{"id":22847,"date":"2026-06-04T15:49:21","date_gmt":"2026-06-04T08:49:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=22847"},"modified":"2026-06-04T15:49:21","modified_gmt":"2026-06-04T08:49:21","slug":"a-5-year-old-called-his-grandpa-when-his-mother-couldnt-breathe-and-that-one-phone-call-saved-everything-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=22847","title":{"rendered":"His mom collapsed, struggling for air. Then her 5-year-old son picked up the phone and called Grandpa."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
<\/div>\n<\/header>\n
\n
\n

Lena used to believe a home announced itself by ordinary sounds.<\/p>\n

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

The refrigerator clicking on after midnight.<\/p>\n

A child\u2019s bare feet slapping against the hallway floor.<\/p>\n

Rain ticking against the split-level windows in Tacoma, Washington, while the heat vent rattled under the kitchen sink.<\/p>\n

For years, she had tried to make those sounds louder than Evan\u2019s anger.<\/p>\n

She had tried to fill the house with cartoons, pancakes, folded laundry, library books, and Noah\u2019s dinosaur drawings taped crookedly to the refrigerator.<\/p>\n

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

She had tried to make a marriage look survivable by keeping every terrifying part of it behind closed doors.<\/p>\n

The house had three bedrooms, old wiring, and a narrow staircase that creaked on the fourth step.<\/p>\n

Evan always complained about that step.<\/p>\n

He said the house was falling apart.<\/p>\n

He said Lena wasted money on small things.<\/p>\n

He said she had no idea how hard he worked.<\/p>\n

He said a lot of things in a voice that turned ordinary rooms into places where she measured her breathing.<\/p>\n

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

Lena had married him seven years earlier, before Noah, before the bank app, before she knew how quickly a man could turn a question into an interrogation.<\/p>\n

Back then, Evan had been charming in public and intense in private.<\/p>\n

He remembered what she ordered at restaurants.<\/p>\n

He scraped ice off her windshield before work.<\/p>\n

He told her he wanted a family that stayed together no matter what.<\/p>\n

At twenty-six, Lena thought that sounded like devotion.<\/p>\n

At thirty-three, she understood it had been a warning.<\/p>\n

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

Their son Noah was five, small for his age, with a soft voice and serious brown eyes.<\/p>\n

He loved plastic dinosaurs, peanut butter toast, and the little fishing-boat emoji beside his grandfather\u2019s contact in Lena\u2019s phone.<\/p>\n

That emoji mattered because Lena\u2019s father, Carl, had taken Noah fishing once at Point Defiance, where Noah had caught nothing but talked about it for weeks.<\/p>\n

After that, Carl became Grandpa Boat in Noah\u2019s mind.<\/p>\n

If something needed fixing, Grandpa Boat fixed it.<\/p>\n

If a toy wheel came loose, Grandpa Boat had a screwdriver.<\/p>\n

If the porch light burned out, Grandpa Boat brought a ladder.<\/p>\n

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

If Lena\u2019s car made a grinding noise, Grandpa Boat listened with one hand on the hood and said, \u201cStart it again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lena had never told Noah that some things were too broken for a screwdriver.<\/p>\n

She had also never told Carl the truth about Evan.<\/p>\n

She told herself she was protecting her father\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

She told herself she did not want to make family dinners awkward.<\/p>\n

She told herself every bruise had an explanation that sounded almost believable if nobody asked a second question.<\/p>\n

A cabinet door.<\/p>\n

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

A fall in the garage.<\/p>\n

A bad night.<\/p>\n

A clumsy mistake.<\/p>\n

Shame is patient that way.<\/p>\n

It will sit beside you for years and call itself privacy.<\/p>\n

The week before everything changed, Lena opened a separate savings account at Tacoma First Credit Union.<\/p>\n

She did it on her lunch break while eating a granola bar in her parked car.<\/p>\n

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

The account held seventy-three dollars.<\/p>\n

That was all.<\/p>\n

Twenty dollars from grocery change.<\/p>\n

Thirty from birthday money her sister had slipped into a card.<\/p>\n

Twenty-three from cash she had saved by pretending she forgot to buy herself shampoo and using Noah\u2019s baby wash instead.<\/p>\n

She did not call it an escape fund.<\/p>\n

Not out loud.<\/p>\n

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

But she took a screenshot of the account number.<\/p>\n

She wrote the customer service number on the back of a receipt.<\/p>\n

She changed her phone passcode at 1:12 p.m. on a Tuesday and then changed it back at 1:19 because Evan hated when things changed without his permission.<\/p>\n

Those seven minutes frightened her more than they should have.<\/p>\n

By Friday, the seventy-three dollars was still there.<\/p>\n

By Saturday, Evan found it.<\/p>\n

The fight began at 8:17 p.m.<\/p>\n

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

Noah was supposed to be in bed, but he had come downstairs with his stuffed dinosaur because the hall nightlight had flickered out.<\/p>\n

Lena was standing near the counter, rinsing a mug, when Evan picked up her phone from the kitchen table.<\/p>\n

He had never asked before taking it.<\/p>\n

He simply took things.<\/p>\n

Her phone.<\/p>\n

Her keys.<\/p>\n

Her explanations.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Lena turned and saw the bank app open on the screen.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

For one second, the whole kitchen narrowed to the glow in his hand.<\/p>\n

The refrigerator hummed behind her.<\/p>\n

Water ran into the sink.<\/p>\n

The ceiling light buzzed faintly because the wiring had needed repair for months.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just savings,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

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

His eyes lifted slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour savings?\u201d<\/p>\n

The way he said your made it sound obscene.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s seventy-three dollars, Evan.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed once, but there was no humor in it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo now you\u2019re hiding money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cYou think I\u2019m stupid?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you\u2019re leaving me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lena looked toward the hallway and saw Noah standing there in dinosaur pajamas, barefoot, clutching the stuffed toy to his chest.<\/p>\n

His mouth was open, but no sound had come out yet.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Lena said again.<\/p>\n

This time it was a lie.<\/p>\n

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

Sometimes survival is not bravery.<\/p>\n

Sometimes it is choosing the smallest answer that might keep the room from exploding.<\/p>\n

Evan stepped closer.<\/p>\n

The mug slipped against the sink and made a small ceramic knock.<\/p>\n

Lena remembered that sound later because it was the last ordinary sound before the violence.<\/p>\n

His hand struck her across the face first.<\/p>\n

Her head turned hard enough that the corner of the counter blurred.<\/p>\n

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

Noah screamed.<\/p>\n

Evan shouted something about respect, money, and lies, but the words came apart in Lena\u2019s ears.<\/p>\n

The chair went over.<\/p>\n

One of its legs scraped across the tile in a long ugly line.<\/p>\n

Lena tried to move away from him, but her hip hit the counter and her foot slid.<\/p>\n

Then her ribs struck the edge.<\/p>\n

The crack inside her chest was not loud.<\/p>\n

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

It was worse than loud.<\/p>\n

It was clean.<\/p>\n

It was final.<\/p>\n

It stole every word from her mouth.<\/p>\n

She dropped to the kitchen floor with one hand pressed to her side and the other reaching for nothing.<\/p>\n

The tile was cold against her cheek.<\/p>\n

The taste of copper filled her mouth.<\/p>\n

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

Every breath felt like a blade being drawn slowly through her.<\/p>\n

Noah screamed again from the hallway.<\/p>\n

Evan looked at him.<\/p>\n

Then he looked down at Lena.<\/p>\n

In that moment, Lena saw no confusion in his face.<\/p>\n

No panic.<\/p>\n

No horror at what he had done.<\/p>\n

Only calculation.<\/p>\n

How much damage could be explained.<\/p>\n

How much fear could be managed.<\/p>\n

How much silence he still owned.<\/p>\n

\u201cClean yourself up,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Then he looked at Noah.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd teach him not to cry like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He walked to the entryway and took Lena\u2019s car keys from the hook by the door.<\/p>\n

That hook had always bothered her.<\/p>\n

It was such a small thing, three brass hooks screwed into painted wood, but Evan had turned it into a symbol.<\/p>\n

His keys.<\/p>\n

Her keys.<\/p>\n

Control arranged neatly by the front door.<\/p>\n

When he left, the door slammed hard enough to make the ceiling light flicker.<\/p>\n

The old wiring buzzed overhead.<\/p>\n

His truck engine started outside.<\/p>\n

The tires spat gravel.<\/p>\n

Then the house went quiet in a way that did not feel safe.<\/p>\n

Lena tried to pull air into her lungs and failed.<\/p>\n

A thin, broken sound came out instead.<\/p>\n

Noah came to her slowly.<\/p>\n

He was crying, but not loudly anymore.<\/p>\n

His little face had gone pale, and his stuffed dinosaur dangled from one hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cMama?\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

Lena wanted to say she was okay.<\/p>\n

She wanted to say go upstairs.<\/p>\n

She wanted to say none of this was his fault.<\/p>\n

But her ribs locked around the breath, and all she could do was stare at him.<\/p>\n

Children know when adults are lying.<\/p>\n

Noah looked at the overturned chair.<\/p>\n

He looked at her phone on the floor.<\/p>\n

Then something changed in his face.<\/p>\n

Not because he understood marriage.<\/p>\n

Not because he understood abuse.<\/p>\n

Because he understood tools.<\/p>\n

A phone was a tool.<\/p>\n

Grandpa was a tool.<\/p>\n

Grandpa fixed things.<\/p>\n

Noah crawled over the tile, picked up the phone, and held it with both hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is what Grandpa is for,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

His thumb shook as he pressed the contact with the little fishing-boat emoji.<\/p>\n

Carl answered on the second ring.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, bug,\u201d he started, using his nickname for Noah.<\/p>\n

But Noah cut him off.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrandpa, come now,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n

There was a silence.<\/p>\n

Then Carl\u2019s voice sharpened.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMama can\u2019t breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lena closed her eyes.<\/p>\n

There were sentences that changed a family forever, and her five-year-old had just spoken one.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs she bleeding?\u201d Carl asked.<\/p>\n

Noah leaned close and studied her face with heartbreaking seriousness.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cBut she sounds broken.\u201d<\/p>\n

Broken.<\/p>\n

That was the word Lena had spent years avoiding.<\/p>\n

Broken was not tired.<\/p>\n

Broken was not private.<\/p>\n

Broken was not a rough patch or a hard season or a marriage that needed prayer.<\/p>\n

Broken was cold tile under her cheek and her child holding a phone like a lifeline.<\/p>\n

\u201cPut the phone by her mouth,\u201d Carl said.<\/p>\n

Noah obeyed.<\/p>\n

\u201cLena,\u201d Carl said.<\/p>\n

His voice changed then.<\/p>\n

It was softer, but not weak.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen to me. Do not move. I\u2019m calling 911 on the other phone. I\u2019m coming too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lena tried to answer.<\/p>\n

Only a thin scrape of air came out.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo talking,\u201d Carl said. \u201cTap once if Evan did this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lena lifted her finger and tapped the tile once.<\/p>\n

The silence that followed was heavy enough to fill the room.<\/p>\n

Carl had been a dock foreman for thirty years.<\/p>\n

He had seen men crushed by equipment, men cut by cables, men too proud to admit they were hurt until their knees gave out.<\/p>\n

He knew what injury sounded like.<\/p>\n

He also knew what fear sounded like.<\/p>\n

\u201cNoah, buddy,\u201d he said, his voice controlled, \u201cgo unlock the front door. Then come right back to your mom. Do not go outside.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah ran.<\/p>\n

Lena heard the chain slide.<\/p>\n

She heard the deadbolt turn.<\/p>\n

She heard his socks slip on the wood near the entryway.<\/p>\n

Then she heard an engine outside.<\/p>\n

Her body reacted before her mind did.<\/p>\n

Her breath caught.<\/p>\n

Pain exploded bright and white behind her eyes.<\/p>\n

Noah came back into the kitchen with the phone still in his hand.<\/p>\n

His lips were trembling.<\/p>\n

\u201cMama,\u201d he said, \u201cDaddy\u2019s truck is in the driveway again.\u201d<\/p>\n

The front door opened.<\/p>\n

Evan stepped inside.<\/p>\n

His boots sounded too loud against the entryway floor.<\/p>\n

He had returned without his jacket zipped, without the look of a man who had cooled down.<\/p>\n

His eyes went straight to the phone in Noah\u2019s hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho did you call?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Noah backed toward Lena.<\/p>\n

The child was small.<\/p>\n

The phone looked huge in his hands.<\/p>\n

And through the speaker, Carl said, loud and clear, \u201cMe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Evan stopped.<\/p>\n

It was the first time that night anyone had made him stop.<\/p>\n

His eyes shifted from Noah to Lena to the open door behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t know what happened,\u201d Evan said.<\/p>\n

His voice had changed.<\/p>\n

The private cruelty had thinned.<\/p>\n

That was something Lena would remember later.<\/p>\n

Abusers know when an audience enters the room.<\/p>\n

They do not become different people.<\/p>\n

They become careful people.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know my daughter tapped once,\u201d Carl said.<\/p>\n

Evan\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

Noah pressed the phone closer to his chest.<\/p>\n

Lena could see the white marks on his little knuckles.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me the phone,\u201d Evan said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Noah whispered.<\/p>\n

The word was so small it almost disappeared.<\/p>\n

But it did not disappear.<\/p>\n

Carl heard it.<\/p>\n

So did Evan.<\/p>\n

Then sirens sounded in the distance.<\/p>\n

Not loud yet.<\/p>\n

Not close yet.<\/p>\n

But coming.<\/p>\n

Evan\u2019s face changed again.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou called the police?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI called everybody,\u201d Carl said.<\/p>\n

At 8:31 p.m., while Evan stood in the hallway and Lena lay on the kitchen tile, her phone buzzed with a notification from Tacoma First Credit Union.<\/p>\n

New login attempt.<\/p>\n

Lena saw the banner because the cracked screen faced the ceiling.<\/p>\n

Evan saw it too.<\/p>\n

For half a second, his rage gave way to something uglier.<\/p>\n

Fear.<\/p>\n

Not fear for Lena.<\/p>\n

Fear of being documented.<\/p>\n

The bank notification mattered later.<\/p>\n

So did the 911 recording.<\/p>\n

So did Noah\u2019s call log.<\/p>\n

So did the neighbor\u2019s doorbell camera, which caught Evan leaving at 8:25 p.m. with Lena\u2019s car keys in his hand and returning six minutes later.<\/p>\n

So did the hospital intake form that listed two cracked ribs, facial bruising, and a defensive injury on Lena\u2019s wrist.<\/p>\n

At the time, none of those things felt like evidence.<\/p>\n

They felt like scattered pieces of a night Lena might not survive.<\/p>\n

But Carl was already building a record.<\/p>\n

He stayed on the phone until the first officer entered the house.<\/p>\n

He told Noah to step back.<\/p>\n

He told Lena not to move.<\/p>\n

He told Evan, in a voice colder than anything Lena had ever heard from him, \u201cDo not make one more mistake in front of that child.\u201d<\/p>\n

Evan turned toward the doorway just as headlights swept across the wall.<\/p>\n

Carl arrived before the ambulance.<\/p>\n

He did not rush Evan.<\/p>\n

He did not swing.<\/p>\n

He did not become the kind of man Evan wanted him to become.<\/p>\n

He walked through the open door, took one look at his daughter on the floor, and went still.<\/p>\n

That stillness frightened Evan more than shouting would have.<\/p>\n

The officers separated them.<\/p>\n

One stood between Evan and Noah.<\/p>\n

Another knelt beside Lena and asked her name, the date, and whether she could take a full breath.<\/p>\n

She could not.<\/p>\n

Noah kept crying silently until Carl crouched in front of him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did exactly right,\u201d Carl said.<\/p>\n

Noah shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaddy said not to cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Carl\u2019s face broke then.<\/p>\n

Only for a second.<\/p>\n

Then he pulled himself together because Lena needed him whole.<\/p>\n

\u201cCrying is not the problem,\u201d he said. \u201cHurting people is the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ambulance ride blurred into ceiling lights, straps, oxygen, and pain that came in waves.<\/p>\n

At the hospital, Lena gave her statement in pieces.<\/p>\n

A nurse named Maria wrote down what she could say.<\/p>\n

An officer photographed the bruise forming along her cheek.<\/p>\n

Another officer bagged her shirt because there was blood near the collar where her lip had split.<\/p>\n

Carl sat with Noah in the waiting area and let him hold the fishing-boat keychain from his pocket.<\/p>\n

Noah would not let go of it.<\/p>\n

When the doctor confirmed the cracked ribs, Lena cried for the first time.<\/p>\n

Not because of the pain.<\/p>\n

Because a medical record now said what she had been too ashamed to say.<\/p>\n

Something had broken.<\/p>\n

Someone had broken it.<\/p>\n

And it had a name.<\/p>\n

Evan was arrested that night.<\/p>\n

He told the officers Lena had fallen.<\/p>\n

He told them she was unstable.<\/p>\n

He told them Carl had always hated him.<\/p>\n

Then one officer played the 911 audio back in the report room.<\/p>\n

Noah\u2019s voice came through first.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrandpa, come now. Mama can\u2019t breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n

After that, Evan\u2019s story started losing pieces.<\/p>\n

The prosecutor later called the evidence unusually clear.<\/p>\n

There was the call log.<\/p>\n

There was the bank timestamp.<\/p>\n

There was the neighbor\u2019s camera.<\/p>\n

There was the missing car key ring found in Evan\u2019s jacket pocket.<\/p>\n

There was the hospital intake form.<\/p>\n

There was Lena\u2019s one-tap answer preserved in Carl\u2019s contemporaneous 911 relay.<\/p>\n

And there was Noah.<\/p>\n

They did not make him testify in open court.<\/p>\n

Lena insisted on that.<\/p>\n

No child should have to climb back into the worst room of his life to prove adults failed him.<\/p>\n

Instead, the case moved through statements, recordings, medical documentation, and the kind of slow legal process that made Lena feel both protected and exposed.<\/p>\n

Evan pleaded down after the recording and video evidence were reviewed.<\/p>\n

The court issued a protective order.<\/p>\n

Lena received temporary full custody.<\/p>\n

Her sister helped her move into Carl\u2019s house for three months.<\/p>\n

The first week there, Noah slept on a mattress beside Lena\u2019s bed and woke at every truck sound.<\/p>\n

Carl replaced the nightlight in the hallway with one shaped like a moon.<\/p>\n

He also installed a new deadbolt, though Lena told him they were safe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d he said. \u201cThis one is for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Healing did not arrive like a parade.<\/p>\n

It arrived like paperwork.<\/p>\n

Police reports.<\/p>\n

Counseling appointments.<\/p>\n

Custody hearings.<\/p>\n

A new bank account.<\/p>\n

A new phone passcode.<\/p>\n

A copy of the protective order folded into the side pocket of Lena\u2019s purse.<\/p>\n

It arrived like Noah laughing in the backyard one afternoon and then stopping to ask if laughing too loud was okay.<\/p>\n

It arrived like Lena saying, \u201cYes, baby. In this house, loud is okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Months later, when Lena finally returned to the Tacoma house with Carl and a deputy to collect the rest of her things, the kitchen looked smaller than she remembered.<\/p>\n

The tile had been cleaned.<\/p>\n

The chair was upright.<\/p>\n

The hook by the door was empty.<\/p>\n

For a moment, she stood in the same spot where Noah had held the phone.<\/p>\n

Her father stood beside her without speaking.<\/p>\n

The refrigerator hummed.<\/p>\n

The old light buzzed.<\/p>\n

Water dripped once in the sink.<\/p>\n

Lena waited for shame to rise.<\/p>\n

It did not.<\/p>\n

What came instead was grief, sharp and clean, followed by something steadier.<\/p>\n

Her son had not saved her because he was brave in the way adults praise children for surviving terrible things.<\/p>\n

He had saved her because he had been taught that help existed.<\/p>\n

That mattered.<\/p>\n

For years, Lena had thought silence was the thing keeping her family together.<\/p>\n

In the end, silence had been the thing endangering them.<\/p>\n

A five-year-old broke it with a phone call.<\/p>\n

A grandfather answered.<\/p>\n

And a broken woman on a kitchen floor learned that the door out had been there all along.<\/p>\n

She just had not been the one strong enough to open it first.<\/p>\n

Noah was.<\/p>\n

Years later, Lena would still remember the exact words.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is what Grandpa is for.\u201d<\/p>\n

And every time she heard them in her mind, she no longer heard only terror.<\/p>\n

She heard cold tile, a buzzing light, a child\u2019s shaking voice, and the first sound of help coming through the speaker.<\/p>\n

She heard the moment broken stopped being the end of her story.<\/p>\n

She heard the moment it became evidence.<\/p>\n

She heard the moment her son called someone who came.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lena used to believe a home announced itself by ordinary sounds. The refrigerator clicking on after midnight. A child\u2019s bare feet slapping against the hallway floor. Rain ticking against the … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":22845,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-22847","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\/22847","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=22847"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22847\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22849,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22847\/revisions\/22849"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/22845"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=22847"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=22847"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=22847"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}