{"id":1588,"date":"2026-01-15T03:45:34","date_gmt":"2026-01-15T03:45:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=1588"},"modified":"2026-01-15T03:45:37","modified_gmt":"2026-01-15T03:45:37","slug":"my-son-stopped-failing-the-moment-i-found-out-the-truth-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=1588","title":{"rendered":"My son stopped failing the moment I found out the truth"},"content":{"rendered":"

My son stopped failing the moment I found out the truth<\/h1>\n

After her teenage son moves in with his dad, Claire tries not to interfere, until his silence speaks louder than words. When she finds out what\u2019s really happening in that house, she does what mothers do best: she shows up. This is a quiet, powerful story of rescue, resilience, and unconditional love.<\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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When my 14-year-old son, Mason, asked to live with his dad after the divorce, I said yes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Not because I wanted to (believe me, I would have preferred to have him with\u00a0me<\/i>). But because I didn\u2019t want to stand in the way of a father and son trying to find each other again. I still had Mason with me on weekends and whenever he wanted. I just didn\u2019t have him every single day.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He\u2019d missed Eddie. His goofy, fun-loving dad who made pancakes at midnight and wore backward baseball caps to soccer games. And Eddie seemed eager to step up. He wanted to be involved. More grounded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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So, I let Mason go.<\/i><\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I told myself that I was doing the right thing. That giving my son space wasn\u2019t giving him up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A man holding a stack of pancakes | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I didn\u2019t expect it to break me quietly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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At first, Mason called often. He sent me silly selfies and updates about the pizza-and-movie nights with his dad. He sent me snapshots of half-burnt waffles and goofy grins.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I saved every photo. I rewatched every video time and time again. I missed him but I told myself this was good.<\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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This was what he needed.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A stack of half-burnt waffles on a plate | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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He sounded happy.\u00a0Free.<\/i>\u00a0And I wanted to believe that meant he was okay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But then the calls slowed down. The texts came less frequently. Conversations turned into one-word replies.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Then silence.<\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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And then calls started coming from somewhere else.\u00a0Mason\u2019s teachers.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A concerned teacher | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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One emailed about missing homework.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHe said he forgot, Claire. But it\u2019s not like him.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Another called during her lunch break, speaking in between bites of a sandwich, I assumed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHe seems disconnected. Like he\u2019s here but not really\u2026 Is everything okay at home?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A sandwich on a plate | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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And then the worst one, his math teacher.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cWe caught him cheating during a quiz. That\u2019s not typical behavior. I just thought you should know\u2026 he looked lost.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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That word stuck to me like static.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A side profile of a worried woman | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Lost.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Not rebellious. Not difficult. Just\u2026 lost.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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It landed in my chest with a cold weight. Because that wasn\u2019t my Mason. My boy had always been thoughtful, careful. The kind of kid who double-checked his work and blushed when he didn\u2019t get an A.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I tried calling him that night. No answer. I left a voicemail.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A boy sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Hours passed.\u00a0Nothing.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I sat on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, staring at the last photo he\u2019d sent\u2014him and Eddie holding up a burnt pizza like a joke.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But it didn\u2019t feel funny anymore. Something was wrong. And the silence was screaming.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I called Eddie. Not accusatory, just concerned. My voice soft, neutral, trying to keep the peace.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A close up of a concerned woman | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I was careful, walking that tightrope divorced moms know too well, where one wrong word can be used as proof that you\u2019re \u201ccontrolling\u201d or \u201cdramatic.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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His response?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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A sigh. A tired, dismissive sigh.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHe\u2019s a teenager, Claire,\u201d he said. \u201cThey get lazy from time to time. You\u2019re overthinking again.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Overthinking<\/i>. I hated that word.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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It hit something in me. He used to say that when Mason was a baby and colicky. When I hadn\u2019t slept in three nights and sat on the bathroom floor crying, holding our screaming newborn while Eddie snored through it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou worry too much,\u201d he\u2019d mumbled back then. \u201cRelax. He\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A crying baby | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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And I believed him. I\u00a0wanted<\/i>\u00a0to believe him. Because the alternative\u2026 that I was alone in the trenches\u2026 was just too heavy to carry.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Now here I was again.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Mason still crying, just silently this time. And Eddie still rolling over, pretending everything was okay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But this time? My silence had consequences.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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This wasn\u2019t a newborn with reflux. This was a boy unraveling quietly in another house.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And something deep inside me, the part of me that\u2019s always known when Mason needed me, started to scream out.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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One Thursday afternoon, I didn\u2019t ask Eddie\u2019s permission. I just drove to Mason\u2019s school to fetch him. It was raining, a thin, steady drizzle that blurred the world into soft edges. The kind of weather that makes you feel like time is holding its breath.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A worried woman sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I parked where I knew he\u2019d see me. Turned off the engine. Waited.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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When the bell rang, kids poured out in clusters, laughing, yelling, dodging puddles. Then I saw him, alone, walking slowly, like each step cost my baby something.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He slid into the passenger seat without a word.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A pensive teenage boy | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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And my heart shattered.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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His hoodie clung to him. His shoes were soaked. His backpack hung off one shoulder like an afterthought. But it was his face that undid me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Sunken eyes. Lips pale and cracked. Shoulders curved inward like he was trying to make himself disappear.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I handed him a granola bar with shaking hands. He stared at it but didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A granola bar on a piece of paper | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The heater ticked, warming the space between us but not enough to thaw the ache in my chest.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Then, he whispered, barely above the sound of the rain on the windshield.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI can\u2019t sleep, Mom. I don\u2019t know what to do\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That was the moment I knew, my son was not okay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An upset boy sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The words came slowly. Like he was holding them in with both hands, trying not to spill. Like if he let go, he might shatter.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Eddie had lost his job. Just weeks after Mason moved in.\u00a0He didn\u2019t tell anyone<\/i>. Not Mason. Not me. He tried to keep the illusion alive, same routines, same smile, same tired jokes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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But behind the curtain, everything was falling apart.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"An<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

An upset man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The fridge was almost always empty. Lights flickered constantly. Mason said he stopped using the microwave because it made a weird noise when it ran too long. Eddie was out most nights.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cJob interviews,\u201d he claimed but Mason said that he didn\u2019t always come back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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So my son made do. He had cereal for breakfast. Sometimes dry because there was no milk. He did laundry when he ran out of socks. He ate spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar and called it lunch. Dried crackers for dinner.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A plate of crackers | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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He did his homework in the dark, hoping that the Wi-Fi would hold long enough to submit assignments.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI didn\u2019t want you to think less of him,\u201d Mason said. \u201cOr me.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That\u2019s when the truth hit. He wasn\u2019t lazy. He wasn\u2019t rebelling.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He was drowning. And all the while, he was trying to keep his father afloat. Trying to hold up a house that was already caving in. Trying to protect two parents from breaking further.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A boy doing his homework | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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And I hadn\u2019t seen it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Not because I didn\u2019t care. But because I told myself staying out of it was respectful. That giving them space was the right thing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But Mason didn\u2019t need space. He needed someone to call him back home.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That night, I took him back with me. There were no court orders. No phone calls. Just instinct. He didn\u2019t argue at all.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"The<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The exterior of a cozy home | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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He slept for 14 hours straight. His face was relaxed, like his body was finally safe enough to let go.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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The next morning, he sat at the kitchen table and asked if I still had that old robot mug. The one with the chipped handle.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I found it tucked in the back of the cupboard. He smiled into it and I stepped out of the room before he could see my eyes fill.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A sleeping boy | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cMom?\u201d he asked a bit later. \u201cCan you make me something to eat?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHow about a full breakfast plate?\u201d I asked. \u201cBacon, eggs, sausages\u2026 the entire thing!\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He just smiled and nodded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A breakfast plate | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I filed for a custody change quietly. I didn\u2019t want to tear him apart. I didn\u2019t want to tear either of them apart. I knew that my ex-husband was struggling too.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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But I didn\u2019t send Mason back. Not until there was trust again. Not until Mason felt like he had a choice. And a place where he could simply breathe and know that someone was holding the air steady for him.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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It took time. But healing always does, doesn\u2019t it?<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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At first, Mason barely spoke. He\u2019d come home from school, drop his backpack by the door and drift to the couch like a ghost. He\u2019d stare at the TV without really watching.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A boy sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Some nights, he\u2019d pick at his dinner like the food was too much for him to handle.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I didn\u2019t push. I didn\u2019t pepper him with questions or hover with worried eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I just made the space soft. Predictable. Safe.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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We started therapy. Gently. No pressure. I let him choose the schedule, the therapist, even the music on the car ride there. I told him we didn\u2019t have to fix everything at once, we just had to keep showing up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A smiling therapist sitting in her office | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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And then, quietly, I started leaving notes on his bedroom door.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cProud of you.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou\u2019re doing better than you think, honey.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou don\u2019t have to talk. I see you anyway.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cThere\u2019s no one else like you.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"Colored<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Colored Post-its stuck on a door | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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For a while, they stayed untouched. I\u2019d find them curled at the edges, the tape starting to yellow. But I left them up anyway.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Then one morning, I found a sticky note on my bedside table. Written in pencil with shaky handwriting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cThanks for seeing me. Even when I didn\u2019t say anything. You\u2019re the best, Mom.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I sat on the edge of my bed and held that note like it was something sacred.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A pink Post-it pad on a nightstand | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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A month in, Mason stood in the kitchen one afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cHey, Mom? Would it be okay if I stayed after school for robotics club?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I froze, mid-stir, the sauce bubbling quietly on the stove.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYeah,\u201d I said, careful not to sound too excited. \u201cOf course. That sounds great.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"Students<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Students at a robotics club | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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His eyes flicked up, almost shyly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cI think I want to start building stuff again.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And I smiled because I knew exactly what that meant.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cGo, honey,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll make some garlic bread and we can pop it in the oven when you get back.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A tray of cheesy garlic bread | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Two weeks later, he brought home a model bridge made of popsicle sticks and hot glue. It collapsed the second he picked it up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He stared at the wreckage for a second, then laughed. Like, really laughed.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cThat\u2019s okay,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll build another one.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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God, I wanted to freeze that moment. Bottle it. Frame it.\u00a0<\/i>I wanted this moment to last\u00a0forever. Because that was my boy.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A model bridge made of popsicle sticks | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The one who used to build LEGO cities and dream out loud about being an engineer. The one who\u2019d been buried under silence, shame, and survival.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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And now he was finding his way back. One stick, one smile, and one note at a time.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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In May, I got an email from his teacher. End-of-year assembly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"LEGO<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

LEGO blocks on a carpet | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou\u2019ll want to be there,\u201d\u00a0<\/i>she wrote.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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They called his name and my hands started shaking.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cMost Resilient Student!\u201d<\/strong><\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He walked to the stage, not rushed or embarrassed. He stood tall and proud. He paused, scanned the crowd, and smiled.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A smiling boy standing on a stage | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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One hand lifted toward me, the other toward Eddie, sitting quietly in the back row, tears shining.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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That one gesture said everything we hadn\u2019t been able to say. We were all in this together.\u00a0Healing.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Eddie still calls. Sometimes it\u2019s short, just a quick, \u201cHow was school?\u201d or \u201cYou still into that robot stuff, son?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Sometimes they talk about movies they used to watch together. Sometimes there are awkward silences. But Mason always picks up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A close up of a smiling woman | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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It\u2019s not perfect. But it\u2019s something.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Mason lives with me full-time now. His room is messy again, in the\u00a0good<\/i>\u00a0way.\u00a0The alive way<\/i>. Clothes draped over his chair. Music too loud. Cups mysteriously migrating to the bathroom sink.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I find little notes he writes to himself taped to the wall above his desk.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A messy room | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Things like:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cRemember to breathe.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cOne step at a time.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou\u2019re not alone, Mase.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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He teases me about an ancient phone and greying hair. He complains about the asparagus I give him with his grilled fish. He tries to talk me into letting him dye his hair green.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"Grilled<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Grilled fish and asparagus on a plate | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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And when he walks past me in the kitchen and asks for help, I stop what I\u2019m doing and do it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Not because I have all the answers.\u00a0But because he asked.<\/i>\u00a0Because he trusts me enough to ask. And that matters more than any fix.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I\u2019ve forgiven myself for not seeing it sooner. I understand now that silence isn\u2019t peace. That distance isn\u2019t always respect.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A happy teenage boy | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Sometimes, love is loud. Sometimes, it\u2019s showing up uninvited. Sometimes, it\u2019s saying,\u00a0I know you didn\u2019t call but I\u2019m here anyway.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Mason didn\u2019t need freedom.\u00a0He needed rescue.<\/i>\u00a0And I\u2019ll never regret reaching for him when he was slipping under.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Because that\u2019s what moms do. We dive in. We hold tight. And we don\u2019t let go until the breathing steadies, the eyes open and the light comes back.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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\"A<\/picture><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

A smiling woman sitting on a porch | Source: Midjourney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My son stopped failing the moment I found out the truth After her teenage son moves in with his dad, Claire tries not to interfere, until his silence speaks louder … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1585,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1588","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-real-life-story"],"brizy_media":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1588","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1588"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1588\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1590,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1588\/revisions\/1590"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1585"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1588"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1588"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1588"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}