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An ice cream freezer | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cLike\u2026 \u2018She\u2019ll Be Coming Around the Mountain\u2019?\u201d Tess giggled.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cWorse, baby girl. Worse!\u201d I groaned dramatically.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Three hours later, we stood at the edge of the coast, bare feet in the sand, the wind wrapping around our legs like a blessing. My mother held a camera and a thermos, her cheeks pink with salt air.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cThis is the kind of beach that keeps secrets,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An older woman at the beach | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I didn\u2019t ask what kind she meant. But I agreed. It was different there. You could scream into the wind and you\u2019d feel a hundred times better.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That night, Tess curled beside me on the porch of the rental cottage, her head heavy on my shoulder, still smelling faintly of sunscreen and saltwater.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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The moon was full, casting its soft glow over the waves like someone had cracked a pearl open in the sky. The sea whispered below us, each wave folding into the next like a secret.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A beach house | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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She wriggled closer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cWill Dad and Mom Lizzie come here too?\u201d she asked, her voice small, drowsy.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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She nodded, her cheek pressing into my arm like that answer didn\u2019t surprise her.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI miss them sometimes,\u201d she whispered, the words fluttering like feathers. \u201cBut I think I love you the most.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I didn\u2019t speak. I just kissed the top of her head.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A sleepy little girl | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Ten minutes later, she was asleep, her fingers still wrapped loosely around my wrist like she was afraid I\u2019d disappear.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And that\u2019s when it happened.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I let the tears fall, quiet and cautious. Not rageful. Not cinematic. Just soft and necessary. They slid down my cheeks as the tide moved in rhythm, like the ocean understood.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An upset woman with tissues | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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My mom came outside with a blanket and draped it over my shoulders without a word. She didn\u2019t ask what happened. She didn\u2019t have to. She sat beside me, both of us staring into the dark like it could give us answers we already knew.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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The next morning, Tess built sandcastles like they were fortresses. She packed the wet sand with such focus I didn\u2019t dare interrupt.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I sat in a folding chair, clutching a chipped mug of gas station coffee that somehow tasted like both rust and comfort.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A crying woman | | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cShe\u2019s alright,\u201d my mom said, settling beside me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cBut what about you?\u201d she waited.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI didn\u2019t fall to the ground,\u201d I said, my voice barely above a breath. \u201cThat counts.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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She reached over and took my hand.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cIt does, baby,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd you\u2019re still standing. That\u2019s the part that matters.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A mother and daughter hugging | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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When we got back from the trip, two envelopes waited in the mailbox. One was a preschool newsletter. The other was an invitation.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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A birthday party. Tess\u2019s birthday party.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I had received an invitation to my own daughter\u2019s birthday party.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Lizzie had taken over the planning, of course, she had. The woman who used to wipe crumbs off my counter like she was a guest, now cast herself as the headliner, the mother in charge.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman holding an envelope | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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This time, without asking, she\u2019d scripted Tess\u2019s fifth birthday as her own production.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I stood there staring at the envelope until my mom gently pulled it from my hands.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou don\u2019t have to go,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI know,\u201d I said. \u201cBut Tess will want me to be there. And how can I miss her party?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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So, we went.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An older woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The party was at a park draped in unicorn streamers and pastel balloons. Too-sweet cupcakes. A glitter tattoo station. A bouncy house swaying dangerously in the wind. It was everything a little girl might dream of\u2026 and everything I wasn\u2019t asked to be part of.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Daniel smiled too wide when he saw us. Lizzie waved like nothing had ever cracked between us, like we were co-hosts in a shared life.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Tess ran ahead, beaming.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I stayed on the edge of it all, sunglasses on, arms crossed, back straight. My body calm, my blood buzzing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"Colorful<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Colorful cupcakes | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Halfway through, Lizzie crossed the grass toward me. She had a paper plate in her hand, like that made her less threatening. It held two cookies and a cupcake.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cPiper,\u201d she said, too softly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I looked at her. I waited.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI just\u2026 I never meant for things to happen this way. I didn\u2019t mean to hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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She shifted the plate in her hands like it might anchor her.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A child\u2019s birthday party | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI was lonely too,\u201d she added. \u201cAnd I love her. Tess. I love her like she\u2019s mine.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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She looked proud of the sentence, as if she expected a nod.\u00a0A thank you. Forgiveness.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But I just tilted my head. My voice was low.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cThen why did she think I was the evil one?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman sitting in a park | Source: Unsplash<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The question floated between us. She blinked. But she said nothing. I let the silence do what it needed to.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Then I turned. Walked back to the bench where my mom sat holding a juice box for Tess. We watched her bounce and laugh and twirl, unaware that anything beneath her party glitter wasn\u2019t perfect.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That night, after the cake and streamers were gone, Tess lay curled in bed with her arms full of seashells and a crumpled beach postcard we\u2019d never gotten around to mailing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A little girl drinking from a juice box | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cMommy, did you have fun at the ocean?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI did,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cDid you cry after I fell asleep?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I paused.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYes, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHappy or sad crying?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cBoth, Tess.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A mom and daughter laying in bed | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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She nodded, like that made sense. Like a newly five-year-old could understand what grown women sometimes still can\u2019t.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m glad it was just us,\u201d she murmured. \u201cBut I want a bunny, Mommy. Now\u2026 I\u2019ll sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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She drifted off with her hand on my chest.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A little girl holding a bunny | Source: Pexels<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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There\u2019s a photo on our mantle now. Me, my mom, and Tess. Windblown. Barefoot and beaming. No ribbons. No backup. No one else in the frame.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Sometimes I dream about the car ride home from preschool. The moment everything cracked.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Sometimes I cry. But not because I lost a husband. Or the title of \u201cwife.\u201d But because I learned how not to lose myself while keeping myself together for my child.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When four-year-old Tess mentions her \u201cother mom,\u201d Piper\u2019s world quietly shatters. But some betrayals aren\u2019t met with screams, they\u2019re met with stillness, strategy, and strength. As Piper pieces together the … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10479,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10478","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10478","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10478"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10478\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10480,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10478\/revisions\/10480"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10479"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10478"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10478"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10478"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}