{"id":15196,"date":"2026-04-28T09:09:04","date_gmt":"2026-04-28T09:09:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=15196"},"modified":"2026-04-28T09:09:04","modified_gmt":"2026-04-28T09:09:04","slug":"i-was-buying-groceries-when-my-sister-demanded-i-pay-her-2600-rent-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=15196","title":{"rendered":"\u201cShe called me mid-shopping: \u2018You\u2019re paying my rent\u2014Dad said so.\u2019\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

Chapter One: The Frozen Aisle Ultimatum<\/span><\/h1>\n
\n

The grocery store was always my sanctuary\u2014a place of predictable costs and orderly shelves. I was standing in the frozen food section of the\u00a0Harris Teeter<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0on the outskirts of\u00a0<\/span>Raleigh<\/span><\/strong>, the hum of the industrial coolers providing a white noise that usually calmed my analytical mind. I\u2019m a CPA; I find comfort in things that balance.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I was reaching for a bag of frozen peas, contemplating a quiet dinner, when my phone vibrated with a force that suggested an emergency. It was\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>, my younger sister.<\/span><\/p>\n

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

I didn\u2019t even have time to say hello.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re covering my rent this month,\u201d she stated, her voice devoid of any greeting or warmth. It wasn\u2019t a request; it was a decree issued from the throne of her perennial chaos. \u201cTwenty-six hundred dollars. Dad says you\u2019re pulling in more than enough this year, so stop being difficult and just do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood there, the condensation from the pea bag dampening my palm, and stared at a display of frozen waffles. A few feet away, a toddler was begging his mother for a box of sugary cereal. A cashier\u2019s distant laughter echoed from the front. The world was moving forward with its mundane rhythms, yet here I was, being treated like a communal ATM by a woman who hadn\u2019t asked about my life in six months.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d I finally managed, my voice tight.<\/p>\n

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes through the receiver.\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u2014twenty-nine years old, chronically underemployed, and possessing a talent for disaster that bordered on the supernatural\u2014sighed with the theatrical exhaustion of a martyr.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI already told my landlord you\u2019d wire the funds today, Lena. Don\u2019t make me look stupid. He\u2019s expecting it by five.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

The sheer audacity of the move made my head spin. She hadn\u2019t even checked to see if I had the liquid assets or the inclination. She had simply promised my labor and my savings to a third party to cover her own negligence.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not paying your rent, Brianna,\u201d I said, my voice gaining a lethal, quiet edge. \u201cI have my own mortgage, my own retirement contributions, and my own life. If you can\u2019t afford a twenty-six hundred dollar apartment, you shouldn\u2019t be living in it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The line went silent for a heartbeat before she exploded into a litany of excuses. It was the same script she\u2019d used for a decade: the economy, her \u2018toxic\u2019 boss, a sudden car repair, a \u2018misunderstanding\u2019 with her bank. But before I could point out the holes in her logic, a notification chimed at the top of my screen.<\/p>\n

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

It was a text from my father,\u00a0Ray Mercer<\/span><\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\n

If you don\u2019t help your sister, don\u2019t bother showing up for Thanksgiving.<\/p>\n

I felt a sudden, sharp chill that had nothing to do with the frozen food section. The holiday was three days away. My mother had already bought the turkey; the guest list was set. And yet, my seat at the table was now being sold to me for the price of my sister\u2019s poor decisions.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a request for help. it was an extortion attempt.<\/p>\n

Cliffhanger: As I stared at the text, my phone buzzed again\u2014not with a message, but with an incoming call from a number I didn\u2019t recognize, one that would change the trajectory of the entire weekend.<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter Two: The Architecture of Entitlement<\/span><\/h3>\n

I didn\u2019t answer the unknown caller. Instead, I abandoned my half-full cart near the bakery and walked out into the brisk North Carolina afternoon. My mind was racing through the ledger of the last five years.<\/p>\n

To my family, I wasn\u2019t\u00a0Lena Mercer<\/span><\/strong>, the woman who had studied sixty hours a week to pass her exams and built a stable career. I was \u2018The Success.\u2019 In their eyes, my stability wasn\u2019t earned; it was a surplus that belonged to the collective.<\/span><\/p>\n

I remembered paying for\u00a0Brianna\u2019s<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0moving truck two years ago after she\u2019d broken up with a boyfriend she\u2019d known for three weeks. I remembered the \u2018temporary\u2019 loan for her dental work that turned out to be high-end porcelain veneers she didn\u2019t need. I remembered my mother,\u00a0<\/span>Martha<\/span><\/strong>, crying on the phone last winter because\u00a0<\/span>Brianna\u2019s<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0electricity was about to be cut off. I had paid it all.<\/span><\/p>\n

But the $2,600 felt like a breaking point. It was the arrogance of the deadline.<\/p>\n

I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My phone was a glowing ember of resentment.<\/p>\n

Brianna<\/span><\/strong>:\u00a0<\/span>Landlord is asking for the confirmation number. Send it now.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dad<\/span><\/strong>:\u00a0<\/span>Don\u2019t be the reason this family falls apart on a holiday, Lena. Be the bigger person.<\/span><\/p>\n

The \u2018bigger person\u2019 was always the one expected to shoulder the weight while everyone else danced. I looked at the group chat. I saw the way they were circling me, waiting for the inevitable surrender. They expected me to blink. They expected me to sigh, log into my banking app, and buy another few months of strained peace.<\/p>\n

I typed two words.<\/p>\n

Good luck.<\/p>\n

I hit send, switched my phone to \u2018Do Not Disturb,\u2019 and drove home to my condo in\u00a0Oakwood<\/span><\/strong>. I spent the evening in a state of surreal calm, sipping a glass of wine and watching the sunset hit the downtown skyline. For the first time in years, I didn\u2019t engage. I didn\u2019t argue. I didn\u2019t justify my \u2018no.\u2019 I simply let the silence sit.<\/span><\/p>\n

The peace lasted until Saturday morning.<\/p>\n

At 8:26 AM, my phone rang again. It was the same unknown number from the grocery store. This time, I answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this\u00a0Lena Mercer<\/span><\/strong>?\u201d a voice asked. It was a man\u2014clipped, professional, and sounding profoundly weary.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSpeaking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is\u00a0Thomas Heller<\/span><\/strong>. I\u2019m the property manager for the\u00a0<\/span>Vue Apartments<\/span><\/strong>. I\u2019m calling regarding the tenancy of your sister,\u00a0<\/span>Brianna Mercer<\/span><\/strong>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. \u201cI\u2019m not on that lease, Mr. Heller.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m aware,\u201d he said, and I could hear the rustle of papers. \u201cHowever, your sister has listed you as her \u2018Emergency Financial Guarantor\u2019 on her supplemental filings. She informed me yesterday that you would be clearing her arrears in full by the close of business. That didn\u2019t happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

My grip on my coffee mug tightened. \u201cShe listed me as a guarantor without my signature?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe claimed you were \u2018managing her trust,\u2019 and that the delay was a clerical error on your end,\u201d Heller said. \u201cMs. Mercer, I\u2019ll be blunt. Your sister isn\u2019t just behind on this month. She hasn\u2019t paid a full balance in ninety days. The $2,600 she told you about? That\u2019s just the final notice amount to avoid immediate lockout. Her total delinquency is closer to seven thousand.\u201d<\/p>\n

The floor felt like it was tilting. She hadn\u2019t just lied about the money; she had built a fantasy world where I was her silent partner in debt.<\/p>\n

Cliffhanger: \u201cThere\u2019s one more thing,\u201d Mr. Heller said, his voice dropping an octave. \u201cYour father called me this morning. He told me something about your \u2018financial situation\u2019 that I think you need to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter Three: The Fabricated Truth<\/span><\/h3>\n

I sat down at my kitchen island, the cold granite pressing against my forearms. \u201cWhat did my father tell you, Mr. Heller?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told me that you had been recently terminated from your firm,\u201d Heller said, sounding embarrassed for me. \u201cHe said you were experiencing a \u2018mental health episode\u2019 and that I shouldn\u2019t listen to your denials of payment because you weren\u2019t in your right mind. He told me to send the final eviction notice to him instead, as he was taking over your accounts.\u201d<\/p>\n

A hot, searing wave of fury washed over me. It wasn\u2019t just about the money anymore. My father was willing to assassinate my professional reputation\u2014the one thing I had built from nothing\u2014just to buy\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0another month in an apartment she couldn\u2019t afford. He was gaslighting a landlord to force my hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Heller,\u201d I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. \u201cI am a Senior Associate at\u00a0Price & Waters<\/span><\/strong>. I am very much employed, and I can assure you there is no trust fund and no mental health episode. My sister used my name without my consent, and my father is attempting to manipulate you to cover her debt.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d Heller said. \u201cI\u2019ve been doing this for twenty years, Ms. Mercer. I\u2019ve seen a lot of family drama, but this is\u2026 extreme. I needed a clear \u2018yes\u2019 or \u2018no\u2019 from the person supposedly providing the funds. Since you are not a legal party to this lease and you are not authorizing payment, I have to proceed with the turnover of the unit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt means the locks are being changed at noon. The sheriff has already signed off on the summary ejectment. Her belongings will be moved to the curb.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToday?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToday. I gave her three months of extensions based on her promises about you. I\u2019m done.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thanked him and hung up. I felt like I was watching a slow-motion car crash, and for once, I wasn\u2019t running toward the wreckage with a fire extinguisher.<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later, the first missile arrived.<\/p>\n

Dad<\/span><\/strong>:\u00a0<\/span>YOU SPOKE TO HELLER! WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HIM?! HE JUST CALLED AND SAID THE EVICTION IS FINAL! HE REFUSED MY PAYMENT PLAN BECAUSE OF SOMETHING YOU SAID!<\/span><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n

Mom<\/span><\/strong>:\u00a0<\/span>Lena, please! Brianna is hysterical. She\u2019s packing her bags in trash bags. How could you tell that man you wouldn\u2019t help? He thinks we\u2019re liars!<\/span><\/p>\n

The irony was staggering. They\u00a0were<\/span>\u00a0liars. They had lied to the landlord, they had lied to me about the amount, and they were currently lying to themselves about whose fault this was.<\/span><\/p>\n

My phone began to ring. It was my father. I let it go to voicemail. Then my mother. Voicemail. Then\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\n

I watched the screen light up over and over again. It was a digital assault. My family was losing their minds because the \u2018responsible one\u2019 had finally opted out of the delusion.<\/p>\n

By 1:00 PM, a photo appeared in the group chat. It was a picture of\u00a0Brianna\u2019s<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0velvet sofa sitting on the sidewalk next to a pile of mismatched suitcases. In the background, I could see my mother\u2019s car, the trunk popped open.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mom<\/span><\/strong>:\u00a0<\/span>I hope you\u2019re happy, Lena. Your sister is homeless. I\u2019m crying so hard I can\u2019t drive. I hope that money in your bank account is worth the hole in this family.<\/span><\/p>\n

I looked at the photo. I saw the sofa I had helped her pick out. I saw the suitcases she\u2019d used for the vacations she couldn\u2019t afford. And for the first time in my life, I didn\u2019t feel a shred of guilt. I felt a profound, echoing sense of relief.<\/p>\n

Cliffhanger: I was about to put my phone away when a message from my cousin,\u00a0Melissa<\/strong>, popped up. \u201cLena, check Facebook. Uncle Ray just posted something insane about you. People are actually commenting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter Four: The Public Execution<\/span><\/h3>\n

I opened the app with a sense of dread. My father, a man who prided himself on \u2018family honor,\u2019 had posted a lengthy, rambling status.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a sad day when a daughter chooses her paycheck over her own blood. We raised our girls to look out for one another, but it seems some people get a little bit of success and forget where they came from. To see my youngest daughter thrown on the street while her sister watches from her high-rise condo\u2026 it\u2019s a heartbreak I wouldn\u2019t wish on any parent. Money changes people. Pray for Lena.\u201d<\/p>\n

The comments were already trickling in. Great-aunts and family friends from our hometown were chiming in with \u201cSo sad\u201d and \u201cPraying for your family, Ray.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was weaponizing the entire community against me. He was painting me as the villain of a story he had authored.<\/p>\n

I felt a momentary urge to defend myself\u2014to post the screenshots of the $7,000 debt, the forged guarantor forms, and the holiday ultimatum. But I stopped. If I engaged, I was still playing their game. I was still letting them set the terms of my existence.<\/p>\n

Instead, I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to my father directly\u2014not in the group chat, but in a private message.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told the landlord I was mentally unstable and unemployed, Dad. You posted this to shame me into paying for a lie Brianna has been telling for three months. Consider this my final contribution to the family: I\u2019m giving you the space to be the hero you want to be. You can pay for her new place. You can house her. But you will do it without my name and without my money.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blocked his number. Then I blocked\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>. I hesitated over my mother\u2019s name, but then I remembered her silence while my father threatened my career. I blocked her, too.<\/span><\/p>\n

The silence that followed was deafening. My apartment felt larger, the air felt cleaner.<\/p>\n

That night, I didn\u2019t cry. I ordered Thai food and sat on my balcony. I thought about the Thanksgiving turkey that would go uneaten by me. I thought about the years I had spent apologizing for being the only one who could manage a budget.<\/p>\n

But the world wasn\u2019t done with me yet.<\/p>\n

Sunday morning, a knock came at my door. I looked through the peephole and saw\u00a0Melissa<\/span><\/strong>. She looked pale and nervous.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLena, open up,\u201d she whispered. \u201cThey\u2019re on their way here. All of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart skipped. \u201cWhat do you mean, they\u2019re on their way?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBrianna found your spare key at Aunt Martha\u2019s house. They\u2019re planning to move her stuff into your guest room while you\u2019re at church. They think if they just show up with the boxes, you won\u2019t be able to say no in front of the neighbors.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cliffhanger: I looked past Melissa and saw a familiar white SUV turning the corner into my complex. It was my father\u2019s car. And strapped to the roof was Brianna\u2019s mattress.<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter Five: The Boundary of Steel<\/span><\/h3>\n

I didn\u2019t panic. For a CPA, panic is a waste of resources. I had five minutes.<\/p>\n

\u201cMelissa, go back to your car,\u201d I said, my voice remarkably steady.<\/p>\n

\u201cLena, what are you going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to end this.\u201d<\/p>\n

I walked to my front door and engaged the deadbolt, the chain, and the secondary security bar I\u2019d installed when I first moved in. Then, I picked up the phone and called the front desk of my complex.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is\u00a0Lena Mercer<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0in Unit 402. There is a white SUV entering the guest parking. The occupants are not welcome on the property. They are planning to attempt an unauthorized entry into my home. Please send the on-site security immediately and notify the police that I am filing a formal trespass warning.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I stood by the window and watched. The SUV pulled up to the curb right in front of my unit. My father got out first, looking determined and grim. Then\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>, wearing oversized sunglasses and looking like a victim in a Victorian novel. Finally, my mother, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.<\/span><\/p>\n

They began unloading the trunk. My father grabbed a box of kitchen supplies.\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0picked up a lamp. They walked toward my stairs with the confidence of people who believed that blood was a master key.<\/span><\/p>\n

I stepped out onto my balcony, looking down at them from the fourth floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop right there!\u201d I shouted.<\/p>\n

My father looked up, squinting against the sun. \u201cLena! Open the door. We\u2019re not doing this in the street. We\u2019re moving your sister in until she gets on her feet. It\u2019s the only way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you\u2019re not,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ve already called security. The police are on their way to issue a trespass notice. If you set foot on my stairs, you will be arrested.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t!\u201d\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0shrieked, dropping the lamp. It shattered on the pavement with a sharp\u00a0<\/span>crack<\/span>. \u201cI\u2019m your sister! I have nowhere to go!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou have Mom and Dad\u2019s house,\u201d I replied. \u201cYou can live in the basement. You can live in the garage. But you are never stepping foot in my home again. Not after what you did with that lease.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLena, stop this!\u201d my mother wailed. \u201cThink of what the neighbors will say!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care about the neighbors, Mom. I care about the fact that you all lied to me and tried to steal my peace. Leave. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n

The security patrol car pulled around the corner, its yellow lights flashing. My father\u2019s face went from indignant to terrified. He was a man who cared deeply about his image; being escorted off a luxury property by security was his worst nightmare.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re leaving,\u201d he spat, pointing a finger at me. \u201cBut don\u2019t you ever call us. Don\u2019t you ever ask for anything. You\u2019re dead to this family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never asked you for anything to begin with, Dad,\u201d I said quietly. \u201cThat was always the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched them scramble to throw the boxes back into the SUV. I watched\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0sobbing into her hands, not because she was sad, but because she hadn\u2019t gotten her way. I watched them drive away, the mattress on the roof wobbling precariously.<\/span><\/p>\n

I went back inside and sat on my floor. I felt a strange, hollow sensation in my chest. It wasn\u2019t sadness. It was the feeling of a phantom limb\u2014the weight of my family\u2019s expectations was gone, and I had to learn how to walk without the burden.<\/p>\n

Cliffhanger: Two days later, on Thanksgiving morning, I received an email. It wasn\u2019t from my family. It was from the HR department at my firm, and the subject line read: \u201cURGENT: Inquiry regarding external communication.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter Six: The New Ledger<\/span><\/h3>\n

I opened the email with trembling hands. My father had actually done it. He had followed through on his threat to sabotage my career. He had sent an anonymous \u2018tip\u2019 to my firm\u2019s ethics portal, claiming that I was mishandling client funds to pay for my \u2018extravagant lifestyle\u2019 while my family suffered.<\/p>\n

But he had made a fatal mistake. He had used his personal email address to send the \u2018anonymous\u2019 tip, and he had attached a copy of the very forged guarantor form that\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>\u00a0had created, thinking it proved I was involved in her finances.<\/span><\/p>\n

I spent my Thanksgiving morning not at a dinner table, but in my home office. I drafted a meticulous response to HR. I attached the call logs from\u00a0Thomas Heller<\/span><\/strong>, the screenshots of the text messages where my father threatened to get me fired if I didn\u2019t pay the rent, and a copy of the trespass warning from my apartment complex.<\/span><\/p>\n

I sent the email at 11:00 AM.<\/p>\n

By 2:00 PM, I received a personal reply from the Managing Partner.<\/p>\n

\u201cLena, we\u2019ve reviewed the documentation. It\u2019s clear this is a malicious personal matter. We are closing the inquiry. We are also flagging this individual\u2019s email address in our system. We are sorry you are going through this. Take the rest of the week to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed my laptop and exhaled a breath I felt like I\u2019d been holding for twenty years.<\/p>\n

I spent the rest of the day with two friends from college who had also opted out of their family dramas. We ate a store-bought turkey, drank expensive champagne, and laughed until our ribs ached. There were no ultimatums. There were no lies. There was no \u2018Family Tax.\u2019<\/p>\n

Three weeks later, a final message came through from a new, unblocked number. It was\u00a0Brianna<\/span><\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMom and Dad are fighting all the time now. Dad had to take out a second mortgage to pay off my debt so I wouldn\u2019t get sued by Heller. They\u2019re making me work at the hardware store. I hate it. You really could\u2019ve helped us, Lena. I hope you\u2019re happy in your empty condo.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around my \u2018empty\u2019 condo. It wasn\u2019t empty. It was full of sunlight. It was full of books I wanted to read. It was full of a future that belonged entirely to me.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t reply. I didn\u2019t need the last word, because the silence was the most powerful thing I owned.<\/p>\n

I had finally learned the most important lesson in accounting: some debts can never be repaid, and the only way to balance the books is to write them off entirely.<\/p>\n

I deleted the message, blocked the number, and went back to my life. I was no longer the backup plan. I was the protagonist.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Chapter One: The Frozen Aisle Ultimatum The grocery store was always my sanctuary\u2014a place of predictable costs and orderly shelves. I was standing in the frozen food section of the\u00a0Harris … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15194,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15196","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\/15196","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=15196"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15196\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15198,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15196\/revisions\/15198"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/15194"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15196"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15196"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15196"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}