{"id":25896,"date":"2026-06-19T22:56:39","date_gmt":"2026-06-19T15:56:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=25896"},"modified":"2026-06-19T22:56:39","modified_gmt":"2026-06-19T15:56:39","slug":"i-gave-up-my-career-to-care-for-my-husbands-mother-for-years-at-her-funeral-he-handed-me-divorce-papers-then-her-lawyer-handed-me-an-envelope-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=25896","title":{"rendered":"After years of sacrifice, I was rewarded with divorce papers at my mother-in-law\u2019s funeral. Moments later, a sealed envelope revealed a secret that changed everything."},"content":{"rendered":"
For years, I believed sacrifice was simply part of loving a family. I never imagined that everything I’d given up would lead me to a day that changed my life forever.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

The first years of my marriage felt like sunlight through a kitchen window, warm and ordinary in the best way. I was 23 when I met Dean, 25 when I married him, and from the very first dinner with his family, I knew I’d landed somewhere soft. His mother, Eleanor, took my coat that night and never quite gave it back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

She didn’t call me her daughter-in-law. Not once.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“This is my daughter, Claire,” she’d say at every gathering, her hand resting on my arm as if she’d been waiting years to introduce me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

I knew I’d landed somewhere soft.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

For almost a decade, life moved the way we’d planned it. Dean climbed the ranks at the firm. I built a steady career in marketing, which I genuinely loved. We bought a little house, hosted Sunday dinners, and talked about the future.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

Then Eleanor got the diagnosis.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I remember sitting at her kitchen table when she told us, her hands wrapped around a mug she wasn’t drinking from. My husband reached for her first. I reached out to him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Then Eleanor got the diagnosis.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“We’ll figure this out together,” Dean said. “All of us.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I don’t want to be a burden,” my mother-in-law (MIL) whispered.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“You’re not a burden,” I told her. “You’re family.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

In the beginning, we really did handle it together. Dean drove her to appointments and hospital visits on Tuesdays. I took Thursdays. We color-coded her medications and laughed when we mixed up the morning pills with the evening ones.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

“You’re not a burden.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My husband’s siblings, Margaret and Paul, called constantly from out of state, apologetic and grateful.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

It worked for a while.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Then Eleanor’s condition shifted. The good days became shorter, while the bad nights grew longer. Around the same time, Dean got the promotion he’d been chasing for years.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“They want me out of state twice a month,” he said one evening, loosening his tie. “Maybe more. And there’ll be longer hours.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“We’ll manage,” I said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

It worked for a while.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I noticed, even then, the small things. The way Dean flipped his phone face down on the counter when I walked in. The little sigh whenever Eleanor’s name came up, as if her illness were an inconvenience he didn’t have space for.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I told myself he was just tired.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

We had the conversation on a Sunday, after Eleanor fell trying to make her own tea. Dean sat across from me at our dining table, his hands folded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“One of us has to be here full-time, Claire.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I know.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

I told myself he was just tired.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

“I can’t step back from the firm right now. Not with this promotion,” my husband said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“So you want me to leave my job?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Just for a while,” he said. “Until things settle. A year, maybe two.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

I stared at the centerpiece Eleanor had given us as a wedding gift, a small ceramic bowl with hand-painted blue flowers. I thought about her hands, how they trembled now when she lifted a spoon.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“I don’t know, Dean. Can we keep discussing our options?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My husband just sighed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

I thought about her hands.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

After weeks of difficult conversations, we made a decision.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll become her caretaker, just for a while.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

“Just for a while,” Dean agreed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

He reached across the table and squeezed my fingers as if he’d won something. I squeezed back, not knowing yet that “a while” could stretch long enough to swallow a woman whole.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

We made a decision.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Seven years passed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

My office clothes stayed in the closet, pressed and waiting, until the fabric started to feel like a costume from another life. My friends called less. Then not at all. I stopped blaming them.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

My hands learned new things.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
    \n
  • How to braid Eleanor’s thin silver hair without pulling.<\/li>\n
  • How to measure pills into the little plastic squares marked with the days of the week.<\/li>\n
  • How to read her face when she was hiding pain.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/div>\n
    \n
    \n

    Seven years passed.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “You don’t have to keep doing this, Claire,” my MIL told me one afternoon.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I want to,” I said, tucking the blanket around her knees.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “You’re stubborn, like me.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I learned from the best.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    She laughed, and it turned into a cough. I held her hand until it passed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Some nights, Eleanor couldn’t sleep, and we sat in the kitchen with the lamp low. She told me about her wedding day, about a boy she almost married before Dean’s father, and about the time she lost a baby no one in the family ever talked about.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “I learned from the best.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “You’re the only one I tell these things to,” my MIL said once.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Why me?” I asked curiously.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Because you stay.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Dean stopped staying long before I noticed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    The late nights at the office stretched longer. Dinner plates went cold on the counter. Our anniversary passed without a card, and when I mentioned it the following morning, he looked at me as if I’d spoken a language he didn’t recognize.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    Dean stopped staying.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I’ve been swamped, Claire. You know that,” my husband said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I know,” I replied, feeling disgruntled.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Don’t make this into something.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I’m not.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    But I was. Quietly, inside my own chest, I was making it into something I didn’t want to look at. I told myself he was grieving in advance and that watching his mother fade was breaking him in a way he couldn’t say out loud.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I made excuses the way I once made grocery lists. Easily and daily.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “Don’t make this into something.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Five more years passed with me cooking for Eleanor, helping her walk, and sitting beside her through pain, confusion, and long sleepless nights.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Somewhere along the way, she became one of the closest people in my life.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    One evening, my MIL reached for my wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes were clear in a way they hadn’t been in weeks.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Claire. Listen to me.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “Yes, Mom, I’m here.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “You’ve given more than anyone knows. More than my own son knows.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    She became one of the closest people.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

    “Eleanor, please don’t talk like that,” I replied, feeling teary.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I won’t let it be for nothing. Do you understand me?” she concluded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I didn’t understand. Not really.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I thought it was the medication talking, or the long shadow of an old woman trying to make peace with what she was leaving behind. I kissed her forehead and told her to rest. She held on for a moment longer, studying my face as if she were memorizing it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “You deserve a life of your own again, my child.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “I won’t let it be for nothing.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I have a life,” I replied, trying to dismiss my MIL’s concern.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    “You have\u00a0my<\/i>\u00a0life,” Eleanor said. “I want\u00a0you<\/i>\u00a0to have yours.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    My MIL passed on a Tuesday morning, just after sunrise, four years after her husband. I was holding her hand. Dean was at the office.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    He came home four hours later, set down his briefcase, and asked if I’d called the funeral home yet. I had.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    He nodded and went upstairs to change.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “I have a life.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    The funeral was small.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    People I hadn’t seen in years pressed my hands and called me brave. But I wasn’t brave; I was hollow.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    I stood near the casket, trying to breathe in steady counts, the way Eleanor had taught me during her own worst nights. Then Dean touched my elbow.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “Claire. Can I talk to you for a minute?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I turned, barely holding myself together, expecting his arms for comfort, but he was holding a folder instead.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    I wasn’t brave; I was hollow.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Dean’s hand closed around my elbow and guided me away from the chairs, past the flower arrangements, toward a quiet corner near Eleanor’s casket. I thought he wanted a moment alone with me to grieve.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    But he didn’t look like a man who’d just buried his mother. He looked like one closing a deal at the family firm his father had built.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    “Claire, I need you to take this calmly,” he said, handing over a folder.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I stared at it. My name was printed on a tab along the side.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    I thought he wanted a moment alone.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “What’s this?” I asked, looking at the papers.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Divorce papers. I’ve felt this coming for years. With Mom gone, there’s no reason to keep pretending.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    The room tilted.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “You’re doing this\u00a0here<\/i>?\u00a0Now<\/i>?!”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “It’s cleaner this way. I’m offering you a small settlement. Take it, sign it, and we both move on quietly. Don’t make a scene, Claire. Not today.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    My hands started to shake.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “What’s this?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Twelve years of sleepless nights, of pill bottles and warm soup and braided hair, all condensed into a folder pressed against my chest.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Before I could find another word or further process what was happening, a man stepped toward me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Claire. May I have a moment?”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Mr. Hartwell, Eleanor’s longtime attorney, stood there holding a thick, sealed envelope.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    A man stepped toward me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

    The lawyer’s expression was calm, almost careful, the way someone carries something fragile.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Your MIL left strict instructions that you receive this today. No exceptions.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Dean’s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “Hartwell, this isn’t really the moment…”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Eleanor was very specific, Dean. I have to hand this over today. In front of family.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Mr. Hartwell placed the envelope in my trembling hands.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I opened it slowly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    The lawyer’s expression was calm.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    The first page was a letter in Eleanor’s handwriting, neater than I’d seen it in years.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    Underneath was a stapled copy of her updated will. Below that was a stack of pages I didn’t immediately understand. My eyes scanned the will first.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    The family home, her personal savings, and her controlling shares in the firm her husband had founded were all left directly to me, not to Dean. And it wasn’t a split either!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I felt the blood drain from my face.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    Then I looked at the letter.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    My eyes scanned the will first.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “My dearest daughter. By the time you read this, my son will have already done what he’s been planning. Don’t be ashamed of being caught off guard. I wasn’t always sure either until I made sure.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

    I kept reading.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “Two summers ago, I picked up Dean’s phone when it rang, and you were in the garden. It was a woman named Whitney, and the way Dean spoke to her when I handed it over told me everything. A week later, I found a hotel receipt in the jacket you’d brought for me to mend.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I was confused.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
    \n

    “I wasn’t always sure either.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    “I had a doctor confirm that my mind was clear. Mr. Hartwell helped me change everything, and I asked a private investigator named Reyes to look quietly into the rest.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n

    I flipped to the next pages.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

    \n
      \n
    • Screenshots of messages.<\/li>\n
    • Hotel receipts.<\/li>\n
    • A summary written by Reyes, dated and signed.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/div>\n
      \n
      <\/div>\n<\/div>\n
      \n

      These were years of evidence!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      I flipped to the next pages.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      There were things like Dean moving money into accounts I’d never seen and conversations with this Whitney person.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      Plans laid out, casual and confident, all timed around the words\u00a0“after Mom passes.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      My throat closed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

      I looked up at my husband. His face had gone pale, his eyes darting between the information I was paging through and Mr. Hartwell.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      “Claire, whatever that is, my mother was confused…”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “She wasn’t,” Mr. Hartwell said quietly. “Not once.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

      His face had gone pale.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I held the pages against my chest and felt something I hadn’t felt in 12 years: steady ground.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      Across the room, Dean’s siblings, Margaret and Paul, were already walking toward us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      My husband’s face flushed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “She was confused at the end. You know that!” Dean insisted.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I didn’t look at him. I looked at the page in my hand, then at the room full of mourners watching us.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      “She was confused at the end.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

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

      “Listen to this,” I said. My voice didn’t shake as I continued reading my MIL’s letter aloud for everyone to hear.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “‘I knew exactly what my son was doing. I chose to protect the daughter who actually stayed.'”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      A hush spread across the room.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      Margaret, who stood by us with Paul, spoke first.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “Mom told me everything, Dean. For two years.” She glanced at me. “She started calling me in the afternoons, when she’d close the bedroom door.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I thought she just wanted privacy!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      A hush spread across the room.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “Same with me. The calls got longer. She wasn’t confused. She was waiting,” Paul said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

      Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. The man who’d rehearsed that day for years had nothing left to say.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I picked up the folder he’d handed me. I held it for a moment, feeling its weight, then pressed it flat against his chest.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “I won’t fight you,” I said. “Not for a marriage you left a long time ago. But I’m not signing anything today. I’ll have my own attorney respond.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “I’ll be in touch after consulting my client,” Mr. Hartwell said, looking at me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I smiled and let go of the folder, letting it drop to the floor as I walked past my husband.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      “She was waiting.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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

      Weeks later, I moved into the house Eleanor left me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      While sorting through her closet, I found one more note tucked inside her old jewelry box.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      “Go back to the work you loved, Claire. You have time. You always did.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I cried for a long while. Then I made a phone call.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I enrolled in a refresher program the following Monday. An old colleague, Sarah, picked up on the first ring and laughed through tears when she heard my voice!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “We’ve been waiting for you,” she said.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n
      \n

      I found one more note tucked inside her old jewelry box.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      ***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      I visited my MIL’s grave on a quiet Sunday with a small bouquet of yellow tulips, her favorite.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      “Thank you,” I whispered. “For seeing me. For staying as my mother, even now.”<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

      \n

      The wind moved softly through the trees, and for the first time in years, I felt ready to begin again.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

      For years, I believed sacrifice was simply part of loving a family. I never imagined that everything I’d given up would lead me to a day that changed my life … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":25893,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25896","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\/25896","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=25896"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25896\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25898,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25896\/revisions\/25898"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/25893"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=25896"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=25896"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=25896"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}