{"id":33941,"date":"2026-07-29T00:14:41","date_gmt":"2026-07-28T17:14:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=33941"},"modified":"2026-07-29T00:21:37","modified_gmt":"2026-07-28T17:21:37","slug":"a-peaceful-family-trip-turned-into-a-shocking-discovery-when-we-returned-to-the-cabin-everything-we-trusted-was-gone-and-only-one-message-remained","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/?p=33941","title":{"rendered":"A peaceful family trip turned into a shocking discovery. When we returned to the cabin, everything we trusted was gone\u2014and only one message remained."},"content":{"rendered":"

I took my nine-year-old son on a short hike during a family cabin trip. When we returned, the cabins, vehicles, food, and every person we trusted had vanished. Only one note remained: \u201cThis had to happen. Don\u2019t come looking for us.\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

My name is Daniel Mercer. I was thirty-eight when my parents invited us to what they called a \u201cfamily reset weekend\u201d in Colorado\u2019s San Juan Mountains.<\/p>\n

There were two rental cabins, three vehicles, and enough food to feed twelve people for four days.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My parents, Richard and Elaine.<\/p>\n

My older sister Melissa, her husband Troy, and their two daughters.<\/p>\n

And me with my nine-year-old son, Noah.<\/p>\n

My wife, Claire, had died eighteen months earlier. Since then, my family had treated my grief as though it were a burden they were tired of carrying.<\/p>\n

Melissa called me \u201ctoo sensitive.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father told me I needed to \u201cact like a man again.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother only seemed to cry when someone else was there to witness it.<\/p>\n

Still, I accepted the invitation.<\/p>\n

I did it for Noah.<\/p>\n

On the second morning, Noah asked to hike to a creek we had spotted from the road.<\/p>\n

I told everyone we would be gone for less than an hour.<\/p>\n

Melissa stood over a pan of pancakes. Troy was splitting wood. My father sat on the porch drinking coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t get lost,\u201d Dad called.<\/p>\n

Those were the last ordinary words I ever heard from him.<\/p>\n

The trail was easy, but Noah kept stopping to collect rocks and ask about animal tracks.<\/p>\n

When we returned ninety minutes later, the clearing was empty.<\/p>\n

Not peaceful.<\/p>\n

Empty.<\/p>\n

Both cabins had disappeared.<\/p>\n

At first, my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.<\/p>\n

Where the cabins had stood, there were only flattened patches of soil, deep tire marks, and scattered pine needles.<\/p>\n

The cars were gone.<\/p>\n

The coolers were gone.<\/p>\n

So were the camp chairs, lanterns, blankets, firewood, and sleeping bags.<\/p>\n

Noah whispered, \u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n

I ran toward the larger patch of dirt, dropped to my knees, and clawed at the ground.<\/p>\n

Fresh drag marks crossed the clearing.<\/p>\n

The cabins had been prefabricated rentals mounted on skids.<\/p>\n

Someone had deliberately hauled them away.<\/p>\n

Then I noticed an envelope nailed to a pine tree.<\/p>\n

My name was written across it in my mother\u2019s careful handwriting.<\/p>\n

Inside was a single sheet of paper.<\/p>\n

Daniel,<\/p>\n

This had to happen. Don\u2019t come looking for us. Noah is your responsibility now. You have taken enough from this family. We are done paying for your mistakes.<\/p>\n

There was no signature.<\/p>\n

No apology.<\/p>\n

No map.<\/p>\n

No food.<\/p>\n

No water.<\/p>\n

And no phone signal.<\/p>\n

Noah began crying without making a sound. His mouth trembled, but he was trying not to frighten me.<\/p>\n

That broke something inside me.<\/p>\n

I searched the clearing until my hands bled.<\/p>\n

The only things I found were half of a crushed plastic bottle beneath the bushes and a granola-bar wrapper Melissa\u2019s youngest daughter had dropped the previous night.<\/p>\n

The access road looked identical in both directions.<\/p>\n

We were far from the highway, much deeper into the mountains than I had realized. Troy had driven the final section while I followed his dust and brake lights.<\/p>\n

When evening came, the temperature dropped sharply.<\/p>\n

I built a shelter from branches and gave Noah my jacket.<\/p>\n

Then I promised him we were going to survive.<\/p>\n

Nine days later, a rescue helicopter finally spotted us.<\/p>\n

I had lost thirty pounds. I had a fever, and the skin on my feet had been torn open.<\/p>\n

But Noah was alive.<\/p>\n

And the people who abandoned us were about to discover what that survival meant.<\/p>\n

PART 2<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The deputy who reached us was named Carla Reyes.<\/p>\n

She jumped from the helicopter before the rotors had fully slowed, ducking beneath the blades with a medical bag in one hand.<\/p>\n

Noah was wrapped in my shirt and shaking so violently that his teeth clicked together.<\/p>\n

I remember trying to tell Deputy Reyes not to give him water too quickly. I had read somewhere that it could be dangerous.<\/p>\n

Or perhaps I only thought I had.<\/p>\n

My lips were split, my tongue swollen, and my voice sounded like stone scraping against concrete.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s nine,\u201d I said. \u201cHis name is Noah. His mother was Claire. Don\u2019t let him die.\u201d<\/p>\n

Deputy Reyes looked directly into my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is not dying today.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the first statement I had believed in nine days.<\/p>\n

The hospital in Durango smelled of disinfectant and warm plastic.<\/p>\n

Doctors treated Noah for dehydration, exposure, malnutrition, infected cuts, and early kidney stress.<\/p>\n

I had an infection in my calf, two fractured ribs from a fall, and nerve damage in two toes.<\/p>\n

For the first twenty-four hours, I did not fully understand what had been done to us.<\/p>\n

I assumed my family had left after some kind of cruel argument or sudden panic.<\/p>\n

I thought they had returned home and lied about what happened.<\/p>\n

Then Sheriff Andrew Voss entered my room with Deputy Reyes and a representative from child protective services.<\/p>\n

He closed the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaniel,\u201d he said, \u201cwe found the company that moved the cabins.\u201d<\/p>\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n

The sheriff placed a printed receipt on the rolling table beside my bed.<\/p>\n

The relocation had been arranged three weeks before the trip.<\/p>\n

It had been paid in full by Troy Whitaker, my brother-in-law.<\/p>\n

Scheduled collection time: 10:30 a.m. Saturday.<\/p>\n

Special instructions: remove all structures and refuse from site. No customer contact necessary.<\/p>\n

\u201cRefuse,\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n

No one corrected me.<\/p>\n

The vehicles had not mysteriously vanished either.<\/p>\n

My family had driven them out in a planned convoy.<\/p>\n

Food, water, and emergency supplies were loaded into Troy\u2019s truck and my father\u2019s SUV before Noah and I returned from the creek.<\/p>\n

The only fingerprints on my mother\u2019s note belonged to her.<\/p>\n

Sheriff Voss asked whether I understood why my family might have done it.<\/p>\n

I looked toward the curtain separating my bed from Noah\u2019s.<\/p>\n

He was sleeping, one small hand wrapped around a stuffed fox a nurse had given him.<\/p>\n

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

Claire had left me a life-insurance policy after a drunk driver killed her.<\/p>\n

Most of the money went toward medical bills, therapy, and our mortgage.<\/p>\n

My parents believed I should have sold the house and given them part of the money because they had loaned me twenty thousand dollars during college.<\/p>\n

Melissa agreed.<\/p>\n

Troy had more serious problems.<\/p>\n

Gambling losses.<\/p>\n

Business debts.<\/p>\n

Unpaid taxes.<\/p>\n

All weekend, he had been smiling far too hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey wanted custody rumors,\u201d I told the sheriff. \u201cThey wanted me unstable. Dead would have been easier. If Noah died too, they could say I wandered off with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sheriff Voss did not react visibly.<\/p>\n

By my third day in the hospital, Troy had been arrested.<\/p>\n

The next day, police detained Melissa and my father.<\/p>\n

My mother surrendered through an attorney.<\/p>\n

They expected sympathy.<\/p>\n

They believed everyone would accept their story that I was grieving, unstable, reckless, and suicidal.<\/p>\n

They did not expect Noah to remember Troy whispering into his phone before breakfast.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re leaving now. Be ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

They did not expect my mother\u2019s note to survive.<\/p>\n

And they did not expect me to keep walking.<\/p>\n

PART 3<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The trial began eleven months later in La Plata County District Court.<\/p>\n

By then, Noah and I had relocated to Oregon near Claire\u2019s sister, Mara.<\/p>\n

We lived in a small blue house three blocks from an elementary school and five blocks from the ocean.<\/p>\n

Noah slept with a light on.<\/p>\n

I stored bottled water in every room.<\/p>\n

Neither of us tolerated silence well anymore.<\/p>\n

Prosecutors charged my father, Richard Mercer; my mother, Elaine Mercer; my sister, Melissa Whitaker; and my brother-in-law, Troy Whitaker, with attempted murder, serious child abuse, conspiracy, reckless endangerment, evidence tampering, fraud, and false statements.<\/p>\n

Their defenses were insulting from the beginning.<\/p>\n

Troy claimed it was intended as \u201ca lesson.\u201d<\/p>\n

Melissa insisted she believed we had a satellite phone.<\/p>\n

My mother said the note had been \u201cmisinterpreted.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father said I had always exaggerated everything.<\/p>\n

But evidence replaced every excuse.<\/p>\n

The cabin company testified first.<\/p>\n

Their records showed Troy repeatedly called to confirm the removal time.<\/p>\n

He asked whether both cabins could be cleared quickly and emphasized that \u201cnobody would be on-site except authorized family.\u201d<\/p>\n

He even paid extra for a weekend pickup.<\/p>\n

Then the trailer company presented its records.<\/p>\n

Troy had rented a flatbed under his landscaping business and removed supplies before the cabin crew arrived.<\/p>\n

A gas-station camera captured my father\u2019s SUV, Troy\u2019s truck, Melissa\u2019s van, and my mother\u2019s sedan leaving the mountain road together at 11:46 a.m.<\/p>\n

Noah and I returned to the clearing around 12:12.<\/p>\n

Twenty-six minutes.<\/p>\n

That was all that separated abandonment from attempted murder.<\/p>\n

The prosecutor, Helen Park, rarely raised her voice.<\/p>\n

She did not need to.<\/p>\n

She presented the timeline with such calm precision that every excuse sounded smaller.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt 8:57 a.m.,\u201d she said, \u201cDaniel Mercer and his son left for a short hike. At 9:03, Troy Whitaker sent a text message that read: They\u2019re gone. Start now. At 9:14, Richard Mercer moved the first cooler into the truck. At 9:31, Elaine Mercer wrote the note. At 10:28, the cabin removal crew arrived. By 11:46, all four defendants drove away.\u201d<\/p>\n

She paused beside an enlarged photograph of the note.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis had to happen,\u201d she read. \u201cDon\u2019t come looking for us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then she faced the jury.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose are not the words of people expecting a father and child to walk safely out of the woods.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother cried during that testimony.<\/p>\n

Not honestly.<\/p>\n

Not privately.<\/p>\n

She dabbed her eyes while glancing toward the jury, arranging grief across her face as carefully as makeup.<\/p>\n

Then Noah testified.<\/p>\n

He was ten by then, still small for his age after what those nine days had done to him.<\/p>\n

He wore a navy blazer Mara had purchased and held a smooth gray stone in his left hand.<\/p>\n

It was one he had collected at the creek on the morning we were abandoned.<\/p>\n

The judge spoke gently.<\/p>\n

Helen Park spoke even more softly.<\/p>\n

Noah answered every question clearly.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

He remembered the pancakes.<\/p>\n

He remembered Aunt Melissa appearing nervous.<\/p>\n

He remembered Uncle Troy walking behind the cabin with his phone.<\/p>\n

He remembered Grandpa saying, \u201cOnce it\u2019s done, it\u2019s done.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then Helen asked, \u201cWhat happened when you and your dad came back?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah looked at me.<\/p>\n

Everything inside me wanted to stand, take his hand, and carry him out of the courtroom.<\/p>\n

I wanted to shield him from the attorneys, the cameras, and the strangers watching our suffering become public evidence.<\/p>\n

But Noah had chosen to speak.<\/p>\n

So I remained still.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen we came back,\u201d he said, \u201ceverything was gone. I thought we were in the wrong place. But my rock pile was there. I made it before we left. So I knew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did your father do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe looked for everyone. Then he found the note.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did he tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah swallowed hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said nobody was coming right then, but he was there, and he would not leave me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The courtroom became silent.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd did he leave you?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat did he do during those nine days?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah closed his fingers around the stone.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe gave me the food first when we found berries. He made me drink first when we found water. He let me sleep against him because I was cold. He told stories about my mom so I wouldn\u2019t forget her voice.\u201d<\/p>\n

Melissa lowered her head.<\/p>\n

For the first time, I saw shame on her face.<\/p>\n

It meant nothing.<\/p>\n

Shame was not restitution.<\/p>\n

The most difficult day came when prosecutors played Troy\u2019s recorded police interview.<\/p>\n

He had spoken freely after his arrest, convinced he could explain his actions.<\/p>\n

On the recording, he sounded irritated rather than frightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Daniel always lands on his feet,\u201d Troy said. \u201cHe\u2019s dramatic. He wanted everyone to pity him after Claire died. This was supposed to snap him out of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A detective asked, \u201cBy removing shelter, transportation, food, and water from a remote area?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe knew the general direction of the road.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Noah know?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a long pause.<\/p>\n

Then Troy answered, \u201cThat wasn\u2019t my problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah\u2019s breathing changed beside me.<\/p>\n

I placed my arm around him, and he leaned against my shoulder without looking away from the screen.<\/p>\n

The detective continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy leave the note?\u201d<\/p>\n

Troy laughed once.<\/p>\n

\u201cElaine wanted closure.\u201d<\/p>\n

Closure.<\/p>\n

My mother wanted closure from her son and grandson.<\/p>\n

When I testified, the defense attorney tried to portray me as unstable.<\/p>\n

He questioned me about my grief after Claire\u2019s death, my therapy appointments, and a Thanksgiving argument when I had shouted at my father.<\/p>\n

He asked whether I might have misunderstood their intentions.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Then he asked if I hated my family.<\/p>\n

I looked at all four defendants.<\/p>\n

My father stared at me with the same cold expression I had feared since childhood.<\/p>\n

My mother looked wounded, as though I had embarrassed her.<\/p>\n

Melissa appeared hollow.<\/p>\n

Troy looked angry that consequences were taking so long.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what I feel for them anymore,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I know what they did.\u201d<\/p>\n

The prosecutor asked me to describe the ninth day.<\/p>\n

I told the truth.<\/p>\n

By then, hunger no longer felt normal.<\/p>\n

It had become a vibration inside my bones.<\/p>\n

Noah had a fever.<\/p>\n

I used my belt to secure branches together so I could drag him when he became too weak to walk.<\/p>\n

We followed the slope downward because I believed water might lead toward people.<\/p>\n

On the eighth night, rain began falling.<\/p>\n

I opened my mouth toward the sky.<\/p>\n

Noah could barely sit upright, so I soaked my shirt and squeezed drops between his lips.<\/p>\n

The next morning, we heard the helicopter.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I was hallucinating,\u201d I told the jury. \u201cThen Noah heard it too. He tried to wave, but he couldn\u2019t lift his arm. So I took off my shirt and climbed onto a rock.\u201d<\/p>\n

Earlier, the defense had implied I might have found help sooner if I had made better decisions.<\/p>\n

Helen asked, \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you leave Noah and search faster alone?\u201d<\/p>\n

I answered before she finished.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I promised his mother I would protect him. Because he was nine. Because people had already left him once.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two jurors began crying.<\/p>\n

Six weeks after opening statements, the jury returned its decision.<\/p>\n

Guilty.<\/p>\n

On nearly every charge.<\/p>\n

My father received twenty-eight years.<\/p>\n

Troy received thirty-five because prosecutors proved he had organized the plan.<\/p>\n

Melissa received twenty-two.<\/p>\n

My mother received eighteen.<\/p>\n

At sentencing, each defendant was permitted to speak.<\/p>\n

Troy blamed debt and stress.<\/p>\n

Melissa blamed Troy.<\/p>\n

My mother blamed confusion.<\/p>\n

My father blamed me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou destroyed this family,\u201d he said, pointing at me with a shaking hand.<\/p>\n

For the first time in my life, his anger did not shrink me.<\/p>\n

When the judge allowed my victim-impact statement, I stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cYou destroyed it the morning you watched your grandson walk into the trees and decided he was acceptable damage.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father looked away.<\/p>\n

I continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor nine days, Noah asked me why. I had no answer that would not break him. I still don\u2019t. But I can tell him this now: what happened was real, what you did was deliberate, and the law saw it clearly.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then I turned toward my mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wrote, \u2018This had to happen.\u2019 You were right about one thing. Something did have to happen. Just not what you planned.\u201d<\/p>\n

The judge imposed every sentence without sympathy.<\/p>\n

Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded us with questions.<\/p>\n

I ignored all but one.<\/p>\n

A young reporter asked, \u201cMr. Mercer, do you feel like you got justice?\u201d<\/p>\n

I held Noah\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

He was looking toward the mountains rather than the cameras.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cJustice would be my son never learning what betrayal feels like. This is accountability.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then we went home.<\/p>\n

Life did not become perfect after the trial.<\/p>\n

Stories like ours do not truly end in courtrooms.<\/p>\n

Noah still had nightmares.<\/p>\n

I still woke reaching for supplies that were not there.<\/p>\n

Both of us panicked when someone left without saying goodbye.<\/p>\n

But our lives slowly became ours again.<\/p>\n

Noah joined a robotics club.<\/p>\n

He learned to surf badly and proudly.<\/p>\n

The gray creek stone remained on his desk beside a photograph of Claire.<\/p>\n

On the anniversary of our rescue, we only discussed the mountains if Noah wanted to.<\/p>\n

Some years, he did.<\/p>\n

Other years, we ordered pizza and watched old monster movies.<\/p>\n

I returned to work as a civil engineer.<\/p>\n

Quiet work suited me.<\/p>\n

Bridges, drainage systems, foundations\u2014structures that failed when people ignored pressure or lied about what they could bear.<\/p>\n

Mara became family in every way that mattered.<\/p>\n

She showed up.<\/p>\n

She listened.<\/p>\n

She never told us to move on.<\/p>\n

Three years after the trial, Noah asked whether we could hike again.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My instinct was to say no.<\/p>\n

Instead, I packed food, water, emergency blankets, two maps, a satellite messenger, whistles, medical supplies, and enough backup equipment to survive an entire week.<\/p>\n

Noah watched me load the car.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad,\u201d he said, \u201cwe\u2019re going for two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

He smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom would laugh at you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe would,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

We chose a coastal path rather than a mountain trail.<\/p>\n

The ocean remained visible through the trees.<\/p>\n

Noah walked ahead of me, taller and stronger now, carrying his own backpack.<\/p>\n

At a viewpoint, he stopped and looked across the gray water.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think they\u2019re sorry?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

I knew who he meant.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I considered giving him a gentle lie.<\/p>\n

The kind adults tell children when they want them to sleep peacefully.<\/p>\n

But Noah survived because I gave him truths in pieces he could carry.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think they\u2019re sorry they got caught,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t know if they\u2019re sorry they hurt us.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded slowly.<\/p>\n

Then he said, \u201cI\u2019m glad we came back.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at my son standing alive in the wind, sunlight shining through his hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo am I,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Those nine days in the mountains took things from us that no sentence could restore.<\/p>\n

Trust.<\/p>\n

Ease.<\/p>\n

The simple belief that family always meant safety.<\/p>\n

But they also revealed something stronger than the people who abandoned us.<\/p>\n

Noah survived.<\/p>\n

I survived.<\/p>\n

And the people who left us there to die had spent every day since wishing we had not.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I took my nine-year-old son on a short hike during a family cabin trip. When we returned, the cabins, vehicles, food, and every person we trusted had vanished. Only one … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26579,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,22,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-33941","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\/33941","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=33941"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33941\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":33942,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33941\/revisions\/33942"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/26579"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=33941"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=33941"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readinstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=33941"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}