PART 2 \u2014 THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
\nMargaret\u2019s face went completely white.
\nFor several seconds, neither of us moved.
\nThen she whispered the last thing I expected to hear.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re Michael\u2019s wife.\u201d
\nIt wasn\u2019t a question.
\nShe knew exactly who I was.
\nA cold sensation crawled up my spine.
\n\u201cYou know me?\u201d
\nMargaret gripped the edge of the door.
\n\u201cI know who you are.\u201d
\n\u201cHow?\u201d
\nHer eyes dropped to the folder tucked beneath my arm.
\nThe moment she saw it, something changed in her expression.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Fear.
\nNot guilt.
\nNot embarrassment.
\nFear.
\n\u201cHe kept them,\u201d she whispered.
\nI looked down at the folder.
\n\u201cThe rent receipts?\u201d
\nMargaret closed her eyes.
\n\u201cI told him to destroy everything.\u201d
\nMy stomach tightened.
\n\u201cMichael is dead.\u201d
\nHer eyes snapped open.
\nFor the first time, she looked genuinely shocked.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cHe died five weeks ago.\u201d
\nMargaret covered her mouth.
\nShe stumbled backward as though someone had struck her.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nHer voice cracked.
\n\u201cNo, no, no.\u201d
\nShe turned away from me, pressing both hands against her face.
\nI stood frozen on the porch.
\nThis woman\u2014this woman I had spent the entire drive imagining as my husband\u2019s secret lover\u2014was crying.
\nNot dramatically.
\nNot performatively.
\nShe was trying desperately not to make a sound.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
And somehow, that frightened me more.
\n\u201cMargaret,\u201d I said, \u201cI need answers.\u201d
\nShe slowly lowered her hands.
\n\u201cHow did he die?\u201d
\n\u201cCancer.\u201d
\nHer shoulders dropped.
\n\u201cHe never told me.\u201d
\n\u201cSo you were still in contact?\u201d
\nMargaret hesitated.
\nThen she nodded.
\n\u201cOnce a year.\u201d
\nMy stomach twisted.
\n\u201cFor twenty-seven years?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nI stepped into the doorway.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat exactly were you to my husband?\u201d
\nMargaret looked directly at me.
\n\u201cNot what you think.\u201d
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know what I think.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, I do.\u201d
\nShe wiped her eyes.
\n\u201cYou think Michael was sleeping with me.\u201d
\nI said nothing.
\nMargaret shook her head.
\n\u201cHe never touched me.\u201d
\n\u201cThen why did he pay your rent for twenty-seven years?\u201d
\nHer mouth tightened.
\n\u201cBecause he made a promise.\u201d
\n\u201cTo you?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nShe looked past me toward the street.
\n\u201cTo someone who isn\u2019t here anymore.\u201d
\nI stared at her.
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\nInstead of answering, Margaret stepped aside.
\n\u201cYou should come in.\u201d
\nEvery instinct told me not to.
\nBut I had driven three hours for the truth.
\nI wasn\u2019t leaving without it.
\nThe inside of Margaret\u2019s house was modest but spotless.
\nOld furniture.
\nFaded curtains.
\nFamily photographs covered one wall.
\nI glanced at them automatically.
\nThen I stopped.
\nThere were pictures of Margaret when she was younger.
\nPictures of a little girl.
\nPictures of the same girl growing into a teenager.
\nThen a young woman.
\nThen a bride.
\nThen photographs of two children.
\nMy eyes moved from one frame to another.
\nNothing seemed unusual.
\nUntil I noticed a photograph sitting alone on a small shelf.
\nIt showed Margaret, perhaps thirty years younger, standing beside another woman.
\nI knew that woman too.
\nMy knees nearly buckled.
\n\u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d
\nMargaret followed my gaze.
\nShe didn\u2019t answer.
\nI walked toward the photograph.
\nThe woman beside Margaret had dark hair, a wide smile, and a small birthmark near her left eyebrow.
\nI hadn\u2019t seen her face in decades.
\nBut I remembered her.
\nHer name was Rebecca Hayes.
\nAnd she had been my best friend in college.
\nRebecca had disappeared when we were twenty-eight.
\nHer car had been found near a river.
\nHer purse was inside.
\nSo were her shoes.
\nPolice searched for weeks.
\nNo body was ever recovered.
\nEventually, everyone assumed she had drowned.
\nI attended her memorial.
\nMichael stood beside me the entire time.
\nI turned slowly toward Margaret.
\n\u201cYou knew Rebecca?\u201d
\nMargaret nodded.
\n\u201cShe was my sister.\u201d
\nThe room seemed to tilt.
\n\u201cRebecca never told me she had a sister.\u201d
\n\u201cShe had reasons.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat reasons?\u201d
\nMargaret walked to the sofa and sat down.
\n\u201cBecause our family was complicated.\u201d
\nI remained standing.
\n\u201cComplicated enough to fake your death?\u201d
\nMargaret looked up sharply.
\n\u201cYou remember me?\u201d
\n\u201cI met you once.\u201d
\nThe memory was coming back in fragments.
\nA summer barbecue.
\nRebecca introducing a woman she called Maggie.
\nMichael had been there too.
\nA few months later, Rebecca told me Margaret had died in an accident overseas.
\nI never questioned it.
\nWhy would I?
\n\u201cRebecca told me you were dead.\u201d
\nMargaret nodded.
\n\u201cShe needed you to believe that.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause I was hiding.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom whom?\u201d
\nMargaret looked toward the front window.
\nEven after nearly three decades, she seemed afraid someone might be listening.
\n\u201cMy husband.\u201d
\nI frowned.
\n\u201cYou were married?\u201d
\n\u201cHis name was Daniel.\u201d
\nHer fingers began trembling.
\n\u201cHe was charming when I met him. Everyone loved him. But after we married, he changed.\u201d
\nMargaret swallowed.
\n\u201cHe controlled everything. My money. My phone calls. Where I went. Who I saw.\u201d
\nShe looked at the photograph.
\n\u201cRebecca tried to help me leave him.\u201d
\nMy anger began giving way to confusion.
\n\u201cWhat does any of this have to do with Michael?\u201d
\n\u201cEverything.\u201d
\nMargaret stood and walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
\nShe opened a drawer and removed a small metal box.
\nThen she placed it on the coffee table.
\n\u201cTwenty-eight years ago, Rebecca called Michael in the middle of the night.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy Michael?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause he was the only person she trusted who had the resources to help.\u201d
\nThat sentence bothered me.
\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t she call me?\u201d
\nMargaret looked at me sadly.
\n\u201cBecause you had three young children.\u201d
\nI felt something tighten in my chest.
\nOur youngest, Emily, had been barely four.
\n\u201cRebecca believed involving you would put your family at risk.\u201d
\n\u201cAt risk from Daniel?\u201d
\nMargaret nodded.
\n\u201cShe told Michael that if anything happened, he was never to tell you.\u201d
\nI almost laughed from disbelief.
\n\u201cSo my best friend and my husband decided what I was allowed to know?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m not saying it was right.\u201d
\n\u201cThen what are you saying?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m saying they were terrified.\u201d
\nMargaret opened the metal box.
\nInside were letters.
\nDozens of them.
\nSome yellowed with age.
\nShe picked up the oldest envelope and handed it to me.
\nMy name was written across the front.
\nI recognized the handwriting immediately.
\nRebecca\u2019s.
\nMy hands started shaking.
\n\u201cThis is impossible.\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s voice softened.
\n\u201cShe wrote it three days before she disappeared.\u201d
\nI stared at the envelope.
\n\u201cTo Susan.\u201d
\nMy name.
\nWritten by a woman I had mourned for nearly thirty years.
\n\u201cWhy do you have this?\u201d
\n\u201cMichael gave it to me.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cTwenty-seven years ago.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t he give it to me?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause Rebecca told him not to.\u201d
\nAnger exploded through me.
\n\u201cShe was my best friend!\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd Michael was my husband!\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cThen stop telling me what they wanted and tell me what happened!\u201d
\nMargaret flinched.
\nSilence filled the room.
\nFinally, she whispered, \u201cRebecca helped me disappear.\u201d
\nI stared at her.
\n\u201cThe story about my death was intentional. Daniel believed it. That was the point.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd Michael helped?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWith money?\u201d
\n\u201cAt first.\u201d
\nMargaret nodded toward the folder I had brought.
\n\u201cThen with the rent.\u201d
\n\u201cFor twenty-seven years?\u201d
\n\u201cI tried to stop him many times.\u201d
\n\u201cApparently not very hard.\u201d
\nMargaret accepted the bitterness without arguing.
\n\u201cHe said the money wasn\u2019t charity.\u201d
\n\u201cThen what was it?\u201d
\nHer expression changed.
\n\u201cHe said it was repayment.\u201d
\nI froze.
\n\u201cRepayment for what?\u201d
\nMargaret looked toward Rebecca\u2019s photograph.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s the part you\u2019re not going to want to hear.\u201d
\nI felt suddenly cold.
\n\u201cWhat did Michael owe Rebecca?\u201d
\nMargaret didn\u2019t answer immediately.
\nInstead, she removed another envelope from the metal box.
\nThis one wasn\u2019t addressed to me.
\nIt was addressed to Michael.
\nThe date on the front was from two days before Rebecca disappeared.
\nMargaret handed it to me.
\n\u201cRead that one first.\u201d
\nI unfolded the letter.
\nThere were only a few paragraphs.
\nI read the first.
\nThen the second.
\nBy the third, I had stopped breathing.
\nRebecca had written:
\nMichael,
\nIf Daniel discovers what we did, Margaret will never be safe. I need you to keep your promise. If I cannot protect her, you will.
\nBut there was another sentence underneath.
\nOne that made my hands begin to shake.
\nAnd if something happens to me, Susan can never know you were there that night.
\nI looked up.
\n\u201cWhat night?\u201d
\nMargaret said nothing.
\n\u201cWhat happened that night?\u201d
\nShe stared at me with tears in her eyes.
\n\u201cThe night before Rebecca disappeared.\u201d
\nMy heart began pounding.
\n\u201cMichael was with her?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nI dropped the letter onto the table.
\nFor twenty-eight years, I had believed my husband had been home that night.
\nI remembered it clearly.
\nMichael had come through our bedroom door shortly after midnight.
\nI had been half asleep.
\nHe told me he had been helping a friend whose car had broken down.
\nI never questioned him.
\nThe next morning, Rebecca was gone.
\nI looked at Margaret.
\n\u201cWhat happened between them?\u201d
\n\u201cNothing romantic.\u201d
\n\u201cThen tell me.\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s eyes filled with fear again.
\n\u201cThere was an argument.\u201d
\n\u201cBetween Michael and Rebecca?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cThen who?\u201d
\n\u201cDaniel found us.\u201d
\nMy mouth went dry.
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cAt Rebecca\u2019s cabin.\u201d
\nI remembered the cabin.
\nHer parents had owned a small place outside town.
\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d
\nMargaret pressed her palms together.
\n\u201cRebecca had arranged everything. New identification. Cash. A place for me to stay. Michael drove me there because Daniel knew my car.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd Daniel followed you?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did he do?\u201d
\n\u201cHe broke in.\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s voice became smaller.
\n\u201cHe had a gun.\u201d
\nI stopped breathing.
\n\u201cMichael fought him.\u201d
\nThe room suddenly felt too warm.
\n\u201cAnd Rebecca?\u201d
\nMargaret looked down.
\n\u201cShe saved us.\u201d
\nThose three words hung between us.
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\nMargaret began crying again.
\n\u201cDaniel pointed the gun at Michael.\u201d
\nShe wiped her cheek.
\n\u201cRebecca grabbed him from behind.\u201d
\nMy chest tightened.
\n\u201cThe gun went off.\u201d
\nI whispered, \u201cWho was shot?\u201d
\nMargaret looked directly into my eyes.
\n\u201cDaniel.\u201d
\nI sat down.
\nFor several seconds, I couldn\u2019t speak.
\n\u201cDid he die?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nMy heart hammered.
\n\u201cThen where was the body?\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s silence answered before her words did.
\nI stood.
\n\u201cOh God.\u201d
\n\u201cSusan\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did they do?\u201d
\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t planned.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did they do with him?\u201d
\n\u201cRebecca panicked. Michael panicked. We all did.\u201d
\nMargaret covered her face.
\n\u201cThey knew the police would investigate everything. My disappearance. The fake documents. The money. And Rebecca believed nobody would accept that the shooting was accidental.\u201d
\n\u201cSo they hid his body?\u201d
\nMargaret slowly nodded.
\nI felt nauseated.
\n\u201cMy husband helped hide a dead man?\u201d
\n\u201cHe helped save my life.\u201d
\n\u201cThat doesn\u2019t erase what happened afterward!\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nMargaret looked at me.
\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t.\u201d
\nI walked toward the window, trying to breathe.
\nMichael.
\nMy careful, responsible Michael.
\nThe man who lectured our children about telling the truth.
\nThe man who returned extra change when cashiers made mistakes.
\nThe man I trusted more than anyone alive.
\nHe had carried this secret for almost thirty years.
\nThen another realization struck me.
\n\u201cIf Daniel was dead, why did you need to remain hidden?\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s expression became unreadable.
\n\u201cBecause Daniel wasn\u2019t the reason Rebecca disappeared.\u201d
\nI turned around.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nMargaret stood slowly.
\n\u201cThe police finding Rebecca\u2019s car at the river\u2026 that wasn\u2019t part of our plan.\u201d
\nA chill went through me.
\n\u201cThen what happened to her?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nI stared at her.
\n\u201cYou just said you were there.\u201d
\n\u201cI was there the night Daniel died.\u201d
\n\u201cBut Rebecca disappeared the next day.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere did she go?\u201d
\nMargaret shook her head.
\n\u201cShe was supposed to meet me two days later.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd?\u201d
\n\u201cShe never came.\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t move.
\n\u201cMichael searched for her.\u201d
\n\u201cFor how long?\u201d
\n\u201cYears.\u201d
\nThat word nearly broke me.
\n\u201cYears?\u201d
\n\u201cHe never believed she drowned.\u201d
\nMargaret opened the metal box again.
\nThis time, she removed a photograph.
\nShe handed it to me.
\nIt was Rebecca.
\nOlder.
\nMuch older.
\nMy heart stopped.
\nThe photograph couldn\u2019t possibly have been taken before her disappearance.
\nRebecca looked at least fifty.
\nOn the back was a handwritten date.
\nFourteen years ago.
\nI stared at Margaret.
\n\u201cWhere did Michael get this?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cHe brought it here?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cFourteen years ago.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s eyes met mine.
\n\u201cHe said someone mailed it to his office.\u201d
\nI flipped the photograph over again.
\nThere was something written beneath the date.
\nThree words.
\nHE STILL KNOWS.
\nI looked at Margaret.
\n\u201cWho still knows?\u201d
\n\u201cI never found out.\u201d
\nSuddenly, I understood why Michael had kept the folder.
\nThe receipts weren\u2019t evidence of an affair.
\nThey were a trail.
\nA record.
\nMaybe even insurance.
\nI looked again at Rebecca\u2019s older face.
\nFor almost thirty years, I had believed my best friend was dead.
\nApparently Michael had discovered evidence that she wasn\u2019t.
\nAnd he never told me.
\n\u201cIs she alive?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cDid Michael ever find her?\u201d
\nMargaret shook her head.
\n\u201cNot that he told me.\u201d
\nSomething about the way she said it bothered me.
\n\u201cWhat aren\u2019t you telling me?\u201d
\nMargaret looked away.
\n\u201cMargaret.\u201d
\nShe remained silent.
\nI stepped closer.
\n\u201cMy husband is dead. Rebecca may be alive. There is no reason to protect him anymore.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m not protecting Michael.\u201d
\n\u201cThen who are you protecting?\u201d
\nHer eyes returned to mine.
\n\u201cYou.\u201d
\nA chill traveled down my arms.
\n\u201cFrom what?\u201d
\nMargaret looked at the folder beneath my arm.
\n\u201cDid you go through everything in Michael\u2019s office?\u201d
\n\u201cMost of it.\u201d
\n\u201cDid you find a key?\u201d
\nI frowned.
\n\u201cWhat key?\u201d
\n\u201cA small brass key. Number 214.\u201d
\nI remembered immediately.
\nThere had been a key taped beneath Michael\u2019s desk drawer.
\nI had found it that morning and dropped it into my purse.
\nSlowly, I reached inside.
\nWhen Margaret saw it, all the color drained from her face.
\n\u201cYou have it.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat does it open?\u201d
\nShe didn\u2019t answer.
\n\u201cMargaret.\u201d
\nHer voice dropped almost to a whisper.
\n\u201cA storage locker.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cBack in your city.\u201d
\nMy heart began racing again.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s inside?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cYou expect me to believe that?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, because Michael never let me see it.\u201d
\n\u201cThen how do you know about it?\u201d
\nMargaret looked toward the photograph of Rebecca.
\n\u201cBecause fourteen years ago, when that picture arrived, Michael called me.\u201d
\nShe paused.
\n\u201cHe said if anything ever happened to him, I should tell you about locker 214.\u201d
\nMy throat tightened.
\n\u201cHe specifically mentioned me?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d
\nMargaret\u2019s eyes filled with tears.
\n\u201cHe said, \u2018Susan will hate me when she learns the truth. But she deserves to know what happened to Rebecca.\u2019\u201d
\nI stared at the brass key in my palm.
\nFor the first time since Michael died, grief wasn\u2019t the strongest emotion inside me.
\nIt was fear.
\nI closed my fingers around the key.
\n\u201cWhere is the storage facility?\u201d
\nMargaret wrote the address on a piece of paper.
\nBefore I left, she grabbed my wrist.
\n\u201cSusan.\u201d
\nI turned.
\n\u201cIf you open that locker and find what I think you\u2019re going to find\u2026 don\u2019t call the police immediately.\u201d
\nI stared at her.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\nHer fingers tightened around my wrist.
\n\u201cBecause somebody has spent twenty-eight years making sure Rebecca stays dead.\u201d
\nI pulled my hand away.
\nThree hours later, I was back in my city.
\nThe storage facility sat behind an industrial park on the edge of town.
\nI found locker 214 at the end of a narrow corridor.
\nMy hands trembled as I inserted Michael\u2019s key.
\nThe lock clicked.
\nI lifted the metal door.
\nInside were six cardboard boxes, an old suitcase, and a small wooden table.
\nOn the table sat a cassette recorder.
\nBeside it was an envelope.
\nMy name was written across the front.
\nNot in Rebecca\u2019s handwriting.
\nIn Michael\u2019s.
\nI tore it open.
\nInside was one sheet of paper.
\nSusan,
\nIf you are reading this, then I\u2019m gone, and you found Margaret.
\nI am sorry.
\nI should have told you years ago.
\nBut I was afraid that telling you would put you in danger.
\nThere is something you need to understand before you listen to the tape.
\nRebecca did not disappear because of Daniel.
\nShe disappeared because of me.
\nMy knees weakened.
\nI grabbed the edge of the table.
\nThere was one final sentence.
\nAnd Susan, before you judge me, look inside the blue suitcase.
\nI slowly turned toward the suitcase.
\nIt was old, faded, and secured with two metal clasps.
\nI knelt beside it.
\nFor several seconds, I couldn\u2019t bring myself to touch it.
\nThen I opened it.
\nThere were clothes inside.
\nWomen\u2019s clothes.
\nA passport.
\nA stack of photographs.
\nAnd beneath them, wrapped carefully in a yellowed towel, was a necklace.
\nI recognized it immediately.
\nI had given that necklace to Rebecca for her twenty-fifth birthday.
\nBut that wasn\u2019t what made my blood run cold.
\nThere was something else beneath it.
\nA newspaper clipping.
\nI unfolded it.
\nThe headline was dated eleven years after Rebecca supposedly died.
\nLOCAL WOMAN KILLED IN HIGHWAY COLLISION.
\nThere was a photograph beneath the headline.
\nThe woman in the photograph was a stranger.
\nBut someone had circled her face in red ink.
\nBeside it, Michael had written:
\nTHIS IS THE WOMAN WHO WAS BURIED AS REBECCA.
\nI stared at those words until they blurred.
\nThen the cassette recorder clicked.
\nI hadn\u2019t touched it.
\nI spun around.
\nA tiny red light had appeared.
\nAnd from the speaker came Michael\u2019s voice.
\n\u201cSusan, if you\u2019re hearing this, I need you to know two things. Rebecca is alive\u2026 and the person who helped her disappear is someone you still invite into your home.\u201d
\nThen the tape stopped……………..<\/p>\n
PART 2 \u2014 THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD Margaret\u2019s face went completely white. For several seconds, neither of us moved. Then she whispered the last thing I … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5199,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6955","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955","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=6955"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6962,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955\/revisions\/6962"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6955"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6955"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6955"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}