{"id":20755,"date":"2026-05-25T00:07:07","date_gmt":"2026-05-24T17:07:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=20755"},"modified":"2026-05-25T00:07:07","modified_gmt":"2026-05-24T17:07:07","slug":"her-husband-locked-her-in-the-garage-but-what-she-found-hidden-inside-changed-everything-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=20755","title":{"rendered":"Trapped in the garage by her husband, she uncovered a hidden safe that exposed the truth."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

The crutch hit the hardwood before I did.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/header>\n

\n

That is the sound my body still remembers.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not the front door clicking shut behind us.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not Vivian\u2019s perfume filling the hallway.<\/p>\n

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

Not Daniel telling the nurse at the hospital that he would take excellent care of me.<\/p>\n

The sound I remember is aluminum striking wood, skidding across the baseboard, and stopping somewhere I could no longer reach.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I had been home for eleven minutes.<\/p>\n

My discharge folder was still tucked under my arm when Daniel helped me through the front door.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The plastic hospital bracelet had not even stopped irritating my wrist.<\/p>\n

My hair smelled like antiseptic and the scratchy blanket from the recovery room, and my leg was strapped into a brace that ran from my thigh to my ankle.<\/p>\n

A shattered femur does not hurt like one thing.<\/p>\n

It hurts like a system.<\/p>\n

Bone, muscle, skin, breath, memory.<\/p>\n

Every part of me was negotiating with pain while Daniel unlocked the door and said, \u201cAlmost there.\u201d<\/p>\n

For one tired second, I believed that meant bed.<\/p>\n

Then I saw his mother.<\/p>\n

Vivian stood in the doorway of the master bedroom wearing my silk robe.<\/p>\n

Not holding it.<\/p>\n

Not moving it.<\/p>\n

Wearing it like she had been trying it on for size and decided it looked better on her.<\/p>\n

Her hair was pinned back.<\/p>\n

Her lips were painted.<\/p>\n

Her bare foot rested against the doorframe like she owned not just the room, but the woman who had just crawled back into the house from surgery.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy room now,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I thought the pain medication had twisted the words.<\/p>\n

I blinked at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her gaze moved down my body, slow and assessing.<\/p>\n

She looked at the brace, the hospital bracelet, the bruises from the crash, the folder marked discharge instructions, and she still looked disappointed that I had come home alive enough to argue.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe master bedroom is too much for you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I swallowed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are no stairs to our bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vivian smiled.<\/p>\n

That was the first warning.<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d she said. \u201cToo comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned to Daniel.<\/p>\n

He had been my husband for six years.<\/p>\n

He knew where I kept the spare batteries.<\/p>\n

He knew I hated cilantro.<\/p>\n

He knew I could not sleep unless the closet door was shut.<\/p>\n

He knew I was standing on one good leg with metal under my skin and a pain schedule printed in bold on the first page of my discharge packet.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell her to stop,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Daniel did not look at me.<\/p>\n

He stared at the floor, jaw tight, as if the floor had suddenly become the judge of his life.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaniel.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vivian stepped closer.<\/p>\n

Her perfume was sharp and sweet, the kind of smell that turns mean in a small hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have been dramatic since the accident,\u201d she said. \u201cAlways making everything about pain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe doctor said I can\u2019t put weight on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I said move.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tightened my hands around the crutches.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is my house.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sentence left my mouth smaller than I wanted it to.<\/p>\n

But it landed.<\/p>\n

Vivian\u2019s eyes changed.<\/p>\n

Not anger.<\/p>\n

Recognition.<\/p>\n

That is the thing about people who have been waiting to take something from you.<\/p>\n

They do not look surprised when you finally name it.<\/p>\n

They look offended that you noticed.<\/p>\n

Her slipper swept sideways.<\/p>\n

The right crutch flew out from under me.<\/p>\n

My body dropped before my mind could catch up.<\/p>\n

Hardwood rose fast and bright.<\/p>\n

My injured leg twisted beneath me, and a white-hot shock tore from my hip down to my ankle.<\/p>\n

I screamed so hard the sound scraped my throat raw.<\/p>\n

Daniel moved at last.<\/p>\n

Not toward the crutch.<\/p>\n

Not toward my leg.<\/p>\n

Not toward the papers spreading across the hallway floor.<\/p>\n

He crouched beside me and caught me under the jaw.<\/p>\n

His fingers pressed around my throat, not hard enough to leave a dramatic movie scene, but hard enough to make the message clear.<\/p>\n

His wedding ring was cold against my skin.<\/p>\n

He leaned close.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom wants the master bedroom,\u201d he whispered. \u201cSo you\u2019re sleeping in the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n

There are sentences that do not break your heart because your heart was already breaking.<\/p>\n

They turn off the last light.<\/p>\n

That was what his sentence did.<\/p>\n

Vivian gave a soft laugh behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at her,\u201d she said. \u201cStill thinking she matters.\u201d<\/p>\n

They dragged me by the arms.<\/p>\n

My brace scraped the hallway.<\/p>\n

My shoulder hit the corner of the wall.<\/p>\n

The discharge folder opened and spilled everything the hospital had given us.<\/p>\n

Pain medication instructions.<\/p>\n

Follow-up appointment sheet.<\/p>\n

Fall-risk warning.<\/p>\n

Emergency contact form.<\/p>\n

A page titled Home Care After Femur Surgery.<\/p>\n

Daniel stepped over it.<\/p>\n

That was the moment I understood that the nurse had been wrong.<\/p>\n

I had not been released into care.<\/p>\n

I had been released into custody.<\/p>\n

At 2:18 p.m., the hospital note said I left with my husband.<\/p>\n

At 2:29 p.m., he dragged me into the garage.<\/p>\n

The garage was colder than the hallway.<\/p>\n

It smelled of motor oil, old cardboard, and the stale dust that gathers behind things nobody wants to move.<\/p>\n

A rake leaned in the corner.<\/p>\n

Plastic bins sat under the workbench.<\/p>\n

A stack of tax boxes rested beneath the old metal shelf where Daniel used to dump paperwork and pretend mess was the same thing as privacy.<\/p>\n

Vivian kicked my remaining crutch back into the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy meds,\u201d I rasped.<\/p>\n

She lifted my phone between two fingers.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I thought she might hand it to me.<\/p>\n

Instead, she smiled and dropped it into her purse.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy phone,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Daniel stood in the doorway with my discharge folder in one hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t make this uglier,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I looked at him then.<\/p>\n

Really looked.<\/p>\n

His hoodie was still wrinkled from the hospital chair.<\/p>\n

His shoes had road salt on the edges.<\/p>\n

His face had the blank patience of a man who had already decided that what he was doing was not abuse if he sounded calm while doing it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou already did,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

His mouth twitched.<\/p>\n

The steel door slammed.<\/p>\n

The lock turned.<\/p>\n

The garage went dark.<\/p>\n

For a while, I could not move.<\/p>\n

Pain does not always arrive as screaming.<\/p>\n

Sometimes it comes as math.<\/p>\n

How far to the workbench.<\/p>\n

How far to the mat.<\/p>\n

How long before the next pain pill.<\/p>\n

How much pressure a person can put through one elbow before the whole body gives out.<\/p>\n

I lay with my cheek against the concrete and listened.<\/p>\n

Through the wall, Vivian\u2019s voice floated down the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinally. Peace.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost laughed.<\/p>\n

It came out like a cough.<\/p>\n

Because Vivian believed she had won the bedroom.<\/p>\n

Daniel believed he had won silence.<\/p>\n

Neither one of them remembered what was ten feet away from my hand.<\/p>\n

Before the accident, before the robe, before the hallway, I had been an accountant.<\/p>\n

Not glamorous.<\/p>\n

Not powerful in the way Daniel thought power looked.<\/p>\n

I was the person who matched numbers, checked dates, opened files twice, and noticed when payroll reports had names that did not belong to anyone who worked for the company.<\/p>\n

The first irregularity had been small.<\/p>\n

A contractor invoice.<\/p>\n

Then another.<\/p>\n

Then round-number payments to shell vendors with mailing addresses that traced back to rented boxes.<\/p>\n

Then W-2s for people I had never met.<\/p>\n

Then offshore transfers Daniel said were \u201ctemporary tax positioning,\u201d as if expensive words could make fraud respectable.<\/p>\n

I printed the payroll sheets.<\/p>\n

I saved the vendor invoices.<\/p>\n

I copied the bank transfer list onto a flash drive and placed it in the floor safe under the oil-stained mat in the garage.<\/p>\n

Daniel had begged me to destroy it.<\/p>\n

He cried once.<\/p>\n

Then he blamed me.<\/p>\n

Then he told me I did not understand business.<\/p>\n

Then he told me that a good wife did not keep evidence on her husband.<\/p>\n

That was the mistake he made.<\/p>\n

He thought wife meant witness who could be shamed into silence.<\/p>\n

But numbers do not get embarrassed.<\/p>\n

Paper does not cry.<\/p>\n

Cruel people love witnesses until the witnesses are paperwork.<\/p>\n

The floor safe was under the old mat near the workbench.<\/p>\n

Daniel had installed it years earlier when he went through a disaster-prepper phase and wanted a place for emergency cash.<\/p>\n

He forgot about it when the cash disappeared into his schemes.<\/p>\n

I did not.<\/p>\n

I pressed my palms against the concrete and pulled.<\/p>\n

The pain hit so fast I saw sparks.<\/p>\n

I stopped.<\/p>\n

Breathed.<\/p>\n

Moved again.<\/p>\n

One inch.<\/p>\n

Then another.<\/p>\n

My brace dragged behind me with a dull scraping sound that made me clench my teeth.<\/p>\n

The mat was farther away than it had ever looked when I was healthy.<\/p>\n

Ten feet can become a country when your body is broken.<\/p>\n

By the time I reached it, my sweatshirt was damp at the collar and my hands were gray with dust.<\/p>\n

I hooked two fingers into the corner of the mat and pulled.<\/p>\n

It stuck for a second.<\/p>\n

Then it came loose.<\/p>\n

Underneath was the square of concrete Daniel had once pried up with a flathead screwdriver.<\/p>\n

I touched the edge and felt metal.<\/p>\n

That was when the house above me went quiet.<\/p>\n

Not peaceful quiet.<\/p>\n

Listening quiet.<\/p>\n

I turned the combination with shaking fingers.<\/p>\n

Left.<\/p>\n

Right.<\/p>\n

Left again.<\/p>\n

The wheel slipped once because sweat had made my fingers slick.<\/p>\n

I wiped them against my sweatshirt and tried again.<\/p>\n

The latch clicked.<\/p>\n

It was such a small sound.<\/p>\n

Still, in that garage, it felt like a door opening inside my chest.<\/p>\n

The flash drive was wrapped in an old grocery receipt.<\/p>\n

Beside it were copies of the payroll sheets, shell vendor invoices, and the transfer list I had printed after Daniel told me I was being paranoid.<\/p>\n

I slid the flash drive into the strap of my leg brace.<\/p>\n

Then I saw the paper I had not placed there.<\/p>\n

It sat folded under the lid, fresh and clean, as if someone had tucked it away recently.<\/p>\n

The crease was sharp.<\/p>\n

Vivian\u2019s handwriting was across the top.<\/p>\n

Master bedroom today, house next.<\/p>\n

For several seconds, I did not understand what I was looking at.<\/p>\n

Then I unfolded it.<\/p>\n

It was a draft form.<\/p>\n

Not filed.<\/p>\n

Not finished.<\/p>\n

But enough.<\/p>\n

My name was typed in the wrong place.<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s signature line had been marked with a sticky tab.<\/p>\n

The note on the side said, After surgery, she will sign anything if she wants the meds.<\/p>\n

I stared at that sentence until the garage blurred.<\/p>\n

The broken leg had not made them cruel.<\/p>\n

It had made them confident.<\/p>\n

I heard the steel door again.<\/p>\n

A key scraped the lock.<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s voice came through the door, low and irritated.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019ll calm down by morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vivian answered him.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaniel\u2026 why is the garage opener light on?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked across the floor.<\/p>\n

My elbow had hit the wall button while I was dragging myself.<\/p>\n

The garage door opener blinked green.<\/p>\n

Then the motor groaned.<\/p>\n

The big door began to lift.<\/p>\n

Cold daylight slid under it in a thin white strip.<\/p>\n

Daniel cursed.<\/p>\n

The door opened another inch.<\/p>\n

Then another.<\/p>\n

Light touched the concrete.<\/p>\n

It touched my hands.<\/p>\n

It touched the discharge papers that had clung to my sweatshirt and fallen beside the safe.<\/p>\n

For the first time since the hallway, I was not in complete darkness.<\/p>\n

The neighbor across the street was rolling his trash bin back from the curb.<\/p>\n

He turned when he heard the motor.<\/p>\n

At first, he only saw the door rising.<\/p>\n

Then he saw me on the garage floor.<\/p>\n

He saw the brace.<\/p>\n

He saw the papers.<\/p>\n

He saw Daniel standing at the inside door with his hand on the lock.<\/p>\n

I did not have to scream.<\/p>\n

My face did it for me.<\/p>\n

The neighbor froze.<\/p>\n

Then he reached for his phone.<\/p>\n

Daniel saw him.<\/p>\n

Everything in his expression changed.<\/p>\n

Men like Daniel fear evidence more than God.<\/p>\n

\u201cClose it,\u201d Vivian hissed.<\/p>\n

Daniel lunged toward the wall button.<\/p>\n

I grabbed the rake handle with both hands and shoved it between the garage door track and the sensor beam.<\/p>\n

The door jerked.<\/p>\n

Stopped.<\/p>\n

Then reversed and lifted higher.<\/p>\n

Daniel shouted my name.<\/p>\n

It sounded strange in his mouth now.<\/p>\n

Not loving.<\/p>\n

Not angry.<\/p>\n

Afraid.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not do this,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I laughed then.<\/p>\n

A cracked, ugly sound.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou already did.\u201d<\/p>\n

The neighbor was running by then.<\/p>\n

He shouted something I could not make out.<\/p>\n

Another garage door opened across the street.<\/p>\n

A woman in scrubs stepped out with her car keys still in her hand.<\/p>\n

I remember her face more than her words.<\/p>\n

Horror first.<\/p>\n

Then focus.<\/p>\n

She knelt near me but did not touch my leg.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he do this to you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

I looked at Daniel.<\/p>\n

Vivian stood behind him in my robe, suddenly smaller, suddenly older, suddenly trying to look confused.<\/p>\n

I pulled the flash drive from the brace strap and held it up.<\/p>\n

\u201cCall 911,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd tell them I have evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s face drained.<\/p>\n

Vivian whispered, \u201cEvidence of what?\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the first time I saw her doubt him.<\/p>\n

Not because she cared about me.<\/p>\n

Because she realized she might have hitched her comfort to a sinking man.<\/p>\n

The paramedics arrived first.<\/p>\n

Then the police.<\/p>\n

The woman in scrubs stayed with me until they lifted me onto a stretcher.<\/p>\n

She held my hand when my leg spasmed and I nearly blacked out.<\/p>\n

Daniel kept trying to talk over everybody.<\/p>\n

He said I was medicated.<\/p>\n

He said I was confused.<\/p>\n

He said I had fallen.<\/p>\n

He said his mother had done nothing.<\/p>\n

Then the neighbor said, \u201cI saw the door open. I saw her on the floor. I saw him try to shut it.\u201d<\/p>\n

One sentence can become a wall when enough truth stands behind it.<\/p>\n

The officer asked for my phone.<\/p>\n

Vivian looked toward her purse.<\/p>\n

I pointed.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s in there.\u201d<\/p>\n

The officer asked Vivian to hand it over.<\/p>\n

She hesitated one beat too long.<\/p>\n

That beat told everyone in the garage what they needed to know.<\/p>\n

At the hospital, they documented everything.<\/p>\n

The bruising along my jaw.<\/p>\n

The strain marks on my arms.<\/p>\n

The missed medication window.<\/p>\n

The way my leg had been forced out of position.<\/p>\n

They photographed the hospital bracelet still around my wrist and the same discharge papers Daniel had stepped over in the hallway.<\/p>\n

I gave the flash drive to the officer in a sealed evidence bag.<\/p>\n

Then I gave a second statement to a financial crimes detective two days later.<\/p>\n

I did not know then what would happen to Daniel\u2019s company.<\/p>\n

I only knew what I had copied.<\/p>\n

Fake payroll.<\/p>\n

Shell vendors.<\/p>\n

Offshore transfers.<\/p>\n

Account authorizations.<\/p>\n

The kind of records that do not care how charming a man can be at a discharge desk.<\/p>\n

The Internal Revenue Service did not need my tears.<\/p>\n

They needed records.<\/p>\n

I had records.<\/p>\n

The protective order came first.<\/p>\n

Daniel was removed from the house before I was released from the hospital the second time.<\/p>\n

Vivian tried to claim she had nowhere to go.<\/p>\n

The judge did not find that compelling.<\/p>\n

Neither did I.<\/p>\n

The silk robe was still hanging on the back of the master bathroom door when my sister brought me home a week later.<\/p>\n

I did not touch it.<\/p>\n

I had her place it in a trash bag with the gloves she bought from the pharmacy.<\/p>\n

Then I sat on the edge of my own bed, in my own room, with a walker beside me and a medication schedule taped to the wall.<\/p>\n

The house was quiet.<\/p>\n

For the first time in years, it did not feel like it was holding its breath.<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s lawyer sent two letters.<\/p>\n

The first asked me to consider how a criminal case would affect \u201cthe family.\u201d<\/p>\n

The second offered a settlement if I would retract my statement about the financial records.<\/p>\n

My attorney laughed at that one.<\/p>\n

I did not retract anything.<\/p>\n

A forensic accountant reviewed the drive.<\/p>\n

Then another agency asked for copies.<\/p>\n

Then Daniel stopped sending messages through lawyers and started sending silence.<\/p>\n

That suited me fine.<\/p>\n

Vivian left one voicemail from an unknown number.<\/p>\n

She said I had misunderstood.<\/p>\n

She said she had only wanted to help manage the house while I recovered.<\/p>\n

She said Daniel had been under stress.<\/p>\n

She never explained the draft form.<\/p>\n

She never explained my phone in her purse.<\/p>\n

She never explained the robe.<\/p>\n

People like Vivian always believe tone can clean fingerprints.<\/p>\n

It cannot.<\/p>\n

My leg healed slowly.<\/p>\n

Too slowly for my patience.<\/p>\n

There were nights I woke up with my muscles locked and my body convinced it was still on the garage floor.<\/p>\n

There were afternoons when the scrape of a chair against hardwood made my throat close.<\/p>\n

Recovery is not a straight line.<\/p>\n

It is a hallway you keep crossing, even when part of you expects someone to step out and hurt you again.<\/p>\n

But little by little, the house became mine in a way it had never been when Daniel lived there.<\/p>\n

I changed the locks.<\/p>\n

I changed the alarm code.<\/p>\n

I moved the tax boxes out of the garage.<\/p>\n

I replaced the oil-stained mat.<\/p>\n

I kept the floor safe.<\/p>\n

Not because I needed to hide from Daniel anymore.<\/p>\n

Because sometimes survival deserves a monument only you understand.<\/p>\n

The first morning I walked from the bedroom to the kitchen without the walker, I stopped in the hallway where the crutch had fallen.<\/p>\n

The baseboard still had a nick in it.<\/p>\n

A tiny crescent dent in the paint.<\/p>\n

My sister said we could fix it.<\/p>\n

I told her no.<\/p>\n

Not yet.<\/p>\n

That mark reminded me of the exact second my life ended as Daniel\u2019s wife and began as my own witness.<\/p>\n

For months, I thought the worst part was that they had thrown me into the garage.<\/p>\n

I was wrong.<\/p>\n

The worst part was how ordinary they made it feel.<\/p>\n

A hallway.<\/p>\n

A robe.<\/p>\n

A purse.<\/p>\n

A locked door.<\/p>\n

A man telling his injured wife not to make things ugly after he had already made them unforgivable.<\/p>\n

But ordinary cruelty leaves ordinary evidence.<\/p>\n

A paper trail.<\/p>\n

A witness across the street.<\/p>\n

A phone in the wrong purse.<\/p>\n

A hospital bracelet still on the wrist.<\/p>\n

A flash drive hidden under concrete.<\/p>\n

Cruel people love witnesses until the witnesses are paperwork.<\/p>\n

Daniel learned that too late.<\/p>\n

Vivian learned it when the bedroom she wanted became the room she was legally barred from entering.<\/p>\n

And I learned something too.<\/p>\n

I had thought surviving meant getting out of the garage.<\/p>\n

It did not.<\/p>\n

Getting out was the first part.<\/p>\n

Surviving was telling the truth after I got out, even when my voice shook, even when my leg throbbed, even when Daniel\u2019s lawyer tried to make me sound bitter instead of beaten.<\/p>\n

The last time I saw Daniel before the case moved forward, he looked smaller than I remembered.<\/p>\n

No whispering.<\/p>\n

No calm instructions.<\/p>\n

No mother standing behind him in my robe.<\/p>\n

Just a man in a plain shirt sitting across a table from consequences he could not drag into a garage and lock away.<\/p>\n

He looked at me once.<\/p>\n

I did not look down.<\/p>\n

That was enough.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The crutch hit the hardwood before I did. That is the sound my body still remembers. Not the front door clicking shut behind us. Not Vivian\u2019s perfume filling the hallway. … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20752,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20755","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\/20755","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=20755"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20755\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20757,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20755\/revisions\/20757"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/20752"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=20755"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=20755"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=20755"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}