{"id":15880,"date":"2026-08-06T08:56:56","date_gmt":"2026-08-06T08:56:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=15880"},"modified":"2026-08-06T08:57:17","modified_gmt":"2026-08-06T08:57:17","slug":"she-slapped-my-66-year-old-mother-across-the-face-called-her-the-maid-and-proudly-told-everyone-the-house-belonged-to-her-she-had-no-idea-i-was-the-real-owner","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/?p=15880","title":{"rendered":"She slapped my 66-year-old mother across the face, called her \u201c\u201dthe maid,\u201d\u201d and proudly told everyone the house belonged to her. She had no idea I was the real owner\u2014and by the end of that dinner, her perfect little lie would explode in front of every guest.**"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

PART 1<\/span><\/h1>\n<\/header>\n
\n

When I came home after six years working overseas, I expected to surprise my mother with flowers and a long overdue hug.<\/p>\n

Instead, I found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the backyard patio with swollen fingers while my sister-in-law shouted orders from inside the house.<\/p>\n

\u201cMove faster! The guests will be here in an hour!\u201d<\/p>\n

For a second, I thought I had the wrong address.<\/p>\n

Then my mother looked up.<\/p>\n

She froze.<\/p>\n

Her eyes filled with panic instead of joy.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should\u2019ve called first,\u201d she whispered. \u201cPlease\u2026 don\u2019t make a scene.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the moment I knew something was terribly wrong.<\/p>\n

I had worked endless night shifts as an ICU nurse, sacrificed birthdays, holidays, and almost every important moment of my own life to buy this beautiful home for my mother after my father passed away. She deserved peace.<\/p>\n

Instead, she was living like a prisoner.<\/p>\n

My older brother, Brandon, and his wife, Vanessa, had moved in \u201ctemporarily\u201d after they ran into financial trouble.<\/p>\n

Temporary had somehow turned into two years.<\/p>\n

Vanessa greeted me with a cold smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh\u2026 you\u2019re finally back.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked me up and down before handing me a grocery bag.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019re going to stand there, at least help your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not once did she thank me for buying the house.<\/p>\n

Not once did she ask how I had been.<\/p>\n

Inside, I noticed something strange.<\/p>\n

Family photos of my mother had disappeared.<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s decorations covered every wall.<\/p>\n

Even worse\u2026<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s bedroom was gone.<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s mother had taken it.<\/p>\n

My own mother now slept on a narrow folding bed beside the laundry room.<\/p>\n

When I asked why, Mom forced a smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only temporary.\u201d<\/p>\n

But the trembling in her voice told another story.<\/p>\n

Later that afternoon, while Vanessa prepared for her dinner party, I witnessed something that made my blood boil.<\/p>\n

My mother accidentally dropped a serving tray.<\/p>\n

The plate shattered.<\/p>\n

Without hesitation, Vanessa stormed over and slapped her hard across the face.<\/p>\n

The entire room fell silent.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou useless old woman!\u201d she screamed. \u201cDo you know how expensive that plate was?\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother immediately apologized while holding her burning cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026 I\u2019m sorry\u2026 I\u2019ll clean it up.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked terrified. Not embarrassed. Terrified. As if this had happened many times before.<\/p>\n

Brandon stood only a few feet away. He didn\u2019t defend her. He didn\u2019t even look surprised. He simply sighed and walked away.<\/p>\n

I helped my mother pick up the broken pieces. That\u2019s when I noticed bruises hidden beneath the sleeve of her sweater.<\/p>\n

Old bruises. New bruises. Some yellow. Some deep purple.<\/p>\n

My hands started shaking.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

She quickly pulled her sleeve down. \u201cI slipped.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked into her eyes. She couldn\u2019t even finish the lie.<\/p>\n

That evening, while everyone laughed in the dining room, I quietly searched through the house. What I found made everything even worse.<\/p>\n

A chore schedule listed only one name: my mother\u2019s.<\/p>\n

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Bathrooms. Yard work.<\/i>\u00a0Every single day.<\/p>\n

Then I opened the kitchen drawer. Inside were bank statements showing hundreds of dollars disappearing from her Social Security account every month.<\/p>\n

Hidden inside her Bible was something that completely broke my heart: an application for a tiny government senior apartment.<\/p>\n

She had written a note beside it:\u00a0\u201cMaybe they won\u2019t be angry if I leave.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I closed my eyes. The house I bought so she could live with dignity had become the place where she was humiliated, abused, and made to believe she no longer belonged.<\/p>\n

They thought my mother was powerless. They thought no one was coming to save her.<\/p>\n

They had absolutely no idea who really owned that house.<\/p>\n

And they certainly had no idea what was waiting for them after tonight.<\/p>\n

PART 2<\/h2>\n

I stood in the hallway with my mother\u2019s senior housing application pressed between my hands.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

The paper was thin, almost weightless, yet it felt heavier than anything I had carried during six years of night shifts, emergency calls, and twelve-hour hospital rotations.<\/p>\n

At the bottom of the application, beneath a section asking why she needed new housing, my mother had written in careful blue ink:<\/p>\n

I do not want to be a burden to my family.<\/i><\/p>\n

I read the sentence twice. Then a third time.<\/p>\n

From the dining room came a burst of laughter.<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s laughter rose above the others\u2014bright, confident, effortless. The laugh of a woman who believed the evening belonged to her.<\/p>\n

A chair scraped across the floor. Someone asked where the dessert plates were.<\/p>\n

Vanessa called toward the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cEvelyn! We need coffee in here!\u201d<\/p>\n

PART 3<\/h2>\n

My mother\u2019s hand reached out from the shadow of the hallway, taking the thin paper from my fingers. She slipped the application back inside the pages of her Bible, her touch gentle, as if the paper itself were made of glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cCarly, please,\u201d she murmured, her voice barely a breath. \u201cThey\u2019re having guests. Don\u2019t make it worse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWorse?\u201d I looked down at her. In six years, her frame had shrunk. The bright, sharp woman who used to bake bread on Sunday mornings and teach me how to drive on winding country roads was gone. In her place stood someone who winced when a door shut too loudly. \u201cMom, she hit you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s under a lot of stress,\u201d Evelyn whispered, looking toward the floorboards. \u201cBrandon\u2019s work hasn\u2019t been steady. They\u2019re trying so hard to keep up appearances.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re paying for those appearances with your blood,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEvelyn!\u201d Vanessa\u2019s voice cut through the air again, sharper this time, accompanied by the distinct clatter of silver against porcelain. \u201cThe coffee! Now!\u201d<\/p>\n

I took the tray from the counter\u2014the heavy silver pot, the gold-rimmed cups I had bought in Germany during a layover\u2014and turned toward the dining room. My mother reached for my sleeve to stop me, but I stepped past her.<\/p>\n

The dining room was filled with six people. Vanessa sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, her mother, Brenda, to her right, wearing a silk blouse that had belonged to my mother two years ago. Brandon sat near the middle, his collar unbuttoned, laughing at something a guest had just said.<\/p>\n

When I entered with the tray, the room quieted slightly.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cOh, Carly\u2019s helping out,\u201d Brandon said, offering a weak, uneasy smile that didn\u2019t reach his eyes. \u201cGood. We were running low.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa didn\u2019t look up from her phone. \u201cSet it near the sideboard. Make sure you use the linen napkins, not the paper ones.\u201d<\/p>\n

I carried the tray to the middle of the table, right between Vanessa and Brandon, and set it down with a deliberate, heavy thud.<\/p>\n

The cups rattled in their saucers.<\/p>\n

Vanessa finally looked up, her eyebrows drawn together in irritation. \u201cWatch it. Those are imported.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d I said, my voice steady and cold. \u201cI bought them in Munich six years ago. Just like I bought this table. And the house surrounding it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A silence settled over the table. The guests\u2014neighbors Brandon and Vanessa had been trying to impress\u2014looked back and forth between us, sensing the sudden shift in the air.<\/p>\n

Brandon cleared his throat nervously. \u201cCarly, come on. We\u2019re having dinner. We can catch up properly tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can catch up right now,\u201d I said. I pulled out the chair at the head of the table\u2014the seat where my father used to sit\u2014and took a seat. \u201cI\u2019ve been away for six years. I think I\u2019m owed an update on how my investment is being managed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s expression hardened. She set her phone down on the table with a sharp click. \u201cThis is extremely inappropriate. We have company.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have company,\u201d I corrected her. \u201cMy mother has an abusive daughter-in-law who thinks a deed is just a piece of paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brenda, Vanessa\u2019s mother, gasped softly and adjusted her pearls. \u201cWell, I never\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShut up, Brenda,\u201d I said without looking at her. \u201cYou\u2019re occupying the master bedroom that was designed for my mother\u2019s arthritic joints. You can wait your turn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon stood up, his face flushing red. \u201cThat\u2019s enough, Carly! You don\u2019t just walk in here after six years and start throwing orders around! We\u2019ve been keeping this place running while you were off playing hero overseas!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeeping it running?\u201d I turned my head slowly to look at him. \u201cYou haven\u2019t paid a single mortgage payment, Brandon. Not one. I checked my bank records in the car before I walked through the front door. Every property tax, every insurance premium, every major utility bill has been auto-drafted from my personal account in Boston.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and tapped the screen. I laid it face-up on the mahogany wood.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd while I was paying for the roof over your head, you were watching your wife strike our mother across the face.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. \u201cShe\u2019s lying! Brandon, tell her she\u2019s lying! Your mother dropped a hundred-dollar platter because she wasn\u2019t paying attention. I tapped her arm to get her focus back!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA tap?\u201d I stood up, leaning over the table until I was inches from Vanessa\u2019s face. \u201cI am a senior trauma nurse, Vanessa. I have spent six years evaluating soft-tissue injuries in emergency rooms. I know the difference between an accidental bump and a strike meant to humiliate. I saw the mark on her cheek. And I saw the purple hematomas on her forearms where you grabbed her.\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the guests, a woman named Clara who lived two doors down, looked horrified. \u201cVanessa\u2026 is this true?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not!\u201d Vanessa\u2019s voice reached a high, frantic pitch. \u201cThis girl is insane! She walks in here after years of abandoning her family and starts accusing us of ridiculous things!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let\u2019s look at the paper trail,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n

I picked up my phone and opened a file.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis afternoon, I noticed three hundred dollars missing from my mother\u2019s Social Security account every month for the last eighteen months. The transfers went directly into an account ending in 4092.\u201d I looked at Brandon. \u201cThat\u2019s your primary checking account, isn\u2019t it, brother?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon\u2019s mouth opened, but no sound came out.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou took her allowance,\u201d I said. \u201cYou took the small amount of money she had left from Dad\u2019s pension to pay for your car lease.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe needed groceries!\u201d Brandon stammered, looking around at the guests, whose faces had turned to stone. \u201cShe lives here! She has to contribute!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe owns the right to live here for the rest of her life,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s written into the life-estate trust I set up when I purchased the property. You, on the other hand, are guests who have overstayed your welcome by seven hundred days.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa stood up now, her face contorted with rage. \u201cYou can\u2019t talk to us like this! We live here! This is our home!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said softly. \u201cIt\u2019s my property. And as of eight o\u2019clock tonight, you are officially trespassing.\u201d<\/p>\n

PART 4<\/h2>\n

The guests didn\u2019t wait for dessert.<\/p>\n

Clara was the first to stand, her napkin tossed onto her plate with obvious disgust. Within three minutes, all four visitors had excused themselves, avoiding eye contact with Brandon and Vanessa as they hurried out the front door.<\/p>\n

The front door clicked shut, leaving only the family in the grand entry hall.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook what you did!\u201d Vanessa screamed, turning on Brandon. \u201cLook at what your sister just did to us! My reputation in this neighborhood is ruined!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour reputation?\u201d I walked out of the dining room into the hallway where my mother was still standing near the kitchen door, her hands folded tightly in front of her apron. I walked over to her, took the apron off her shoulders, and tossed it onto the floor. \u201cMom, go pack your small bag. Just your essentials. The clothes you actually like.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother looked between me and Brandon, her bottom lip trembling. \u201cCarly\u2026 where are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going to the Grand Hyatt downtown for the night,\u201d I said. \u201cBecause tomorrow morning, this house is going to be very busy, and I don\u2019t want you here to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon stepped forward, his hands raised in a desperate gesture. \u201cCarly, look\u2026 let\u2019s just sit down and talk about this like adults. Vanessa was out of line today. I admit it. I should have said something. But we\u2019re family. You can\u2019t just throw us out on the street.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not throwing you out tonight,\u201d I said, looking him dead in the eye. \u201cI\u2019m giving you until 9:00 AM tomorrow. That\u2019s twelve hours to pack your things, your wife\u2019s things, and her mother\u2019s things.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa marched up to me, her finger pointing inches from my nose. \u201cWe have rights! You can\u2019t evict anyone without thirty days\u2019 written notice! I know the law!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know consumer law, Vanessa,\u201d I said coldly. \u201cYou don\u2019t know property law. You never signed a lease. You never paid rent. You have no tenant rights under state law because you entered this home as temporary guests under a revocable license.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stepped closer to her, until her finger lowered.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd even if you were tenants,\u201d I added, lowering my voice so only she could hear, \u201celder abuse is a felony in this state. I took high-resolution photographs of the bruises on my mother\u2019s arms while she was cleaning the kitchen. I have the bank records showing the unauthorized transfers from her account. If you are still inside this house at 9:01 AM tomorrow, I will not call a locksmith. I will call the Special Victims Unit and the Department of Elder Affairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s breath hitched. The color drained from her face, leaving her makeup looking thick and chalky under the hallway lights.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cTry me,\u201d I replied. \u201cI spent six years watching people fight for their lives in the ICU. Do you really think I\u2019m afraid of a bully in designer shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n

I took my mother\u2019s hand. Her fingers were ice cold, but as I squeezed them, I felt her give a tiny, hesitant squeeze back.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Mom,\u201d I said. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

THE FINAL MORNING<\/h2>\n

At 8:30 the next morning, a large black SUV pulled up to the driveway of the house.<\/p>\n

I sat in the passenger seat, watching through the clear morning light. Beside me was David Vance, a senior partner at one of the top estate law firms in the city, whom I had retained at 6:00 AM. Behind us was a moving truck and a private security vehicle.<\/p>\n

My mother was safe at the hotel, sitting in a sunny breakfast room with a plate of warm food she hadn\u2019t been forced to cook herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything is in order,\u201d David said, handing me a leather folder. \u201cThe emergency injunction for physical protection was granted based on the medical photos you provided. The sheriff\u2019s department has already been notified.\u201d<\/p>\n

I opened the car door and stepped out onto the concrete driveway.<\/p>\n

The front door of the house was wide open.<\/p>\n

Suitcases, plastic bins, and cardboard boxes were piled haphazardly across the lawn. Brandon was sweating profusely as he carried a heavy wooden dresser down the front steps, while Brenda sat in the passenger seat of their sedan, weeping loudly into a handkerchief.<\/p>\n

Vanessa was throwing armfuls of clothes into the trunk of their car, her hair unwashed, her face pale and exhausted.<\/p>\n

When she saw me walking up the driveway with the lawyer, she dropped a handful of dresses onto the gravel.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cAre you happy now?\u201d she shouted, her voice raspy from arguing all night. \u201cYou\u2019re throwing your own brother out onto the street! He has nowhere to go!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has his job,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cAnd he has you. You two can find a small apartment that fits your actual budget instead of living off a senior citizen\u2019s pension.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon set the dresser down on the grass, panting heavily. He looked at me, his eyes full of a mixture of anger and deep shame.<\/p>\n

\u201cCarly\u2026 please. Just give us a few weeks to find a place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou had two years, Brandon,\u201d I said. \u201cTwo years during which you let your wife hit our mother. You let her sleep beside a washing machine while her own bedroom was occupied by a stranger. You broke the only rule Dad ever gave us: take care of Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon looked away, unable to meet my eyes. He didn\u2019t say another word.<\/p>\n

At precisely 8:55 AM, two local police cruisers pulled up to the curb. Two officers stepped out, checking their watches as they walked up the driveway toward us.<\/p>\n

\u201cCarly Miller?\u201d the lead officer asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Officer,\u201d I replied. \u201cThese are the current occupants. Their temporary license to occupy the property was formally revoked as of 9:00 AM.\u201d<\/p>\n

The officer turned to Brandon and Vanessa. \u201cFolks, you need to clear the driveway and step off the property. Anything left behind after nine o\u2019clock will be considered abandoned property.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa let out a frustrated scream, kicked a cardboard box into the side of her car, and jumped into the driver\u2019s seat, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. Brandon threw the last small bag into the back, looked at me one final time with a bitter shake of his head, and got into the passenger side.<\/p>\n

The sedan backed out of the driveway violently, tires screeching against the asphalt, before speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner.<\/p>\n

Silence returned to the neighborhood.<\/p>\n

The sun was high in the sky now, warming the red brick front of the house.<\/p>\n

I turned to the moving team standing by the truck. \u201cEverything on the lawn goes directly to the local charity donation center. I want the house completely clear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d the crew leader nodded.<\/p>\n

Two hours later, a team of professional cleaners arrived. They stripped away Vanessa\u2019s heavy velvet curtains, removed her aggressive artwork, and disinfected every room from floor to ceiling.<\/p>\n

By four o\u2019clock in the afternoon, the master bedroom was restored.<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s favorite oak bed frame\u2014the one my father had built for her thirty years ago, which had been banished to the garage\u2014was cleaned, polished, and brought back upstairs. Fresh white linen sheets were spread over the mattress. Her silver-framed family photos were brought out of storage boxes and hung back on the cream-colored walls.<\/p>\n

The narrow folding bed by the laundry room was dismantled and thrown into the dumpster.<\/p>\n

EPILOGUE<\/h2>\n

At five o\u2019clock, I drove back to the Grand Hyatt to pick up my mother.<\/p>\n

She was waiting in the lobby, wearing a clean light-blue sweater I had bought her that morning. She looked smaller than she used to, but the color had begun to return to her cheeks.<\/p>\n

When we pulled into the driveway of the house, she sat motionless in the passenger seat, staring at the front door.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re gone, Mom,\u201d I said gently, unbuckling my seatbelt. \u201cIt\u2019s just us.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stepped out of the car slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she walked up the front steps.<\/p>\n

When I opened the front door, the house didn\u2019t smell like bleach or stale air anymore. It smelled like lavender and lemon oil. The hallway was bright, flooded with the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the clean glass windows.<\/p>\n

My mother walked down the hall, her soft shoes making no sound against the polished hardwood.<\/p>\n

She stopped at the doorway of the master bedroom.<\/p>\n

She saw her bed. She saw the photo of my father smiling from the nightstand beside a vase of fresh white lilies.<\/p>\n

She stood there for a long time, her hands resting against the doorframe.<\/p>\n

Then, for the first time in six years, I saw her shoulders drop.<\/p>\n

The tension that had kept her body rigid for months simply melted away. She took a deep, long breath\u2014a breath that filled her lungs completely\u2014and let it out in a slow, shaking sigh.<\/p>\n

She turned to me, tears spilling over her eyelids and trailing down her cheeks. But this time, her eyes weren\u2019t filled with panic or fear.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s home again,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

I walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her narrow shoulders, and held her tight.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Mom,\u201d I said, kissing the top of her gray head. \u201cIt\u2019s home again. And nobody is ever going to hurt you here again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Out in the backyard, the patio was quiet and clean, the shadows lengthening over the green grass.<\/p>\n

My mother sat down in the soft leather armchair by the bedroom window, looking out at the garden my father had planted years ago. She didn\u2019t have to cook. She didn\u2019t have to clean. She didn\u2019t have to ask for permission to exist.<\/p>\n

She was finally safe. And as I sat on the edge of her bed, watching her close her eyes and fall into a peaceful, unbroken sleep, I knew that every night shift, every sacrifice, and every mile I had traveled had been worth this single, quiet moment.<\/p>\n

THE END<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

PART 1 When I came home after six years working overseas, I expected to surprise my mother with flowers and a long overdue hug. Instead, I found her on her … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15881,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15,16,6,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15880","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-news","category-real-life-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15880","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=15880"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15880\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15882,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15880\/revisions\/15882"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/15881"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15880"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15880"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyreadin.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15880"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}