{"id":14739,"date":"2026-04-26T08:58:18","date_gmt":"2026-04-26T08:58:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=14739"},"modified":"2026-04-26T08:58:18","modified_gmt":"2026-04-26T08:58:18","slug":"at-my-sisters-wedding-i-stayed-in-the-back-while-my-mother-praised-her-as-the-first-to-truly-become-someone-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=14739","title":{"rendered":"My mother\u2019s speech made my sister the star\u2026 and I became invisible."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
Later, when they gathered for family photos again, my mother positioned everyone with quick little gestures, arranging them like a perfect picture. She didn\u2019t raise her voice, she didn\u2019t need to\u2014she just kept the circle tight and left me outside it.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/header>\n
\n
<\/div>\n

My sister laughed for the camera, my stepfather leaned in, relatives crowded closer, and I remained in the background like I wasn\u2019t part of the story. I smiled anyway, because leaving would have made it obvious, and staying was the only way I knew how to survive it.<\/p>\n

At my sister\u2019s wedding, my mother raised her champagne: \u201cTo my beautiful daughter\u2014the first in our family to truly make something of herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Laughter, polite and bright, rippled through the ballroom. Glasses chimed. My sister, Claire, beamed like the line belonged to her alone.<\/p>\n

I sat at the back table with the vendors and my old high school friend, Maya, who\u2019d insisted on coming when she heard the date. My place card didn\u2019t exist. The coordinator had found an extra chair and slid it beside a stack of folded linens, as if I were part of the venue.<\/p>\n

On the dance floor, the photographer arranged the family like props. \u201cJust immediate family first!\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s hand curled around Claire\u2019s waist. My stepfather, Tom, angled his shoulders toward the lens. Cousins and aunts flowed in.<\/p>\n

\u201cClaire, honey\u2014chin up,\u201d my mother coached. \u201cPerfect.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hovered near the edge, half expecting someone to wave me in. No one did. The photographer\u2019s eyes skimmed over me and moved on like I was part of the background.<\/p>\n

Maya leaned close. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d I said, because that\u2019s what you learn to say when your mother\u2019s smile can cut glass.<\/p>\n

Then my mother turned her head, saw me, and didn\u2019t flinch\u2014just made a tiny shooing motion with her fingers as if brushing away a fly. She didn\u2019t mouth words. She didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n

Not in the photos.<\/p>\n

Not here.<\/p>\n

The sting wasn\u2019t new. But the toast had sharpened it into something clean and cruel. First to make something of herself. As if I hadn\u2019t spent ten years building a career from scratch. As if I wasn\u2019t the reason she still lived in that tidy ranch house with the new roof.<\/p>\n

My phone vibrated in my purse\u2014another automatic bank alert. The kind I used to ignore.<\/p>\n

Mortgage Payment Scheduled: $2,150.00 \u2014 Recipient: Hampton Lending.<\/p>\n

Hampton Lending. My mother\u2019s lender.<\/p>\n

I stared at the notification until the words blurred. Scheduled. As in: my account.<\/p>\n

The air inside the ballroom thickened. Music thudded. People cheered at nothing.<\/p>\n

Maya watched my face change. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I swallowed hard. \u201cI think I\u2019ve been paying for their house.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sentence tasted unbelievable. And yet it explained everything: the guilt, the control, the way my mother always knew exactly when I got a raise, and when I could \u201chelp a little more.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood up so fast my chair scraped the floor. Across the room, my mother laughed, eyes shining, and lifted her glass again\u2014already drunk on being seen.<\/p>\n

I walked toward the doors, my phone shaking in my hand, and for the first time in years I wasn\u2019t trying to be invited.<\/p>\n

I was trying to understand how far I\u2019d been pushed out of my own life\u2026\u2026.To be continued in C0mments\u00a0\"\ud83d\udc47\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At my sister\u2019s wedding, my mother lifted her champagne and smiled like she was blessing the whole room. She praised my sister as the first in our family to truly become someone, and the guests clinked their glasses as if the words were harmless. I stayed at the back table where the staff moved in and out, watching the spotlight settle on everyone else. When the photographer called for immediate family, people stepped forward without even looking my way, and I stood there with my hands folded, pretending I didn\u2019t care.Family games<\/p>\n

At my sister\u2019s wedding, my mother raised her champagne: \u201cTo my beautiful daughter\u2014the first in our family to truly make something of herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughter, polite and bright, rippled through the ballroom. Glasses chimed. My sister, Claire, beamed like the line belonged to her alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I sat at the back table with the vendors and my old high school friend, Maya, who\u2019d insisted on coming when she heard the date. My place card didn\u2019t exist. The coordinator had found an extra chair and slid it beside a stack of folded linens, as if I were part of the venue.<\/p>\n

On the dance floor, the photographer arranged the family like props. \u201cJust immediate family first!\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s hand curled around Claire\u2019s waist. My stepfather, Tom, angled his shoulders toward the lens. Cousins and aunts flowed in.<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/ins><\/ins><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cClaire, honey\u2014chin up,\u201d my mother coached. \u201cPerfect.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hovered near the edge, half expecting someone to wave me in. No one did. The photographer\u2019s eyes skimmed over me and moved on like I was part of the background.<\/p>\n

Maya leaned close. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d I said, because that\u2019s what you learn to say when your mother\u2019s smile can cut glass.<\/p>\n

Then my mother turned her head, saw me, and didn\u2019t flinch\u2014just made a tiny shooing motion with her fingers as if brushing away a fly. She didn\u2019t mouth words. She didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n

Not in the photos.<\/p>\n

Not here.<\/p>\n

The sting wasn\u2019t new. But the toast had sharpened it into something clean and cruel. First to make something of herself. As if I hadn\u2019t spent ten years building a career from scratch. As if I wasn\u2019t the reason she still lived in that tidy ranch house with the new roof.<\/p>\n

My phone vibrated in my purse\u2014another automatic bank alert. The kind I used to ignore.<\/p>\n

Mortgage Payment Scheduled: $2,150.00 \u2014 Recipient: Hampton Lending.<\/p>\n

Hampton Lending. My mother\u2019s lender.<\/p>\n

I stared at the notification until the words blurred. Scheduled. As in: my account.<\/p>\n

The air inside the ballroom thickened. Music thudded. People cheered at nothing.<\/p>\n

Maya watched my face change. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I swallowed hard. \u201cI think I\u2019ve been paying for their house.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sentence tasted unbelievable. And yet it explained everything: the guilt, the control, the way my mother always knew exactly when I got a raise, and when I could \u201chelp a little more.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood up so fast my chair scraped the floor. Across the room, my mother laughed, eyes shining, and lifted her glass again\u2014already drunk on being seen.<\/p>\n

I walked toward the doors, my phone shaking in my hand, and for the first time in years I wasn\u2019t trying to be invited.<\/p>\n

I was trying to understand how far I\u2019d been pushed out of my own life.<\/p>\n

Outside the ballroom, the night air felt like a slap\u2014cold and honest. The venue sat on a manicured hill outside Asheville, North Carolina, lit with strings of bulbs that made everything look romantic from a distance. Up close, the parking lot smelled like wet asphalt.<\/p>\n

I kept walking until the music dulled behind the doors. My hands were clammy around my phone. The alert was still there, like a small accusation.<\/p>\n

Maya followed me, heels clicking fast. \u201cOkay,\u201d she said, voice low, steady. \u201cSlow down. Tell me what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

I opened my banking app. The transactions loaded like a confession I\u2019d been too tired to read. There it was, monthly, on the same date\u2014Hampton Lending\u2014for almost two years.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is\u2014\u201d I couldn\u2019t even finish.<\/p>\n

Maya took the phone gently, scrolling. \u201cThis isn\u2019t a gift,\u201d she said, not as a question. \u201cThis is an auto-pay.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pressed my fingertips to my temple. A memory flickered: my mother at my kitchen table, years ago, smoothing her hand over mine, voice syrupy.<\/p>\n

Sweetheart, just put it on autopay for me. It\u2019s easier. You\u2019re good with all this tech stuff.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d been twenty-five, fresh out of a breakup and desperate to feel useful to someone who claimed to need me. She\u2019d been crying then\u2014real tears, I\u2019d thought\u2014about Tom\u2019s hours getting cut, about how the bank was \u201cbeing nasty,\u201d about how Claire had tuition coming.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I was helping for a few months,\u201d I whispered. \u201cShe said she\u2019d pay me back when things stabilized.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya handed the phone back. \u201cHave you ever seen a repayment?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head. The ballroom lights reflected off the screen, turning the numbers into something unreal.<\/p>\n

I scrolled further. There were other payments I hadn\u2019t questioned: an insurance premium. A utility bill. A store credit card I didn\u2019t recognize, but the address tied to it was my mother\u2019s.<\/p>\n

My stomach dropped so hard I had to lean on the brick wall outside the venue.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is why she always called me when I got a bonus,\u201d I said. \u201cWhy she\u2019d say, \u2018Don\u2019t forget family.\u2019 Why she\u2019d get icy if I said no to anything.\u201dFamily games<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s face tightened. \u201cDid you co-sign something?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d My voice came out too sharp. \u201cI would never.\u201d<\/p>\n

But doubt crept in. My mother was charming when she wanted to be. Efficient. She\u2019d once convinced a neighbor to let her use their credit card \u201cjust for the points.\u201d She\u2019d laughed about it like it was clever.<\/p>\n

I tapped into the details of the mortgage payment. The recipient account info showed it was linked to a loan number. Not mine. But the payment was mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did this start?\u201d Maya asked. \u201cLike\u2014logistically.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at the screen, trying to reconstruct it. The day my mother called, sobbing. The way she\u2019d shown up at my apartment with papers and coffee and a story. The way she\u2019d said, \u201cJust sign here so the bank knows you\u2019re authorizing a temporary support payment,\u201d and I\u2019d believed her because she was my mother, and because I\u2019d wanted\u2014so badly\u2014to be the daughter she didn\u2019t regret.<\/p>\n

A car door slammed nearby. Laughter drifted in the dark. The wedding party was moving between buildings for photos under the lights. I heard my sister\u2019s name, bright and distant.Car dealership<\/p>\n

I looked back at the ballroom doors. Through the glass, my mother was exactly where she wanted to be: front and center, cheeks flushed, surrounded by relatives who didn\u2019t know me well enough to miss me.<\/p>\n

A familiar urge rose\u2014run, disappear, swallow it like every other humiliation. But the alert on my phone pulsed in my mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to stop it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Maya didn\u2019t blink. \u201cRight now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d My thumb hovered over \u201cManage Auto-Pay.\u201d My heart hammered, as if I were about to cut a wire that might explode.<\/p>\n

I clicked Cancel.<\/p>\n

A warning box popped up: Canceling auto-pay may result in late fees or credit impact for the loan holder.<\/p>\n

For the loan holder.<\/p>\n

Not me.<\/p>\n

I swallowed and confirmed.<\/p>\n

The screen refreshed. The scheduled payment vanished.<\/p>\n

For a second I felt nothing\u2014no relief, no triumph. Just a hollow quiet, like stepping out of a loud room and realizing you can finally hear your own thoughts.<\/p>\n

Then my phone rang.<\/p>\n

Mom flashed across the screen like a dare.<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s eyes widened. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2026 immediate.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s voice came through, sweet as icing. \u201cHoney? Where are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I could hear the ballroom music behind her, the clink of glass, the practiced joy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m outside,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, good,\u201d she replied, too quickly. \u201cI was looking for you. The photographer is about to do another round of pictures, and we need to keep it\u2026 simple.\u201d<\/p>\n

Simple. Like erasing me.<\/p>\n

I stared at the darkness beyond the parking lot. \u201cMom,\u201d I said carefully, \u201cwhy is my bank account paying your mortgage?\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence, a beat too long. Then a laugh\u2014small, defensive. \u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI canceled it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

The music behind her seemed to dip, like the room itself had leaned in.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did what?\u201d Her voice sharpened, losing the sugar. \u201cEmily, you can\u2019t just do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was. Not confusion. Not gratitude. Possession.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can,\u201d I said, voice shaking but steadying. \u201cAnd I did.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another pause, then the coldest thing she could offer: \u201cYou always ruin important days.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost smiled at how predictable she was.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe,\u201d I said. \u201cBut you\u2019ve been ruining my life quietly for two years.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind her, someone called her name. She didn\u2019t answer them.<\/p>\n

Instead, she said, low and lethal, \u201cIf you do this, don\u2019t bother coming back inside. Don\u2019t embarrass your sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the ballroom doors, then down at my hands. For years, I\u2019d begged to be included. Tonight, the exclusion felt like a door opening.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I said. \u201cThen I won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/ins><\/ins><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

And I hung up.<\/p>\n

I expected to feel guilty the second I ended the call. I expected panic\u2014my mother had trained those reflexes into me like muscle memory.<\/p>\n

Instead, I felt a strange clarity, as if someone had wiped fog off a window.<\/p>\n

Maya exhaled slowly. \u201cThat was\u2026 intense.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m shaking,\u201d I admitted, and my body proved it, a tremor running through my arms. \u201cBut I\u2019m also\u2014angry. Like, actual anger. Not sadness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d Maya said. \u201cAnger is useful. What\u2019s the plan?\u201d<\/p>\n

The word plan used to belong to my mother. Her plans. Her emergencies. Her sudden needs that somehow became my responsibility. But standing there, with the parking lot lights buzzing overhead, I realized I hadn\u2019t made a plan for myself in years.<\/p>\n

I opened my email and searched \u201cHampton Lending.\u201d Dozens of automated confirmations popped up. Payment receipts. Notices. A \u201cThank you\u201d message that wasn\u2019t meant for me but had been routed to my account because I was the one paying.<\/p>\n

A smaller email thread caught my eye. Two years ago, my mother had forwarded something to me with the subject line: Authorization Form \u2014 urgent. I\u2019d assumed it was a temporary assistance form.<\/p>\n

I clicked it.<\/p>\n

Attached was a PDF with my signature and my initials on multiple pages. The document wasn\u2019t a simple authorization to make a payment.<\/p>\n

It was a Third-Party Payor Agreement and an Auto-Debit Enrollment, giving permission for funds to be taken from my account \u201cuntil further notice.\u201d The lender\u2019s language was bland and official, but the meaning landed like a punch.<\/p>\n

Maya read over my shoulder. \u201cDid she tell you what this was?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, and my throat tightened. \u201cShe told me it was a short-term thing. That she\u2019d switch it back.\u201d<\/p>\n

I scrolled to the email body. My mother\u2019s words were there, bright and affectionate:<\/p>\n

You\u2019re saving us, Emmy. Just sign and send back tonight so we don\u2019t lose the house. I knew I could count on you.<\/p>\n

I stared at the nickname\u2014Emmy\u2014the version of me she used when she wanted something.<\/p>\n

The anger turned hot. Not wild, not reckless. Focused.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to confront her,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s hand touched my elbow. \u201cNot alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

We walked back toward the venue. The noise grew louder with every step\u2014bass from the DJ, cheers, the happy chaos that made it easy to hide ugly truths. Inside, people were lined up at the dessert table. Claire and her new husband, Andrew, were cutting cake while guests shouted advice about the first slice.<\/p>\n

My sister looked radiant. And for a second, guilt tried to climb back into my throat.<\/p>\n

But then I remembered the toast. First in our family to truly make something of herself. It wasn\u2019t just a mistake. It was a message. A public rewriting of who mattered.Family games<\/p>\n

My mother stood near the bar, laughing with an aunt, her posture relaxed\u2014until she saw me. Her smile hitched, then returned too quickly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you are,\u201d she said, stepping toward me as if she were greeting a problem she needed to manage. \u201cEmily, please don\u2019t start anything tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

I held my phone up, screen open to the signed PDF. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes flicked to it. The smile slipped. \u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou emailed it to me,\u201d I said. \u201cTwo years ago. You told me it was temporary.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya stayed beside me, solid as a wall.<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s gaze darted around. She lowered her voice. \u201cNot here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said, loud enough that a few heads turned. \u201cHere. Because you\u2019ve had no problem humiliating me here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face flushed. \u201cI did not humiliate you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou toasted Claire as the first to make something of herself. You excluded me from family photos. And you\u2019ve been taking over two thousand dollars a month from my account.\u201d<\/p>\n

A nearby cousin stopped mid-sip. A bartender froze with a bottle in hand.<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s eyes hardened. \u201cWe needed help,\u201d she hissed. \u201cYou were doing well. You didn\u2019t even notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI noticed,\u201d I said. My voice surprised me\u2014steady, even. \u201cI just kept believing you\u2019d stop. That you\u2019d see me as more than a resource.\u201d<\/p>\n

She straightened, switching tactics. \u201cIf you cut us off, we could lose the house. Think about Tom\u2019s credit. Think about your sister\u2014do you want her honeymoon ruined because you had a tantrum?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked past her to Claire, still at the cake table, laughing with Andrew. My sister hadn\u2019t heard. Yet.<\/p>\n

For the first time, I chose not to protect my mother\u2019s image.<\/p>\n

I walked to Claire.<\/p>\n

My mother followed, panic sharpened into urgency. \u201cEmily\u2014don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire turned when she saw us, smile fading. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

I took a breath. \u201cI didn\u2019t want to bring anything to your wedding,\u201d I said, keeping my voice calm. \u201cBut Mom has been using my bank account to pay the mortgage on the house. For two years. I just found out it was still active tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire blinked, processing, eyes flicking between us. \u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s face tightened into something familiar: the look she wore when someone challenged her story.<\/p>\n

\u201cClaire,\u201d she said, softening her voice, \u201cthis is private. Emily is\u2026 emotional.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not emotional,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m done.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s mouth opened, then closed. The hurt in her eyes wasn\u2019t just for me. It was the pain of realizing the person who raised you can also betray you.<\/p>\n

Andrew stepped closer, protective. \u201cIs this true?\u201d he asked my mother.<\/p>\n

A beat.<\/p>\n

Then my mother did what she always did when trapped: she blamed. \u201cYou know how your sister is,\u201d she said to Claire. \u201cShe\u2019s always needed attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s face changed\u2014anger replacing confusion. \u201cYou used her money,\u201d she said, voice rising. \u201cOn autopay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was family,\u201d my mother snapped, losing control. \u201cAnd she had plenty.\u201dFamily games<\/p>\n

The room had gone quiet around us, like the music had dimmed though it hadn\u2019t. People were pretending not to listen while listening anyway.<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s hands curled into fists. \u201cYou owe her,\u201d she said. \u201cBoth of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s eyes flashed to mine\u2014pure resentment now, no love, no softness. \u201cAre you happy?\u201d she spat. \u201cYou finally got your scene.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her and felt something inside me detach\u2014not cruelty, not victory. Just recognition.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t want a scene,\u201d I said. \u201cI wanted a mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned to Claire. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I added. \u201cFor telling you like this. You deserved better.\u201dGift baskets<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s eyes shone with tears. \u201cSo did you,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

I left then\u2014not storming, not dramatic. Maya and I walked out through the same doors I\u2019d escaped from earlier, except now it felt like I was walking toward myself.<\/p>\n

In the car, my phone buzzed with a new email: Auto-Pay Cancellation Confirmed.<\/p>\n

I stared at it until my breathing slowed.<\/p>\n

My mother would call. She\u2019d rage, bargain, accuse. Maybe she\u2019d send Tom to guilt me. Maybe she\u2019d try to turn relatives against me.<\/p>\n

But the payment was off. The truth was out.Car dealership<\/p>\n

And for the first time, the back table didn\u2019t feel like punishment.<\/p>\n

It felt like distance\u2014enough distance to finally choose a life that didn\u2019t require me to disappear to keep someone else comfortable.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Later, when they gathered for family photos again, my mother positioned everyone with quick little gestures, arranging them like a perfect picture. She didn\u2019t raise her voice, she didn\u2019t need … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":14736,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14739","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\/14739","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=14739"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14739\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14741,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14739\/revisions\/14741"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/14736"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=14739"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=14739"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=14739"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}