My mother had known there would be twins.
\nThat thought followed me all the way to St. Matthew’s Hospital.
\nClaire drove.
\nLuke sat beside me.
\nNobody spoke.
\nThe abandoned hospital appeared through the rain like a ghost.
\nHalf the windows were boarded.
\nThe old emergency sign hung crooked above the entrance.
\nLuke reached for the door handle.
\nI grabbed his wrist.
\n“If anything happens, you stay behind me.”
\n“Mom\u2014”
\n“I mean it.”
\n“Ben is my brother.”
\n“And you’re my son.”
\nHe looked at me.
\n“So is he.”
\nThose three words nearly broke me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Yes.
\nBen was my son too.
\nAnd whatever happened inside that hospital, I was leaving with both of them.
\nWe entered through a side door Mercer had left unlocked.
\nThe building smelled of mildew and dust.
\nOur phone flashlights swept across peeling walls.
\nRoom 301.
\n305.
\n309.
\nThen we reached the third-floor corridor.
\nLuke stopped.
\n“Mom?”
\nI already knew.
\nRoom 317 was at the end.
\nThe green door from my memory was still there.
\nClaire whispered, “Sarah, maybe we should call the police.”
\n“I already did.”
\nLuke looked at me.
\n“When?”
\n“In the car.”
\nMercer had told me not to.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I no longer cared.
\nI had spent eighteen years living inside other people’s instructions.
\nDaniel’s.
\nClaire’s.
\nMy mother’s.
\nMercer’s.
\nNo more.
\n“I sent them the address, the storage unit number, photographs of Daniel’s letter, and told them Ben may have been abducted.”
\nClaire stared at me.
\nMercer had demanded secrecy.
\nBut secrecy was the reason we were here.
\nI wasn’t giving him another minute of it.
\nLuke almost smiled.
\n“Good.”
\nThen a voice came from Room 317.
\n“Sarah.”
\nMercer.
\nI pushed open the door.
\nThe room was lit by a battery lantern.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ben sat in a chair near the wall.
\nHis hands weren’t tied.
\nHe wasn’t bleeding.
\nHe looked terrified, but alive.
\nLuke ran to him.
\n“Ben!”
\nThey grabbed each other.
\nFor one second, nothing else mattered.
\nThen I saw the man standing beside the window.
\nDr. Mercer.
\nOlder than the photograph.
\nWhite hair.
\nThin face.
\nSame eyes.
\n“Let them leave,” I said.
\n“They can leave whenever they want.”
\nBen snapped, “You locked the downstairs door.”
\nMercer shrugged.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Because I needed Sarah to come.”
\nClaire rushed to Ben.
\nHe recoiled.
\n“Don’t.”
\nHer face collapsed.
\n“Ben\u2014”
\n“I know.”
\nShe froze.
\n“I know she’s my biological mother.”
\nHe pointed at me.
\nClaire began crying.
\n“I’m sorry.”
\nBen looked at her for a long moment.
\nThen he said quietly:
\n“You’re still the woman who raised me.”
\nClaire covered her mouth.
\n“But you lied to me every day.”
\nShe nodded.
\n“I know.”
\n“We’ll talk about that later.”
\nLater.
\nOne word.
\nBut Claire seemed to hear the mercy inside it.
\nI faced Mercer.
\n“Where is Emily?”
\nMercer studied me.
\n“You remember her?”
\n“I remember holding her.”
\n“Good.”
\n“WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?”
\nHe walked toward an old cabinet.
\nLuke stepped in front of me.
\nMercer stopped.
\n“You really are Daniel’s son.”
\nLuke glared at him.
\n“Which one?”
\nMercer smiled sadly.
\n“Both of you.”
\nLuke didn’t move.
\nMercer opened the cabinet and removed a box.
\nInside were old medical records.
\nHe placed one on the bed.
\nEMILY MILLER.
\nMy hands shook.
\nI opened it.
\nBirth date.
\nWeight.
\nAPGAR scores.
\nMy daughter’s first cry had been documented.
\nShe had lived.
\n“You told me she died.”
\n“No,” Mercer said. “Your mother told you.”
\n“Why?”
\n“Because Emily was born with a rare inherited blood abnormality.”
\nLuke frowned.
\n“The genetic marker?”
\nMercer nodded.
\n“The marker itself wasn’t dangerous. But at the time, it was extremely unusual. Your mother became convinced it proved something about your family.”
\n“What?”
\n“That the condition came through her bloodline.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“That’s what all of this was about? A medical condition?”
\n“At first.”
\nMy anger rose.
\n“You stole my daughter over a blood test?”
\n“I didn’t steal her.”
\n“Then who did?”
\nMercer looked at the door.
\n“Your mother.”
\nThe room went silent.
\n“Why?”
\n“Because she was terrified.”
\n“Of what?”
\n“Of history repeating itself.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“What history?”
\nMercer sat down.
\n“Your mother had a twin sister.”
\nI blinked.
\n“No.”
\n“Her name was Margaret.”
\n“My mother was an only child.”
\n“That’s what she told you.”
\nHe opened another folder.
\nTwo infant girls.
\nSame birthday.
\nSame parents.
\nMy mother’s name.
\nAnd Margaret’s.
\nMercer continued.
\n“Margaret was born with the same marker Emily had.”
\n“What happened to her?”
\n“She died young from an unrelated illness. But your grandmother became convinced the marker was a curse.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“That’s insane.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“Then why did you help my mother?”
\nHis expression hardened.
\n“I was young. Arrogant. Your mother funded research at the hospital. She convinced me that studying the marker could prevent disease.”
\n“You experimented on my daughter?”
\n“No.”
\n“Don’t lie to me.”
\n“I monitored her.”
\n“Without my permission.”
\n“Yes.”
\nMy hands curled into fists.
\nMercer looked ashamed.
\n“That is something I will answer for.”
\n“Where is Emily?”
\nHe didn’t answer.
\nI stepped closer.
\n“Where is she?”
\n“Alive.”
\nMy knees weakened.
\nLuke grabbed my arm.
\n“Alive?”
\nMercer nodded.
\n“She’s thirty now.”
\nA sound escaped my throat.
\nNot quite a cry.
\nNot quite a laugh.
\nMy daughter.
\nAlive.
\nThirty years old.
\n“Where?”
\n“Safe.”
\n“WHERE?”
\nMercer looked toward the hallway.
\nThen footsteps sounded outside.
\nSlow.
\nDeliberate.
\nA woman appeared in the doorway.
\nShe was around thirty.
\nDark hair.
\nMy eyes.
\nDaniel’s chin.
\nAnd around her neck was a tiny silver locket.
\nI knew it.
\nI had bought it while pregnant.
\nAn E engraved on the front.
\nMy mother told me it had been buried with Emily.
\nThe woman looked at me.
\nNeither of us spoke.
\nThen she whispered:
\n“Hello, Sarah.”
\nMy heart shattered.
\n“Emily?”
\nHer eyes filled with tears.
\n“I go by Emma now.”
\nI couldn’t move.
\nEvery instinct screamed to run to her.
\nBut I didn’t know whether I had the right.
\n“You knew?” I asked.
\n“Not everything.”
\n“How long?”
\n“Since I was sixteen.”
\n“Who raised you?”
\n“My grandmother.”
\nMy mother.
\nI nearly collapsed.
\n“She told you she was your grandmother?”
\n“No.”
\nEmma’s voice trembled.
\n“She told me she was my mother.”
\nI covered my mouth.
\nLuke whispered, “Oh my God.”
\nEmma looked at him.
\nThen Ben.
\n“My brothers.”
\nNeither boy knew what to say.
\nEmma smiled through tears.
\n“I’ve seen pictures.”
\nI looked at Mercer.
\n“You knew where she was all these years.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“Daniel knew?”
\nMercer hesitated.
\n“Eventually.”
\nThat hurt almost as much as everything else.
\n“When?”
\n“When the twins were born.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“That’s why Daniel panicked.”
\nMercer nodded.
\n“Daniel discovered Emily was alive while you were in labor.”
\nMemories slammed into me.
\nDaniel crying.
\nThe bracelet.
\nThe argument in the hallway.
\nWhich baby?
\nMy mother whispering:
\nIf there are two, Sarah, you must never let them grow up together.
\nMercer continued.
\n“Your mother came to the hospital when you went into labor. She had been secretly monitoring your pregnancy.”
\n“Why?”
\n“Because ultrasound records suggested twins, and she was terrified one of them might carry the same marker.”
\nLuke whispered, “One of us does.”
\nMercer nodded.
\nBen stared at him.
\n“Which one?”
\nMercer looked at the boys.
\n“Neither.”
\nSilence.
\nLuke blinked.
\n“What?”
\n“Neither of you carries it.”
\nI stared at Mercer.
\n“But Daniel’s letter\u2014”
\n“Daniel didn’t know.”
\n“Then why did he keep testing them?”
\n“Because your mother lied to him.”
\nI suddenly understood.
\n“She told him one of the boys had it.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“Why?”
\n“To keep them separated.”
\nClaire whispered, “Oh my God.”
\nMercer nodded.
\n“Your mother believed twins should never remain together if the marker appeared anywhere in the family.”
\n“Because of Margaret?”
\n“Because of guilt.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“What guilt?”
\nMercer looked at Emma.
\nEmma answered.
\n“Margaret didn’t die from an illness.”
\nI felt cold.
\n“What happened?”
\n“My grandmother told me before she died.”
\nEmma took a breath.
\n“When she and Margaret were seventeen, they were in a car accident.”
\nI waited.
\n“Your mother was driving.”
\nMy chest tightened.
\n“Margaret died.”
\nEmma nodded.
\n“Your mother survived.”
\nMercer continued.
\n“She spent her entire life connecting unrelated events to being a twin. Survivor’s guilt became obsession. Then Emily’s marker gave that obsession a medical disguise.”
\nI stared at the floor.
\nThirty years of pain.
\nEighteen years of lies.
\nNot because of a curse.
\nNot because my children were dangerous.
\nBecause one frightened woman had never forgiven herself.
\n“Why did Daniel give Ben to Claire?”
\nMercer looked at her.
\nClaire answered.
\n“Daniel had just learned Emily was alive.”
\nI turned toward her.
\n“He didn’t know who to trust.”
\n“He trusted you enough to give you my baby.”
\nHer eyes filled.
\n“He knew I’d lost Daniel’s child.”
\nLuke looked away.
\nClaire continued.
\n“Daniel believed your mother might take one of the twins the way she had taken Emily.”
\n“So he hid one.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“With you.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“And changed his identity using your dead baby’s records.”
\nClaire nodded.
\nI wanted to hate her.
\nPart of me did.
\nBut another part saw an eighteen-year-old Ben running through our yard.
\nClaire cheering at his baseball games.
\nClaire sitting beside his bed when he had pneumonia.
\nShe had participated in something unforgivable.
\nShe had also loved him.
\nBoth things could be true.
\n“Why didn’t Daniel tell me after my mother died?”
\nI asked.
\nNobody answered.
\nThen Emma stepped forward.
\n“Because of me.”
\nI looked at her.
\n“Daniel found me shortly before Grandma died.”
\n“You met him?”
\nEmma nodded.
\n“He came to see me.”
\nMy throat closed.
\n“What did he say?”
\n“That he was my father.”
\nTears filled my eyes.
\n“He wanted to bring you home.”
\n“I know.”
\n“Then why didn’t he?”
\n“Because I begged him not to.”
\nThat surprised me.
\n“Why?”
\n“I was sixteen. The woman who raised me was dying. Everything I knew had just become a lie. Daniel wanted to tell you immediately.”
\nEmma wiped her eyes.
\n“But I wasn’t ready to become somebody’s daughter overnight.”
\nMy heart broke for her.
\n“So Daniel promised you.”
\n“He promised to give me time.”
\n“And then he got sick.”
\nShe nodded.
\n“He died before I was ready.”
\nI closed my eyes.
\nDaniel.
\nThe man I had been furious with for hiding the truth.
\nThe man who had made terrible decisions.
\nBut perhaps not for the reasons I thought.
\n“He should have told me.”
\nEmma nodded.
\n“Yes.”
\nClaire whispered, “We all should have.”
\nMercer said nothing.
\nI looked at him.
\n“And you?”
\nHe met my eyes.
\n“I should have reported your mother thirty years ago.”
\n“Instead you helped her.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“You helped falsify Emily’s death.”
\n“Yes.”
\n“You helped change Ben’s hospital records.”
\nHis expression changed.
\n“No.”
\nI stopped.
\n“What?”
\n“I didn’t alter Ben’s records.”
\n“Then who did?”
\nMercer looked toward Emma.
\nEmma shook her head.
\n“Not me.”
\nThen a voice came from behind us.
\n“I did.”
\nClaire went completely still.
\nWe all turned.
\nThe gray-haired storage manager stood in the doorway.
\nThe man who had let us into Unit 214.
\nLuke whispered, “What are you doing here?”
\nThe man looked at me.
\n“My name isn’t important.”
\n“Then why are you here?”
\n“Because Daniel asked me to finish what he couldn’t.”
\nI stared at him.
\n“You knew Daniel.”
\n“Very well.”
\nMercer stood.
\n“You.”
\nThe manager ignored him.
\nHe handed me an envelope.
\n“Daniel gave me this three days before he died.”
\nMy name was written on the front.
\nSarah.
\nI opened it.
\nInside was one page.
\nMy dearest Sarah,
\nIf you’re reading this, then the truth finally outran all of us.
\nI have no excuse for taking away your right to know.
\nI told myself I was protecting you.
\nThen I told myself I was protecting Luke.
\nThen Ben.
\nThen Emily.
\nThe truth is simpler.
\nI was afraid.
\nAfraid you would hate me for Claire.
\nAfraid you’d hate me for giving Ben away.
\nAfraid you’d never forgive me for discovering Emily was alive and not telling you immediately.
\nI made fear sound like love because that made it easier to live with.
\nPlease don’t do what I did.
\nDon’t protect our children with lies.
\nProtect them with the truth.
\nLuke is your son.
\nBen is your son.
\nEmily is your daughter.
\nNo paperwork, secret, mistake, or betrayal can change that.
\nAnd if they are standing beside you when you read this, then somehow, despite everything I did wrong, you got them back.
\nThat is all I ever wanted.
\nDaniel.
\nI couldn’t see the page anymore.
\nTears blurred everything.
\nLuke put his arm around me.
\nThen Ben did the same.
\nFor a moment, the three of us stood together.
\nThen I felt another hand.
\nEmma.
\nMy daughter.
\nAll three of my children.
\nFor the first time.
\nTogether.
\nSirens sounded outside.
\nMercer looked toward the window.
\n“You called them.”
\n“Yes.”
\nHe nodded slowly.
\n“Good.”
\nHe didn’t run.
\nPolice entered minutes later.
\nThere were statements.
\nQuestions.
\nDocuments.
\nMore questions.
\nMercer was taken away while investigators sorted through records spanning three decades.
\nThe storage manager voluntarily handed over everything Daniel had entrusted to him.
\nClaire went too.
\nBefore she left, Ben stopped her.
\nShe looked terrified.
\n“Are you coming back?” he asked.
\nShe started crying.
\n“If you’ll let me.”
\nBen looked at me.
\nThen back at the woman who had raised him.
\n“You’re my mom.”
\nClaire broke.
\n“But she’s my mother too.”
\nHe pointed toward me.
\n“I don’t know how this works.”
\nI walked over.
\n“Neither do I.”
\nBen looked at both of us.
\n“Then maybe we figure it out.”
\nClaire nodded.
\nI didn’t forgive her that night.
\nForgiveness isn’t a switch.
\nNeither is trust.
\nBut I didn’t ask Ben to choose between us.
\nToo many adults had already chosen for him.
\nSix months later, the legal investigation confirmed most of what Daniel had documented.
\nEmily’s death certificate had been falsified.
\nMy mother had raised her under another identity.
\nBen’s identity had been built using records connected to Claire’s deceased newborn.
\nMercer lost his medical license years earlier for unrelated misconduct, but the old evidence finally opened investigations into what had happened at St. Matthew’s.
\nThere were consequences.
\nBut those aren’t what I remember most.
\nI remember a Sunday afternoon the following spring.
\nThree cars were parked outside my house.
\nLuke was arguing with Ben over who had stolen whose sweatshirt.
\n“You’ve literally been stealing my clothes since we were eight,” Luke shouted.
\nBen laughed.
\n“Because Mom always bought you better stuff.”
\nI walked into the kitchen.
\n“Which Mom?”
\nBoth boys stopped.
\nClaire, sitting at the table, nearly choked on her coffee.
\nThen all of us started laughing.
\nIt was the first time the word didn’t hurt.
\nEmma stood at the counter helping me make dinner.
\nShe had started calling me Sarah.
\nNot Mom.
\nI never asked her to change that.
\nOne evening she apologized.
\n“I know you probably wish I could call you Mom.”
\nI took her hand.
\n“You spent thirty years believing someone else was your mother. You don’t owe me a word.”
\nShe cried.
\nSo did I.
\n“But can I still come for Christmas?” she asked.
\nI laughed.
\n“You couldn’t escape Christmas here if you tried.”
\nThe following December, she arrived carrying the tiny silver locket.
\nShe placed it in my hand.
\n“I think this belongs to you.”
\nI closed my fingers around it.
\n“No.”
\nI fastened it around her neck.
\n“It always belonged to you.”
\nThree years have passed.
\nLuke and Ben are twenty-one now.
\nThey don’t live together anymore.
\nApparently discovering you’re twins doesn’t magically make you good roommates.
\nLuke is messy.
\nBen labels food in the refrigerator.
\nThey argue constantly.
\nThey also call each other almost every day.
\nClaire and I will never be what we were.
\nSome wounds change shape instead of disappearing.
\nBut we attend birthdays together.
\nWe sit at the same table.
\nAnd when Ben looks toward either of us and says “Mom,” sometimes both of us answer.
\nHe rolls his eyes.
\nI secretly love it.
\nEmma lives two hours away.
\nShe calls every Sunday.
\nLast Mother’s Day, a package arrived.
\nInside was a framed photograph.
\nAll four of us.
\nMe.
\nEmma.
\nLuke.
\nBen.
\nOn the back she had written:
\nTHE FAMILY THAT FINALLY FOUND EACH OTHER.
\nI put it beside Daniel’s photograph.
\nFor a long time, I hated him.
\nSometimes I still get angry.
\nLove doesn’t erase what he did.
\nHe betrayed me with Claire.
\nHe helped hide my son.
\nHe kept my daughter from me after learning she was alive.
\nHe made choices that were never his to make.
\nBut I also understand something now that I couldn’t understand inside Unit 214.
\nPeople can love you and still fail you terribly.
\nForgiveness doesn’t require pretending the failure never happened.
\nIt means deciding what you will carry forward.
\nI chose my children.
\nOne afternoon, Luke came into the kitchen while I was cooking.
\nThe same kitchen where this whole story had begun.
\n“Mom?”
\nI turned off the stove.
\nFor a second, I was back there again.
\nMy eighteen-year-old boy.
\nTears on his cheeks.
\nA folded piece of paper in his pocket.
\n“What’s wrong?”
\n“Nothing.”
\nHe smiled.
\n“I just wanted to ask you something.”
\n“What?”
\n“Do you ever wish I hadn’t found those papers?”
\nI thought about it.
\nIf Luke hadn’t found them, my life would have remained peaceful.
\nClaire would still be my closest friend.
\nDaniel would remain the husband I believed I understood.
\nEmma would be somewhere out there without me.
\nBen would still call me Sarah.
\nThe lie would have survived.
\nMaybe forever.
\nSo I shook my head.
\n“No.”
\n“Even after everything?”
\n“Especially after everything.”
\nLuke sat down.
\n“Why?”
\nI looked at him.
\n“Because peace built on a lie isn’t peace. It’s just silence.”
\nHe smiled.
\nThen he reached into his jacket.
\nFor one horrifying second, my heart stopped.
\n“Please tell me that’s not another hospital record.”
\nLuke laughed.
\n“No.”
\nHe placed something on the table.
\nA photograph.
\nThe three siblings together.
\nEmma in the middle.
\nLuke and Ben on either side.
\nAll three had Daniel’s crooked smile.
\nOn the back, Luke had written:
\nNO MORE SECRETS.
\nI stared at those words for a long time.
\nThen I framed that photograph too.
\nPeople sometimes ask me how many children I have.
\nYears ago, I would have answered without thinking.
\nOne.
\nThen, for eighteen years, I unknowingly had two sons.
\nFor thirty years, I had a daughter somewhere in the world who believed I was a stranger.
\nNow when someone asks, I smile.
\n“Three.”
\nAnd sometimes they ask:
\n“Are they close?”
\nI think about Luke and Ben fighting over sweatshirts.
\nEmma calling every Sunday.
\nClaire answering “Mom” at the same time I do.
\nAll the years stolen from us.
\nAll the years we still have.
\n“Yes,” I tell them.
\n“They had to travel a very long way to find each other.”
\nLast June, on Luke and Ben’s birthday, the four of us visited Daniel’s grave.
\nEmma had never been there.
\nShe stood quietly in front of the stone.
\nThen she touched his name.
\n“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
\nI put my arm around her.
\n“You don’t have to decide.”
\nBen placed flowers beside the headstone.
\nLuke pulled Daniel’s final letter from his pocket.
\nHe had made copies for all three of them.
\nThen he read the last lines aloud.
\nLuke is your son.
\nBen is your son.
\nEmily is your daughter.
\nNo paperwork, secret, mistake, or betrayal can change that.
\nWhen he finished, nobody spoke.
\nThen Emma took the folded letter from him.
\nShe looked at her brothers.
\nThen at me.
\nAnd for the first time in my life, my daughter said:
\n“Come on, Mom. Let’s go home.”
\nI cried so suddenly that all three of them laughed.
\nI laughed too.
\nThen I followed my children toward the car.
\nNot because the past had been fixed.
\nIt hadn’t.
\nNot because everyone had been forgiven.
\nThey hadn’t.
\nBut because after thirty years of other people deciding who belonged to whom, there was finally nothing left to decide.
\nEmily was my daughter.
\nLuke was my son.
\nBen was my son.
\nClaire was part of Ben’s family because love had made her one.
\nAnd Daniel, complicated and flawed and gone, was part of our story too.
\nFamily, I learned, isn’t made perfect by blood.
\nAnd it isn’t made meaningless by betrayal.
\nFamily is what remains when the secrets are finally gone and everyone is free to choose whether to stay.
\nMy children chose to stay.
\nSo did I.
\nAnd after a lifetime built around one terrible lie, that choice became the most truthful thing we had.
\nTHE END.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My mother had known there would be twins. That thought followed me all the way to St. Matthew’s Hospital. Claire drove. Luke sat beside me. Nobody spoke. The abandoned hospital … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5199,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[31,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7812","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aita","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7812","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=7812"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7812\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7813,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7812\/revisions\/7813"}],"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=7812"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7812"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7812"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}