In 2009, my son Dustin told me his girlfriend was pregnant.<\/p>\n
I handed him $200 and said, \u201cNot under my roof. If you want to be a man, go be one.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought I was teaching him responsibility.<\/p>\n
Instead, I watched him pack a duffel bag and walk into the rain.<\/p>\n
He never called again.<\/p>\n
For sixteen years, I told people at church he was doing well out west. Every Tuesday, I served soup at the food pantry, never imagining who might walk through the door.<\/p>\n
Then last week, a thin man stepped forward with a toddler on his hip and another child clinging to his leg.<\/p>\n
It was Dustin.<\/p>\n
My ladle froze as our eyes met. He looked exhausted, and the children knew nothing about the years between us.<\/p>\n
Then, in a quiet voice, he said, \u201cMom, I just need\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething for the kids to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was all he said.<\/p>\n
Not I\u2019m sorry.<\/p>\n
Not Do you remember me?<\/p>\n
Not even How have you been?<\/p>\n
Just those six words.<\/p>\n
I stared at him, unable to move. The toddler on his hip had a small red hat pulled down over his ears. The other child, a little girl who looked about five, held the hem of his jacket.<\/p>\n
Dustin\u2019s face was thinner than I remembered. His beard was uneven, and his coat looked too light for the cold November morning.<\/p>\n
But his eyes were the same.<\/p>\n
They were the eyes of the boy who used to sit at my kitchen table doing homework while I cooked dinner.<\/p>\n
\u201cDustin?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
His jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room seemed to fall silent around us, though I knew the other volunteers were still talking and dishes were still clattering in the kitchen.<\/p>\n
I set down the ladle.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long have you been back?\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced at the children.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot long.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere have you been?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, please. The kids haven\u2019t eaten since yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
The little girl looked up at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDaddy, is this the lady you told me about?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dustin closed his eyes briefly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt something inside me break.<\/p>\n
For sixteen years, I had imagined a hundred different reunions. In some, Dustin came home successful and forgiving. In others, he arrived angry, demanding an explanation for the years I had missed.<\/p>\n
I had never imagined him standing in front of me asking for food.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, my voice trembling. \u201cOf course, you can have food.\u201d<\/p>\n
I led them to a table near the back.<\/p>\n
The little girl sat down carefully, keeping her coat on. Dustin placed the toddler in a high chair and began apologizing for the mess on his clothes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don’t have to apologize,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
He looked at me as if he didn’t believe me.<\/p>\n
I brought them soup, sandwiches, fruit, and milk. The children ate quietly at first, then with the urgent hunger of children who had been waiting too long.<\/p>\n
Dustin barely touched his own food.<\/p>\n
\u201cEat,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not fine. Eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, he looked like the teenager I had sent away.<\/p>\n
Then he picked up the sandwich.<\/p>\n
I sat across from him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are their names?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLily,\u201d he said, nodding toward the little girl. \u201cAnd this is Noah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow old are they?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLily is five. Noah just turned two.\u201d<\/p>\n
I tried to smile at them.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are lovely names.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lily studied me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you Daddy\u2019s mom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy haven\u2019t we met you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dustin stopped chewing.<\/p>\n
I couldn’t answer.<\/p>\n
He put down his sandwich.<\/p>\n
\u201cLily, why don’t you finish your milk?\u201d<\/p>\n
She obeyed, but her eyes stayed on us.<\/p>\n
I lowered my voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cDustin, what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at the table for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cA lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
And for the first time in sixteen years, my son began telling me the truth.<\/p>\n
When Dustin was seventeen, he was a good student, though not always an easy one.<\/p>\n
His father had died when Dustin was twelve. After the funeral, I became stricter, believing that if I kept our lives organized, we could survive the loss.<\/p>\n
I worked long hours at a medical billing office. I made sure Dustin had clean clothes, food in the refrigerator, and a quiet place to study.<\/p>\n
I also made sure he understood that mistakes had consequences.<\/p>\n
When he came home one evening in 2009 and told me his girlfriend, Megan, was pregnant, I felt the floor disappear beneath me.<\/p>\n
He was barely an adult.<\/p>\n
He had no job, no savings, and no plan.<\/p>\n
I asked him what he intended to do.<\/p>\n
He said he loved Megan and wanted to take responsibility.<\/p>\n
I heard only the danger: a baby, bills, interrupted education, a future I couldn’t control.<\/p>\n
I was frightened.<\/p>\n
But instead of admitting that, I became angry.<\/p>\n
I took two hundred dollars from my purse and handed it to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot under my roof. If you want to be a man, go be one.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at the money.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, where am I supposed to go?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should have thought about that before.\u201d<\/p>\n
He waited, perhaps expecting me to soften.<\/p>\n
I didn’t.<\/p>\n
He packed a duffel bag, put on his jacket, and walked out into the rain.<\/p>\n
I watched from the window.<\/p>\n
I told myself he would stay with a friend. I told myself he would come back in a few days, apologize, and agree to finish school before making any more decisions.<\/p>\n
But he didn’t return.<\/p>\n
For the first few weeks, I was furious.<\/p>\n
I called the number I had for Megan’s family, but it had been disconnected. I sent a letter to the last address I knew for Dustin’s friend, but it came back unopened.<\/p>\n
Eventually, I stopped trying.<\/p>\n
That was the part I rarely admitted.<\/p>\n
I could have done more.<\/p>\n
I could have asked around. I could have contacted people who knew him. I could have swallowed my pride and searched for him.<\/p>\n
Instead, I told myself that he had made his choice.<\/p>\n
At church, when people asked about him, I said he was working out west.<\/p>\n
I repeated it so often that it became a story I could live with.<\/p>\n
I never told them that I didn’t know where he was.<\/p>\n
I never told them that I had no idea whether he was safe.<\/p>\n
And I never told them that every time I saw a young father holding a child, I wondered whether Dustin had become one.<\/p>\n
At the food pantry, Dustin told me that after leaving my house, he had spent two nights sleeping on a friend’s couch.<\/p>\n
Then he moved into a room shared with two other young men.<\/p>\n
He found work unloading trucks and later took a job at a warehouse. When Megan gave birth to their daughter, Lily, he was twenty.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought I could do it,\u201d he said. \u201cI thought if I worked enough hours, I could give them a better life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened to Megan?\u201d<\/p>\n
His expression changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe left when Lily was two.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn’t interrupt.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said she couldn’t keep living that way. We were always behind on rent. I was working nights. She wanted to go back to her family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she take Lily?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. She left her with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He rubbed his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t blame her for wanting a different life. But I was scared, Mom. I didn’t know how to be a father. I was still figuring out how to be a person.\u201d<\/p>\n
He found a second job and arranged childcare with a neighbor. Some months went well. Other months, he fell behind.<\/p>\n
Then he met Noah’s mother.<\/p>\n
For a while, things improved. They moved into a small apartment, and Dustin believed his children might finally have a stable home.<\/p>\n
But the relationship ended after years of arguments and financial pressure.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe moved away last year,\u201d he said. \u201cNoah stayed with me. Lily was already with me most of the time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the children.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you been raising them alone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMostly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you living now?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m not, exactly.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOur landlord sold the building. We had to leave. I was staying with a friend, but he lost his place too.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked embarrassed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe’ve been in a motel when I can afford it. The last two nights, we stayed in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n
I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cDustin\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn’t come here to ask you for money,\u201d he said quickly. \u201cI came because someone told me the pantry served breakfast on Tuesdays. I didn’t know you volunteered here.\u201d<\/p>\n
I believed him.<\/p>\n
That somehow made it worse.<\/p>\n
He hadn’t come looking for me.<\/p>\n
He hadn’t even known I was there.<\/p>\n
He had simply walked into a place where people could get food, carrying his children and whatever remained of his pride.<\/p>\n
And I had been standing behind the serving counter, ladling soup for strangers, while my own son struggled just a few feet away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn’t you ever call me?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.<\/p>\n
Dustin looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt the blood drain from my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI called you a few times. After I got my first job. After Lily was born. I wanted you to meet her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn’t I hear from you?\u201d<\/p>\n
He gave a small, tired laugh.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou changed your number.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remembered changing it after telemarketers began calling constantly. I had kept the new number private, sharing it only with a few relatives and close friends.<\/p>\n
I had never thought about how Dustin might find it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wrote, too,\u201d he continued. \u201cI sent a letter to the house. I didn’t know if you still lived there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI never received it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe it never got there.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter a while, I stopped trying. I figured you meant what you said.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my hands.<\/p>\n
He had carried my words for sixteen years.<\/p>\n
And I had carried my pride.<\/p>\n
Neither of us had known how to put them down.<\/p>\n
After the children finished eating, I brought them small bags of groceries to take with them.<\/p>\n
Lily thanked me politely.<\/p>\n
Noah was asleep against Dustin’s shoulder.<\/p>\n
I asked whether they had somewhere safe to stay that night.<\/p>\n
Dustin said he was trying to arrange another motel room.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, I can handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDustin, how much?\u201d<\/p>\n
He told me.<\/p>\n
It was more than he could comfortably afford, but not more than I could help with.<\/p>\n
I reached for my purse.<\/p>\n
He immediately shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t want you to feel like you have to rescue me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou already gave me money once.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words landed between us.<\/p>\n
I had no defense.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou’re right,\u201d I said. \u201cI gave you money and sent you away. This time, I’m asking what help you need.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me cautiously.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need somewhere stable for the kids. I need work with hours that fit around school and childcare. I need to stop moving every few weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are things we can talk about.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can’t just move back in with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn’t say you had to.\u201d<\/p>\n
He seemed surprised.<\/p>\n
I had spent sixteen years imagining that if Dustin ever returned, I would welcome him home and everything would fall into place.<\/p>\n
But he was no longer a boy with a duffel bag.<\/p>\n
He was a father with two children, responsibilities, and reasons to be wary of me.<\/p>\n
If I wanted to help him, I had to respect that.<\/p>\n
I asked whether he would let me help him contact the family services office and find out what housing assistance might be available.<\/p>\n
He agreed, though he insisted on making the calls himself.<\/p>\n
Then Lily tugged at my sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you going to see us again?\u201d<\/p>\n
I knelt beside her.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf your daddy says it’s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked over at Dustin.<\/p>\n
He was watching us, his expression unreadable.<\/p>\n
After a moment, he nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can see her again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lily smiled.<\/p>\n
It was a small thing.<\/p>\n
But after sixteen years, it felt like the beginning of something I had almost lost forever.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I called the county housing assistance office and asked what programs were available to families with young children.<\/p>\n
I also contacted the food pantry’s director. She knew about local resources for emergency accommodation, childcare assistance, and job placement.<\/p>\n
I did not make promises I couldn’t keep.<\/p>\n
I did not tell Dustin that I would fix everything.<\/p>\n
Instead, I asked what he wanted to do next.<\/p>\n
He wanted a steady job.<\/p>\n
He wanted a safe place for Lily and Noah.<\/p>\n
He wanted to stop feeling as though every unexpected expense might destroy the little stability he had managed to build.<\/p>\n
We spent the next several days making calls and filling out forms.<\/p>\n
The pantry helped arrange temporary accommodation while his housing application was reviewed. A local employment program connected him with a warehouse position that offered more predictable hours.<\/p>\n
It wasn’t a perfect solution.<\/p>\n
The job paid modestly, and the housing process was slow. There were forms, appointments, and long waits on the phone.<\/p>\n
But for the first time in months, Dustin had a plan that didn’t depend on finding another place to sleep every few nights.<\/p>\n
I offered to help with childcare while he attended interviews and appointments.<\/p>\n
He accepted two afternoons a week.<\/p>\n
At first, our conversations were awkward.<\/p>\n
I didn’t know what music he liked anymore. I didn’t know which foods Lily refused to eat or what bedtime routine Noah needed.<\/p>\n
I had missed birthdays, school milestones, scraped knees, first words, and countless ordinary moments.<\/p>\n
I couldn’t make up for sixteen years by buying toys or filling their refrigerator.<\/p>\n
So I started with what I could do.<\/p>\n
I learned that Lily loved drawing horses.<\/p>\n
I learned that Noah would only drink milk from a blue cup.<\/p>\n
I learned that Dustin still took his coffee with too much cream, just as he had when he was a teenager.<\/p>\n
And I learned to listen without turning every conversation into advice.<\/p>\n
One afternoon, while the children were drawing at my kitchen table, Dustin stood by the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is strange,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBeing here.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked around the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou haven’t changed much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have. You just haven’t been here to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was angry with you for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Mom. I was really angry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou had every right to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked surprised.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you’d tell me I should have tried harder to come home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish you had been able to come home. But I was the one who told you to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes filled, though he quickly looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI needed you back then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn’t need you to pay for everything. I just needed to know I could come to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cI failed you, Dustin.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn’t answer immediately.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cYou did.\u201d<\/p>\n
It hurt to hear, but I was grateful he said it.<\/p>\n
For years, I had wanted him to understand why I had acted as I did. I had been frightened, overwhelmed, and convinced that strictness would make him responsible.<\/p>\n
Those things explained my decision.<\/p>\n
They did not excuse it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can’t change that night,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I can stop pretending it was the right thing to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dustin nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
That was the first conversation we had in which neither of us tried to win.<\/p>\n
A month later, Dustin and the children moved into a small apartment through a housing program.<\/p>\n
It was modest, with two bedrooms and a narrow kitchen, but it was clean and close to Lily’s school.<\/p>\n
Dustin had a steady job. The pantry helped him connect with a childcare resource for Noah, and he began saving a little money each week.<\/p>\n
I visited only when invited.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I brought groceries. Sometimes I brought nothing at all.<\/p>\n
I wanted the children to know me, but I didn’t want Dustin to feel that my help came with conditions.<\/p>\n
One Sunday, he invited me to dinner.<\/p>\n
Lily had made a drawing of the three of us standing beside a house. She had written our names in uneven letters across the top.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat’s you,\u201d she explained, pointing to a figure with gray hair. \u201cThat’s Daddy. And that’s me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Noah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe’s the baby,\u201d she said, pointing to a smaller figure.<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
Dustin smiled from the kitchen.<\/p>\n
After dinner, he walked me to my car.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, I want to tell you something.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don’t know if I’ll ever stop thinking about that night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I don’t want the kids to grow up without knowing you.\u201d<\/p>\n
My eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cI would be grateful for the chance to be in their lives.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen we have to do this slowly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe will.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I need you to understand that if I say no to something, it doesn’t mean I’m rejecting you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I don’t want you telling people I abandoned you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt the shame rise in my chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cI won’t.\u201d<\/p>\n
He held out his hand.<\/p>\n
I took it.<\/p>\n
It wasn’t a complete reconciliation. It wasn’t a promise that the past would never hurt again.<\/p>\n
It was simply an agreement to begin again with honesty.<\/p>\n
Before I left, I turned to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDustin?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am sorry I made you feel that you had to face becoming a father alone. I was scared, and I turned that fear into punishment. You deserved guidance. You deserved a mother who would help you think through your choices, even when I disagreed with them.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked down at our joined hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cI needed to hear that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI should have said it sixteen years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cYou should have.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn’t ask him to forgive me.<\/p>\n
That was his decision to make, in his own time.<\/p>\n
I still volunteer at the food pantry every Tuesday.<\/p>\n
But now, when I serve soup, I think differently about the people standing in line.<\/p>\n
I don’t assume I know their stories.<\/p>\n
I don’t assume that a person asking for help has failed to take responsibility.<\/p>\n
And I don’t assume that a hard lesson is always the lesson someone needs.<\/p>\n
Sometimes people need boundaries.<\/p>\n
Sometimes they need consequences.<\/p>\n
And sometimes they need someone to stand beside them while they learn how to carry the weight of their choices.<\/p>\n
Dustin and I are still rebuilding our relationship.<\/p>\n
There are days when the years between us feel enormous. There are questions I wish I had asked and memories I wish I had been there to make.<\/p>\n
But there are also ordinary moments now.<\/p>\n
Lily showing me her schoolwork.<\/p>\n
Noah falling asleep in my arms.<\/p>\n
Dustin calling to ask how my week has been.<\/p>\n
Those moments don’t erase the past.<\/p>\n
They give us something new to build.<\/p>\n
I keep a photograph of the children on my kitchen counter. Beside it is an old picture of Dustin at seventeen, standing in our backyard with a baseball glove tucked under his arm.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I look at both pictures and think about the boy who walked into the rain with two hundred dollars in his pocket.<\/p>\n
I thought I was sending him into the world to become a man.<\/p>\n
I didn’t understand that I was also telling him he had to face the world without me.<\/p>\n
Sixteen years later, he walked into the food pantry with two children and asked for a meal.<\/p>\n
He didn’t ask me to repay the years I had missed.<\/p>\n
He didn’t ask me to explain my pride.<\/p>\n
He simply asked for help.<\/p>\n
And this time, I listened.<\/p>\n
Because the most important lesson I learned wasn’t about making a child responsible.<\/p>\n
It was about understanding that love should prepare someone to face the world\u2014not make them believe they have to face it alone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
In 2009, my son Dustin told me his girlfriend was pregnant. I handed him $200 and said, \u201cNot under my roof. If you want to be a man, go be … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":106489,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-106523","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-best-best-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/106523","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=106523"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/106523\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":106524,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/106523\/revisions\/106524"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/106489"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=106523"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=106523"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/discoverstory9.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=106523"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}