{"id":572,"date":"2026-04-10T08:31:19","date_gmt":"2026-04-10T08:31:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/?p=572"},"modified":"2026-04-10T08:31:21","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T08:31:21","slug":"daughters-tickets-cancelled-stranded-2-nights-family-shrugged-we-made-a-plan-noon-total-panic-part2ending","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/?p=572","title":{"rendered":"\u201cDaughter\u2019s tickets cancelled. Stranded 2 nights. Family shrugged. We made a plan. Noon: Total panic.\u201d (PART2ENDING)"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/h3>\n

<\/h3>\n

Part4<\/h3>\n

Home l<\/span>oked the same when we pulled into the driveway\u2014same crooked mailbox, same hydrangeas half-dead from the heat\u2014but I didn\u2019t. Something in me had shifted on that beach, like a fault line finally acknowledging the pressure.<\/span><\/h3>\n

Sarah went straight to her room to unpack and call friends, hungry for normal teenage life. I stayed in the kitchen with a cup of tea, staring at the half-loaded dishwasher I\u2019d abandoned two days earlier, like it was evidence from a crime scene.<\/p>\n

My phone buzzed.<\/p>\n

Jenny: How was the drive? Mom wants to know you made it safe.<\/p>\n

I texted back that we were home, that Sarah was okay. Then another message came in from Mom: Thank you for coming. Dad had such a good time with Sarah.<\/p>\n

I showed it to Sarah later that night when she padded into the living room in pajamas, hair still damp from a shower.<\/p>\n

She smiled at the screen. \u201cText her back,\u201d she said. \u201cTell her we love her. And tell her we\u2019re serious about a grandparent weekend. Just us.\u201d<\/p>\n

So I did. And Mom replied within minutes: That sounds perfect. Dad would love it.<\/p>\n

A day later, as I was getting ready for work, Sarah appeared in the bathroom doorway with a strange, thoughtful expression.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d she said. \u201cI had a weird dream.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of weird?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI dreamed Aunt Melissa apologized,\u201d she said. \u201cLike a real apology. Not a fake \u2018sorry about the flight confusion.\u2019 She said she was sorry for not liking me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I paused, mascara wand hovering. \u201cHow did that feel?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah shrugged, but her eyes were soft. \u201cGood. But also sad. Like\u2026 sad for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

I studied my daughter in the mirror. It amazed me, how easily she could hold compassion and boundaries at the same time. At eighteen, she already had the kind of emotional clarity most adults never found.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think she\u2019ll ever actually apologize?\u201d Sarah asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I admitted. \u201cSome people would rather protect their pride than repair a relationship.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Sarah nodded, then sighed. \u201cI hope she figures it out. For Jessica and the boys. It can\u2019t be good for them to grow up watching their mom compete with everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

She left for school, and I went to work, but her words followed me around the office like a shadow.<\/p>\n

That afternoon, my phone rang.<\/p>\n

Mike.<\/p>\n

His voice sounded tired, the glossy confidence scraped off. \u201cCan you talk for a minute?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d I said, lowering my voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI talked to Melissa,\u201d he said. \u201cLike\u2026 really talked. Not the way we usually talk where we pretend everything\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

He exhaled. \u201cShe knows she screwed up, but she\u2019s also doubling down. She keeps saying Sarah makes her feel inadequate. Like your family makes her feel like she\u2019s not good enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling tiles. \u201cMike,\u201d I said carefully, \u201cthat\u2019s not our responsibility.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d he said, frustration cracking through. \u201cI told her that. I told her Sarah\u2019s not the problem. But she\u2019s convinced you all look down on her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBased on what?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cLittle things,\u201d he said. \u201cHow Sarah talks. How she participates. How you always seem\u2026 put together.\u201d He made a sound like he hated himself for repeating it. \u201cShe won\u2019t go to therapy. She says therapy is for people who can\u2019t handle life.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt my patience thin. \u201cThen she\u2019s choosing this,\u201d I said. \u201cShe\u2019s choosing to stay stuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mike was quiet.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what are you telling me?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m telling you I don\u2019t know how to fix it,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I\u2019m worried it\u2019s going to keep causing problems with the family.\u201d<\/p>\n

The truth rose up like a wave. \u201cDo you want to fix it?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he said quickly. \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you stop asking the rest of us to shrink so Melissa can feel bigger,\u201d I said. \u201cSarah and I aren\u2019t going anywhere. If Melissa has an issue with her own self-worth, she needs to deal with it without hurting other people.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mike swallowed. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said, but his voice sounded like a man standing at the edge of a cliff.<\/p>\n

After I hung up, I sat there for a long time, listening to the office sounds\u2014printers, keyboards, someone laughing in the break room\u2014and thinking about how family drama could seep into every corner of your life, no matter how professional your world was supposed to be.<\/p>\n

That weekend, Sarah and I drove up to my parents\u2019 house for our first \u201cjust us\u201d visit. The drive was shorter than the beach trip but felt heavier, because we didn\u2019t know what kind of day Dad would have.<\/p>\n

When we arrived, Mom opened the door with relief written all over her face. \u201cYou made it,\u201d she said, hugging Sarah like she was checking her own heartbeat.<\/p>\n

Dad was in the living room, seated in his recliner, a baseball game murmuring on TV. For a moment he looked up at us with clear recognition, and I felt my body loosen.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey there,\u201d he said, grinning. \u201cLook who decided to visit an old man.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Grandpa,\u201d Sarah said, dropping a kiss on his forehead.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

He patted her hand. \u201cSarah Bear,\u201d he said like a prayer.<\/p>\n

The first day was good. Dad told stories. Sarah told him about a cat at the clinic with a harmless tumor. Mom and I cooked dinner and listened to their voices blend in the other room, the way they always had.<\/p>\n

Sunday morning, the tide turned.<\/p>\n

Dad came into the kitchen and stared at me like I was a stranger in his house. His brow furrowed. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d he said politely, \u201ccan I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom\u2019s face tightened, but she kept her voice gentle. \u201cIt\u2019s me,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s your wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dad blinked, confused, then looked at Sarah, who was pouring orange juice. \u201cAnd you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Sarah didn\u2019t flinch. She turned to him with a calm smile. \u201cHi,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m Sarah. I\u2019m your friend. I heard you know a lot about the ocean.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dad\u2019s face softened, curiosity replacing confusion. \u201cThe ocean,\u201d he repeated. \u201cNow that\u2019s something worth talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n

And just like that, Sarah took his hand and walked him to the back porch like she was guiding him into sunlight. She asked him about fish and currents and the way storms formed. Dad talked, animated, hands moving as if he could shape the water with his palms. He didn\u2019t remember her name, but he remembered how to be alive in a conversation.<\/p>\n

Later, when Dad was napping, Sarah and I sat on the porch swing listening to cicadas buzz in the trees.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was hard,\u201d Sarah said softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut also kind of beautiful,\u201d she added. \u201cEven when he doesn\u2019t remember who I am, he still lights up when I listen to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s love,\u201d I said. \u201cEven when memory fades, love stays.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah\u2019s gaze drifted to the yard. \u201cIs that why you keep trying with Uncle Mike?\u201d she asked. \u201cEven though he hurt us?\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of my brother\u2019s tired voice, his inability to choose conflict, his habit of smoothing everything over until it cracked. \u201cMaybe,\u201d I said. \u201cFamily love is complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah nodded slowly. \u201cGrandpa said something like that on the beach,\u201d she murmured. \u201cHe said you can\u2019t choose who you\u2019re related to, but you can choose how you love them.\u201d<\/p>\n

My throat tightened. \u201cHe said that?\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled. \u201cYeah. And then he said I make it easy.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we left that afternoon, Dad had another clear moment. He stood in the driveway and watched us load the car, and for a second his eyes sharpened like a camera lens.<\/p>\n

\u201cDrive safe,\u201d he told me. \u201cAnd bring Sarah Bear back soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will,\u201d I promised.<\/p>\n

Two days later, the answering machine light blinked when we walked into our house. I hit play.<\/p>\n

Jenny\u2019s voice spilled out, urgent. \u201cHey, call me back when you get this. There\u2019s been family drama.\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach clenched, because I could feel it before she even explained it: the ripple after the stone.<\/p>\n

I called her immediately.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt got worse,\u201d Jenny said. \u201cMelissa called Mom and accused her of playing favorites with Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no,\u201d I breathed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Jenny said. \u201cAnd she told Mike you\u2019re poisoning the family against her.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pinched the bridge of my nose. \u201cHow am I poisoning anyone by telling the truth?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMelissa doesn\u2019t do well with truth,\u201d Jenny said flatly. \u201cMom told her if she has a problem with love in this family, she should look at why it threatens her instead of trying to tear other people down.\u201d<\/p>\n

A fierce pride flared. \u201cGood,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut now Mike is asking everyone to just forget it and move on,\u201d Jenny added. \u201cLike if we all pretend hard enough, it\u2019ll disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at the wall, anger and sadness swirling. \u201cI\u2019m done pretending,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Sarah wandered into the kitchen mid-call and read my face. When I hung up, she asked, \u201cMore drama?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMore drama,\u201d I confirmed.<\/p>\n

She sighed. \u201cI hate that she keeps dragging this out,\u201d she said. Then, after a pause, \u201cBut\u2026 I\u2019m also kind of relieved.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRelieved?\u201d I echoed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d she said. \u201cNow we know where we stand. No more guessing if it\u2019s in my head.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her honesty hit me like a clean wind. She was right. Clarity, even painful clarity, was a kind of freedom.<\/p>\n

A week later, Jenny called again, and this time her voice was a whisper of shock.<\/p>\n

\u201cMike and Melissa are separating,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

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

I sank onto the couch. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMelissa moved out,\u201d Jenny said. \u201cMike says the beach house thing was the last straw. Apparently they\u2019ve been fighting for months.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of Melissa at the kitchen island, fingers twisting a glass, begging me not to tell. I thought of the way insecurity could corrode a marriage from the inside like saltwater in metal.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow are the kids?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot good,\u201d Jenny said. \u201cJessica\u2019s a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n

After I hung up, Sarah looked at me with wide eyes. \u201cIs it because of us?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said firmly. \u201cPeople don\u2019t split up because of one incident. If this is happening, it was already happening. We didn\u2019t create their problems.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah nodded, but I could see the guilt trying to creep in anyway, because she was the kind of kid who took responsibility for feelings that weren\u2019t hers.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d she said quietly, \u201cI\u2019m going to text Jessica.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I said. And when she walked away, I stared out the window at the late-summer sky and felt the strange ache of knowing that truth had consequences, even when truth was necessary.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part 5<\/h3>\n

\u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d Sarah said. \u201cI know this is a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a long pause, then Sarah murmured, \u201cNo, I don\u2019t hate your mom. I\u2019m\u2026 I\u2019m sad. I\u2019m sad she felt like she had to hurt people instead of dealing with her feelings.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another pause.<\/p>\n

Sarah\u2019s shoulders dropped, like she was taking the weight Jessica handed her and setting it down carefully. \u201cYou\u2019re not responsible for your parents\u2019 choices,\u201d she told her cousin. \u201cNone of this is your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

When she hung up, she came into the kitchen looking wrung out.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is she?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cConfused,\u201d Sarah said. \u201cShe said Mom\u2019s been complaining about our family for months. Like\u2026 planting this story that we think we\u2019re better than them.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt anger flare, hot and familiar. Then it cooled into something sad. \u201cThat must have been hard to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was,\u201d Sarah admitted. \u201cBut it also made sense. Like, it explains why Jessica sometimes got weird about my grades. She thought she had to defend herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah sat at the table and traced the wood grain with her fingertip. \u201cMom,\u201d she said after a moment, \u201cdo you think families can heal after stuff like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of my mother\u2019s steady hands, my father\u2019s slipping memory, Mike\u2019s avoidance, Melissa\u2019s jealousy. \u201cFamilies can heal,\u201d I said slowly. \u201cBut healing doesn\u2019t mean going back to how it was. It means becoming something new that can hold the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

The months that followed were quieter, but not easy. Mike moved into an apartment near his kids\u2019 school. Melissa moved back to her hometown to be close to her parents. Custody schedules were negotiated. Jessica started therapy, which made me want to cheer. The boys got moodier, and Jenny said Mike looked ten years older.<\/p>\n

Thanksgiving arrived with less fanfare than usual. Mom hosted anyway, because traditions were the ropes she used to keep us from drifting. Mike brought the kids. Melissa wasn\u2019t there. No one said her name at first, but her absence sat in the empty chair like a shadow.<\/p>\n

Sarah was the one who broke the tension, because she always was. She pulled Jessica into the kitchen and taught her how to make Grandma\u2019s fish tacos, laughing when they got tortillas too charred. The boys helped Dad carry napkins to the table, and Dad, on a rare clear stretch, told them stories about surfing in the seventies.<\/p>\n

After dinner, while the adults washed dishes, I found Sarah and Jessica on the back porch, wrapped in blankets, their heads bent together over the journal Sarah had given her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t realize how much stress it was,\u201d Jessica was saying, voice small. \u201cListening to Mom complain about everyone. Like it was my job to agree.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah nodded. \u201cThat\u2019s not a kid\u2019s job,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Jessica wiped her face. \u201cYou\u2019re not what she said you were,\u201d she admitted. \u201cYou don\u2019t act like you\u2019re better than me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah\u2019s eyes softened. \u201cI don\u2019t want to be better,\u201d she said. \u201cI just want to be me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Christmas was at my house that year, small and bright. Mom and Dad came early. Dad had more confused moments than clear ones, but he still smiled when Sarah played old Motown songs on my phone and danced with him in the living room, guiding his hands like a slow waltz.<\/p>\n

Mike arrived with the kids. He looked tired, but when he saw Sarah, he said her name like it mattered. \u201cHey, kiddo,\u201d he said, and there was an apology in his eyes that he didn\u2019t have words for yet.<\/p>\n

After everyone left and the wrapping paper was bagged up, Sarah and I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted in the way only good holidays could make you.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad this happened,\u201d she said suddenly.<\/p>\n

I turned, startled. \u201cThe divorce?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said quickly. \u201cThat\u2019s sad. I mean\u2026 everything coming out. The truth. Because now I know it wasn\u2019t me. I wasn\u2019t imagining it. And I know who shows up for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pulled her into a hug, and she clung tight for a second, not like a child, but like a young woman choosing connection.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Spring came. Dad had a bad stretch where he forgot my name entirely, but he still remembered \u201cSarah Bear\u201d often enough to make my mother cry with gratitude. Sarah finished her senior year like a storm\u2014honors cords, scholarship letters, college acceptance emails she printed out and taped to her wall like proof that the future was real.<\/p>\n

On graduation day, the gym smelled like sweat and perfume and the sharp ink of programs. Sarah sat in the front row in a cap that kept slipping over her eyes, a braid tucked under the elastic. When they called her name for valedictorian, the whole room erupted.<\/p>\n

I watched my father in the bleachers. His gaze wavered, searching faces, but when Sarah stepped up to the microphone, his eyes locked on her like a compass finding north.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy family taught me something this year,\u201d Sarah said, her voice steady. \u201cThat love is not proven by perfection. It\u2019s proven by presence. By showing up. By making room for each other even when it\u2019s messy.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I felt tears slide down my cheeks. Across the aisle, Mom dabbed at her eyes. Mike stared at his shoes, jaw clenched in emotion he didn\u2019t know how to name. Jessica filmed the whole speech, whispering, \u201cGo, Sarah,\u201d like a prayer.<\/p>\n

Afterward, Dad hugged Sarah with shaking hands. \u201cThat\u2019s my girl,\u201d he said, voice thick. \u201cSmartest person in the family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe gets it from herself,\u201d Mom replied, and Dad laughed like he understood.<\/p>\n

That fall, Sarah left for college on a full scholarship. The day we moved her into the dorm, she hugged me so hard my ribs protested. \u201cCall me every Sunday,\u201d I demanded, half-joking, half-serious.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d she promised.<\/p>\n

And she did. Every Sunday, she called and told me about classes and new friends and the campus counseling center where she\u2019d gotten a work-study job. She\u2019d switched her major from marine biology to psychology, because, as she put it, \u201cI keep thinking about how people get stuck in stories that hurt them.\u201d<\/p>\n

One Sunday near finals, she said, \u201cMom, do you ever think Aunt Melissa will regret it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think she already does,\u201d I admitted. \u201cRegret just doesn\u2019t always turn into repair.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah was quiet. \u201cIf she ever reaches out,\u201d she said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to punish her forever. I just want\u2026 accountability.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s fair,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

A week later, a letter arrived in my mailbox with unfamiliar handwriting. No return address. My hands went cold as I opened it.<\/p>\n

It was from Melissa.<\/p>\n

The words were careful, uneven, like someone learning a new language. She didn\u2019t excuse what she\u2019d done. She didn\u2019t blame Sarah. She wrote about fear and failure and the way comparison had poisoned her. She wrote that she was starting therapy \u201cbecause my daughter deserves a mother who doesn\u2019t make love into a contest.\u201d She wrote that she was sorry\u2014truly sorry\u2014that Sarah had slept on a bench because of her.<\/p>\n

At the bottom, she didn\u2019t ask for forgiveness. She asked for a chance to do better, someday, if we were willing.<\/p>\n

I read it twice, then handed it to Sarah on a video call.<\/p>\n

Sarah\u2019s eyes moved over the page slowly. When she finished, she let out a long breath. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2026 something,\u201d she said, voice soft.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is,\u201d I agreed.<\/p>\n

Sarah looked up at me through the screen, her face older now in the light of dorm life and independence. \u201cTell her thank you,\u201d she said. \u201cTell her I\u2019m glad she\u2019s getting help. And tell her\u2026 I\u2019m not ready to be close, but I\u2019m open to a future where we\u2019re not enemies.\u201d<\/p>\n

My throat tightened. \u201cOkay,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

After the call ended, I sat in my quiet kitchen and thought about airports and beach houses and the fragile miracle of good days. I thought about my father\u2019s fading memory and my daughter\u2019s expanding world. I thought about my brother learning, slowly, how to choose truth over comfort.<\/p>\n

That summer, Sarah came home for a weekend and insisted we drive up to see Grandma and Grandpa. Dad didn\u2019t know my name that day, but when Sarah knelt beside his recliner and said, \u2018Hi, Grandpa, it\u2019s Sarah Bear,\u2019 his face unfolded into a smile. He told her, haltingly, that the ocean was still out there doing its patient work, smoothing sharp things into shells. Mom watched from the doorway, tears shining, and Mike helped set the table without being asked. We ate peach cobbler and listened to Dad hum along to an old song he couldn\u2019t title. On the drive back, Sarah said, \u2018This is what I want my life to be\u2014showing up, even when it hurts, even when it\u2019s inconvenient, even when nobody claps.\u2019 And I believed her.<\/p>\n

My phone buzzed with a text from Sarah: Just wanted to say I love you. Thank you for always coming to get me.<\/p>\n

I typed back: I love you too, sweetheart. Count on it.<\/p>\n

And for the first time since that Thursday morning, the words didn\u2019t feel like a promise made in desperation. They felt like the steady heartbeat of our family, rebuilt around what mattered most: showing up, telling the truth, and refusing to leave anyone alone on a bench ever again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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

Part4 Home loked the same when we pulled into the driveway\u2014same crooked mailbox, same hydrangeas half-dead from the heat\u2014but I didn\u2019t. Something in me had shifted on that beach, like … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18],"class_list":["post-572","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-story","tag-aita","tag-diamond-ring","tag-diamonds","tag-engagement","tag-engagement-ring","tag-fiance","tag-fiancee","tag-lab-grown-diamonds","tag-photo","tag-picture","tag-reddit","tag-relationships","tag-top","tag-wedding"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/572","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=572"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/572\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":573,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/572\/revisions\/573"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=572"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=572"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=572"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}