{"id":24405,"date":"2026-06-12T14:28:22","date_gmt":"2026-06-12T07:28:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=24405"},"modified":"2026-06-12T14:28:22","modified_gmt":"2026-06-12T07:28:22","slug":"i-thought-marriage-would-bring-us-closer-instead-a-simple-disagreement-over-dinner-exposed-a-shocking-truth-about-my-new-family-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=24405","title":{"rendered":"Two days into our marriage, my husband screamed at me for not serving his sister. That moment changed everything."},"content":{"rendered":"
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Just two days after our wedding, I refused to bring dinner to my sister-in-law while she sat glued to the television. My husband exploded, screamed at me, and slapped me across the face. Without thinking twice, I shoved the food away, and that single moment changed everything.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Two days after my wedding, I learned that a marriage could transform before the flowers from the reception tables had even begun to wilt.<\/p>\n

My name is Emily Harper, and I married Daniel Whitmore on a bright Saturday afternoon in Portland, Oregon. He was thirty-two, polished, charming, the kind of man who remembered servers\u2019 names and opened car doors when people were watching. His younger sister, Vanessa, was twenty-seven and had been living with him \u201ctemporarily\u201d for nearly a year.<\/p>\n

Before the wedding, Daniel told me Vanessa was fragile. \u201cShe\u2019s been through a lot,\u201d he said. \u201cJust be patient with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried.<\/p>\n

I truly did.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

On Monday evening, I came home from work with sore feet, still wearing the blouse I had worn to orientation at my new job. Daniel had texted me a grocery list during lunch, then called twice to remind me that Vanessa liked her mashed potatoes \u201cextra buttery.\u201d When I opened the front door, the television was blaring some reality show. Vanessa was curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, scrolling through her phone while laughing at the screen.<\/p>\n

The kitchen sink was full. Empty soda cans covered the coffee table. Daniel stood near the counter with his arms folded, as if he had been waiting for a servant.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s 6:20,\u201d I replied carefully. \u201cTraffic was bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa did not look away from the TV. \u201cI\u2019m starving.\u201d<\/p>\n

I cooked anyway. Chicken, potatoes, green beans. I plated everything and set two dishes on the dining table. Daniel sat down. Vanessa stayed on the couch, her eyes fixed on the screen.<\/p>\n

\u201cDinner\u2019s ready,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBring it here,\u201d Vanessa said, waving one hand without turning around.<\/p>\n

I stared at her. \u201cYou can eat at the table.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room went quiet except for the laughter coming from the television.<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s chair scraped back. \u201cWhat did you just say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI said she can eat at the table,\u201d I answered. \u201cI\u2019m not serving dinner to someone glued to the TV like I\u2019m hired help.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa finally looked over, her face twisting. \u201cWow. Two days in and she already thinks she owns the place.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel crossed the room so quickly that I stepped back on instinct.<\/p>\n

\u201cApologize,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n

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

His hand struck my face before I even understood he had moved. A sharp burst of pain exploded across my cheek. My ear rang. For one second, everything froze\u2014the blue and white flashes from the television, Vanessa\u2019s mouth slightly open, Daniel breathing hard in front of me.<\/p>\n

Then something inside me snapped cleanly in two.<\/p>\n

Without hesitation, I shoved the food away with force. Plates crashed onto the floor. Chicken slid across the tile. The bowl of green beans shattered near Daniel\u2019s shoes.<\/p>\n

I looked him directly in the eyes and said, \u201cYou just made the biggest mistake of your life.\u201d<\/p>\n

PART 2<\/strong><\/p>\n

Daniel stared at the broken dishes as though they offended him more than the slap had offended me.<\/p>\n

For years afterward, I would remember that moment in fragments: the sting burning across my cheek, the smell of butter and garlic, Vanessa clutching the blanket against her chest, Daniel\u2019s face shifting from rage to shock when he realized I was not crying.<\/p>\n

He expected tears. He expected begging. He expected me to lower my eyes and apologize for embarrassing him in his own house.<\/p>\n

Instead, I reached for my phone.<\/p>\n

Daniel lunged toward me. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stepped back and lifted the phone high. \u201cCalling the police.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa jumped up. \u201cAre you insane? It was one slap.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne slap two days after the wedding,\u201d I said, my voice shaking but clear. \u201cThat\u2019s not a mistake. That\u2019s a preview.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s expression changed again. The anger faded just enough for calculation to show. He softened his voice, using the same tone he had used with my parents at the rehearsal dinner.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t be dramatic. I lost my temper. You threw food everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hit me first.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou humiliated my sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI asked her to sit at a table.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa scoffed. \u201cYou came into our family acting like a queen.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence told me everything.<\/p>\n

Our family. Not my home. Not our marriage. Their family, where I was supposed to earn my place by serving them.<\/p>\n

Daniel took another step toward me. \u201cPut the phone down.\u201d<\/p>\n

I dialed 911.<\/p>\n

His eyes widened.<\/p>\n

When the operator answered, I gave the address before Daniel could speak. I said my husband had slapped me across the face, that I did not feel safe, and that I wanted officers sent to the house. Daniel started talking over me, insisting I was emotional, newly married, stressed from wedding planning. Vanessa shouted that I had destroyed the kitchen.<\/p>\n

The operator told me to move away from them if I could.<\/p>\n

I grabbed my purse from the chair.<\/p>\n

Daniel blocked the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cMove,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are not leaving this house like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at him, truly looked at him. This was the man who had danced with me two nights earlier beneath string lights, whispering that he would protect me forever. Now he stood between me and the front door, his jaw tight, his hand still red from hitting me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am leaving,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd you will not touch me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

For one second, I thought he might.<\/p>\n

Then headlights swept across the living room window.<\/p>\n

Vanessa whispered, \u201cYou actually called them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI actually did.\u201d<\/p>\n

The police knocked hard. Daniel stepped aside with a curse under his breath. I opened the door before he could put on another version of himself.<\/p>\n

Two officers entered. One spoke with me in the hallway while the other stayed with Daniel and Vanessa. I told the truth. I did not decorate it. I did not exaggerate. I said he yelled, slapped me, and tried to stop me from leaving. My cheek was already swelling.<\/p>\n

Daniel told them I had \u201cgone crazy\u201d and thrown dinner.<\/p>\n

The older officer looked at the broken plates, then at my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have somewhere safe to go tonight?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cMy friend Rachel lives twenty minutes away.\u201d<\/p>\n

I packed a bag while the officer stood at the bedroom door. Daniel watched from the living room, silent now, his mask cracked but not completely gone.<\/p>\n

As I zipped my suitcase, my wedding dress hung from the closet door inside its garment bag, white and useless.<\/p>\n

I left my ring on the kitchen counter beside the pieces of shattered plate.<\/p>\n

PART 3<\/strong><\/p>\n

Rachel Morgan opened her apartment door before I had even knocked twice.<\/p>\n

She was thirty-one, a nurse, and the kind of woman who could read damage in a single glance. Her eyes went straight to my cheek. She did not gasp. She did not ask what I had done to cause it. She simply stepped aside and said, \u201cCome in.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the first kindness that made me cry.<\/p>\n

I sat at her small kitchen table while she wrapped an ice pack in a towel. The apartment smelled like coffee and lavender detergent. Outside, Portland rain tapped softly against the windows, ordinary and calm, as though my life had not split open in the last hour.<\/p>\n

Rachel placed the ice pack against my cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid the police take a report?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled when she turned away to fill the kettle.<\/p>\n

I stared down at my left hand. The pale mark where my ring had been looked strange, almost indecent. Two days married. Forty-eight hours. People still had not finished liking our wedding photos online, and I was sitting in my best friend\u2019s apartment with a swollen face and a police report number in my purse.<\/p>\n

My phone started buzzing at 9:14 p.m.<\/p>\n

Daniel.<\/p>\n

Then Daniel again.<\/p>\n

Then Vanessa.<\/p>\n

Then Daniel\u2019s mother, Patricia.<\/p>\n

Rachel looked at the screen. \u201cDo not answer.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

But knowing and resisting were not the same thing.<\/p>\n

The messages came in waves.<\/p>\n

Daniel: You embarrassed me in front of my sister.<\/p>\n

Daniel: I said I was sorry.<\/p>\n

He had not said he was sorry.<\/p>\n

Daniel: We need to talk like adults.<\/p>\n

Vanessa: You are seriously ruining his life over one slap?<\/p>\n

Patricia: Emily, marriage requires forgiveness. Call me.<\/p>\n

Then Daniel sent a photo from our wedding. The two of us smiling beneath the arch, his hand around my waist, my face turned toward him like I had found safety.<\/p>\n

Below it, he wrote: Don\u2019t destroy this because you\u2019re angry.<\/p>\n

I turned the phone face down.<\/p>\n

Rachel sat across from me. \u201cTomorrow, we go to the courthouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked up. \u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA protective order, if you want one. And then a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n

The word lawyer sounded enormous. Bigger than divorce. Bigger than police. It sounded like a door closing.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t even know if an annulment is possible,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I slept badly on Rachel\u2019s couch. Every time a car passed outside, my body tightened. I replayed the moment over and over: Daniel\u2019s hand, the sound, Vanessa\u2019s face, the food hitting the floor. By morning, my cheek had darkened into a bruise no makeup could fully cover.<\/p>\n

At 8:30 a.m., Rachel drove me to the courthouse.<\/p>\n

I expected the building to feel dramatic, but it did not. It was gray, crowded, fluorescent, full of people holding folders and trying not to cry. A clerk gave me paperwork. I wrote Daniel\u2019s name, my name, the address, the incident. My hand cramped from gripping the pen too tightly.<\/p>\n

When I reached the section asking whether there had been threats or attempts to prevent me from leaving, I stopped.<\/p>\n

Rachel touched my shoulder. \u201cWrite it.\u201d<\/p>\n

So I did.<\/p>\n

By that afternoon, I had a temporary protective order. It was not a magic shield. It was paper. But it was paper that said the law had heard me.<\/p>\n

The lawyer\u2019s office was downtown, on the sixth floor of a building with narrow windows and quiet carpet. Her name was Marjorie Klein. She was in her fifties, sharp-eyed, calm, and direct.<\/p>\n

She listened without interrupting. Then she asked for dates.<\/p>\n

\u201cWedding was Saturday, June 14,\u201d I said. \u201cHe hit me Monday, June 16.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but her face stayed professional.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have witnesses?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis sister saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill she admit it?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAny photos?\u201d<\/p>\n

Rachel had taken pictures of my cheek that morning in natural light. I handed them over. Marjorie studied them, then nodded once.<\/p>\n

\u201cPolice report?\u201d<\/p>\n

I gave her the report number.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d she said. \u201cHere is what we are going to do. We will file for divorce immediately. Annulment may be difficult depending on the grounds, but divorce is straightforward. You need distance, documentation, and no private contact.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo private contact,\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n

\u201cNone. He will try different approaches. Anger, apology, guilt, romance, panic. Do not respond. Everything goes through counsel.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was right.<\/p>\n

Daniel tried anger first.<\/p>\n

He sent messages from new numbers after I blocked his. He said I had made him look like a criminal. He said his boss\u2019s wife knew someone at the police department and rumors might spread. He said I was selfish, unstable, ungrateful.<\/p>\n

Then he tried apology.<\/p>\n

He emailed me a long message titled \u201cMy Heart.\u201d He wrote that stress had overwhelmed him, that Vanessa had been difficult since childhood, that he felt trapped between his wife and his sister. He said he loved me more than anyone and that he hated himself for hurting me.<\/p>\n

He did not say, \u201cI chose to hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said, \u201cThings got out of control.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he tried romance.<\/p>\n

Flowers arrived at Rachel\u2019s apartment even though I had never given him the address. That scared me more than the angry messages. The card said: Come home, Mrs. Whitmore.<\/p>\n

Rachel threw the flowers into the dumpster behind her building.<\/p>\n

I filed a police update.<\/p>\n

Then came guilt.<\/p>\n

Patricia called my mother, crying. My mother, Linda, had always liked Daniel. She liked polished men with firm handshakes and stable jobs. At first, she asked me whether I was sure I wanted to \u201cend a marriage over one incident.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sent her the photo of my cheek.<\/p>\n

She called back five minutes later, and her voice sounded different.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Those two words loosened something inside me.<\/p>\n

My father, George, drove from Salem the next day. He was sixty-one, a retired mechanic, quiet and broad-shouldered. When he saw me, he hugged me so carefully I almost broke down again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have seen something,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo should I,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

He pulled back. \u201cNo. He hid it. That\u2019s on him.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next month moved with strange speed. I returned to Daniel\u2019s house once, escorted by police, to collect the rest of my belongings. Calling it Daniel\u2019s house felt correct now. I had lived there for only two nights as his wife. My clothes were still in moving boxes. My favorite coffee mug sat in the cabinet, clean and untouched. The bed was made.<\/p>\n

Vanessa was there.<\/p>\n

She leaned against the hallway wall with her arms crossed while I packed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re enjoying this, aren\u2019t you?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I ignored her.<\/p>\n

She followed me into the bedroom. \u201cDaniel is barely sleeping.\u201d<\/p>\n

I folded sweaters into a suitcase.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe cries,\u201d she said. \u201cHe actually cries because of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her then. She wore sweatpants and one of Daniel\u2019s old college hoodies. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her eyes were sharp with resentment.<\/p>\n

\u201cVanessa,\u201d I said, \u201cyour brother hit me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mouth tightened. \u201cYou provoked him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I disobeyed the system you two built.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time, she did not have an immediate answer.<\/p>\n

I closed the suitcase.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wanted me to become what you were used to,\u201d I continued. \u201cSomeone who cooked, cleaned, served, stayed quiet, and took the blame when Daniel lost control. I was in that house for two days, and he already showed me the rules. I\u2019m lucky he showed me early.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face flushed. \u201cYou think you\u2019re better than us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI think I\u2019m leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n

The officer in the hallway stepped forward slightly, and Vanessa moved back.<\/p>\n

I walked out with my suitcases and did not look at the wedding photo still sitting on the mantel.<\/p>\n

Daniel contested the divorce at first. He claimed we could reconcile. He claimed I had abandoned the marital home. He claimed I was exaggerating for attention. But documentation has a weight charm cannot easily lift. The police report existed. The photographs existed. The protective order existed. The messages existed, especially the ones where he admitted he \u201clost control.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marjorie told me to stay patient.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wants a private emotional battlefield,\u201d she said. \u201cWe are keeping this in writing, in court, and on record.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel hated that.<\/p>\n

At the first hearing, I saw him across the room in a navy suit, looking thinner but still handsome. His hair was neatly combed. His mother sat behind him. Vanessa was not there.<\/p>\n

He looked at me once, long and wounded, as if I had betrayed him by surviving his version of marriage.<\/p>\n

My hands trembled beneath the table.<\/p>\n

Marjorie leaned toward me. \u201cBreathe.\u201d<\/p>\n

The judge reviewed the temporary order and the evidence. Daniel\u2019s attorney tried to frame the incident as a newlywed argument that had escalated on both sides. Marjorie did not raise her voice. She simply laid out the sequence.<\/p>\n

Dinner disagreement.<\/p>\n

Screaming.<\/p>\n

Physical strike.<\/p>\n

Attempt to block departure.<\/p>\n

Police call.<\/p>\n

Visible injury.<\/p>\n

Repeated unwanted contact.<\/p>\n

Flowers sent to an undisclosed address.<\/p>\n

The judge extended the protective order.<\/p>\n

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

That was the moment I stopped seeing two Daniels\u2014the charming one and the violent one. There was only one man. The charm had not exactly been fake. It had been a tool. The rage was another tool. He used whichever one worked.<\/p>\n

After the hearing, Patricia approached me in the hallway.<\/p>\n

Rachel stepped between us, but Patricia raised both hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just want to say something,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Marjorie\u2019s voice cut in. \u201cMrs. Whitmore, be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n

Patricia\u2019s lips trembled. She looked older than she had at the wedding, her makeup settled into tired lines.<\/p>\n

\u201cI told him to apologize,\u201d she said to me. \u201cI told him he couldn\u2019t do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing.<\/p>\n

Then she added, almost bitterly, \u201cBut you didn\u2019t have to call the police.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

Not remorse. Not accountability. Reputation management.<\/p>\n

I walked away.<\/p>\n

The divorce was finalized seven months later.<\/p>\n

By then, I had moved into a small one-bedroom apartment near my office. The place had old floors, thin walls, and a view of a brick building, but it was mine. I bought a round dining table just big enough for two chairs. The first night it was delivered, Rachel came over with Thai food and a bottle of sparkling cider.<\/p>\n

We ate at the table.<\/p>\n

No television. No orders. No one waiting to be served.<\/p>\n

Just two women laughing too loudly in a half-furnished apartment while rain slid down the windows.<\/p>\n

A week after the divorce, Daniel sent one final email through his attorney. It was brief.<\/p>\n

I hope someday you understand what you destroyed.<\/p>\n

I read it once, then forwarded it to Marjorie. I did not answer.<\/p>\n

Because I did understand.<\/p>\n

I had destroyed the future where I learned to flinch at footsteps. I had destroyed the marriage where dinner plates mattered more than my face. I had destroyed the illusion that a wedding ring could turn control into love.<\/p>\n

And I had done it two days after the wedding, before a mortgage, before children, before years of excuses could wrap around me like chains.<\/p>\n

Months later, I ran into Vanessa at a grocery store.<\/p>\n

She was standing in the frozen food aisle, thinner than before, her face bare of makeup. For a moment, we both froze. She looked toward the exit as if considering escape, then back at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cVanessa.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no screaming. No audience. Only the hum of freezer lights.<\/p>\n

She swallowed. \u201cDaniel moved to Seattle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe and Mom don\u2019t talk much now.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing.<\/p>\n

Vanessa gripped the handle of her basket. \u201cHe started yelling at me after you left. More than before.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words hung there, heavy and late.<\/p>\n

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

She gave a small, humorless laugh. \u201cYou were right about the system.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her then, truly looked. She was not innocent in what had happened to me. She had mocked me, excused him, protected him. But she had also lived inside that house longer than I had. Maybe she had learned to survive by becoming useful to the person who frightened her.<\/p>\n

That did not erase what she did.<\/p>\n

It only made the picture clearer.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake care of yourself,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She nodded, her eyes shining, and walked away.<\/p>\n

I never saw her again.<\/p>\n

On what would have been my first wedding anniversary, I did not sit at home grieving. I took my parents and Rachel to a restaurant overlooking the Willamette River. My father wore the same suit he had worn to my wedding, but this time he smiled without strain. My mother ordered dessert first because, as she said, \u201cWe are celebrating backward.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rachel raised her glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo Emily,\u201d she said. \u201cFor leaving before the story got worse.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around the table. At my father\u2019s weathered hands. My mother\u2019s careful smile. Rachel\u2019s fierce eyes. The city lights trembling on the water outside.<\/p>\n

Then I touched my cheek.<\/p>\n

There was no bruise anymore. No mark anyone could see. But I remembered the slap, not as the moment I became broken, but as the moment the truth became impossible to ignore.<\/p>\n

Daniel had wanted obedience.<\/p>\n

Vanessa had wanted service.<\/p>\n

Patricia had wanted silence.<\/p>\n

I chose the door.<\/p>\n

And when people later asked why my marriage ended after only two days, I stopped shrinking from the answer.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cBecause on the second day, he hit me. And on the second day, I left.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the whole story.<\/p>\n

Not a scandal. Not a failure. Not a tragedy dressed in white.<\/p>\n

A beginning.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Just two days after our wedding, I refused to bring dinner to my sister-in-law while she sat glued to the television. My husband exploded, screamed at me, and slapped me … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":24402,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-24405","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\/24405","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=24405"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24405\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24407,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24405\/revisions\/24407"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/24402"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=24405"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=24405"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=24405"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}