{"id":3375,"date":"2026-06-07T13:15:33","date_gmt":"2026-06-07T13:15:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/?p=3375"},"modified":"2026-06-07T13:15:33","modified_gmt":"2026-06-07T13:15:33","slug":"my-sister-left-her-five-year-old-daughter-with-me-for-three-days-and-i-thought-id-only-have-to-put-on-cartoons-and-heat-up-some-food-but-on-the-first-night-when-i-served-her-a-bowl-of-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/?p=3375","title":{"rendered":"My sister left her five-year-old daughter with me for three days, and I thought I\u2019d only have to put on cartoons and heat up some food. But on the first night, when I served her a bowl of homemade beef stew, the little girl didn\u2019t even touch her spoon. Instead, trembling, she asked me: \u201cUncle\u2026 am I allowed to eat today?\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

Part 2
\nI noticed an open seam on the doll\u2019s belly.
\nIt wasn\u2019t a normal tear.
\nIt had fresh, clumsy stitches made with black thread, as if someone had sliced it open and hurriedly sewn it back together. Ruby was clutching the doll tightly against her chest, but a tiny piece of white plastic was poking through her fingers.
\nA tracker.
\nI didn\u2019t need Paula to explain a single thing to me. Sergio hadn\u2019t guessed where my niece was. He had followed her.
\n\u201cRuby,\u201d I said softly, \u201chand me the doll.\u201d
\nShe squeezed it tighter.
\n\u201cHe gets mad if I lose it.\u201d
\nThe knocks came again.
\nThree.
\nSlow.
\n\u201cRobert,\u201d Sergio called from outside. \u201cLet\u2019s not make a scene for the neighbors. Open up and let\u2019s talk like family.\u201d
\nLike family.
\n<\/i>The phrase made my blood boil.<\/p>\n

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

I took Ruby by the hand and led her into the kitchen, away from the front door. My house was located on a quiet street near South Congress, the kind of neighborhood where at night you can still hear the occasional car passing over the bridge, the echo bouncing off the walls. I had always considered it a safe area. Tonight, I understood that no street is safe if danger carries a copy of your key, a smile, and permission to enter.<\/p>\n

\u201cPaula,\u201d I whispered into the phone, \u201ccall 911 right now. Go.\u201d
\n\u201cI already did,\u201d she cried on the other end. \u201cRobert, listen to me. He has keys to your house.\u201d
\nI froze.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cMonths ago, he asked me for your spare copy \u2018just in case something ever happened to you.\u2019 I was such an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

I didn\u2019t have time to reply.
\nThe deadbolt clicked.
\nSergio was putting the key in the lock.<\/p>\n

I scooped Ruby up all at once and ran into the laundry room. I locked the door from the inside and shoved the washing machine with all my strength until it wedged tightly against the frame. Ruby didn\u2019t scream. That was the worst part. A normal child would have cried, would have asked what was happening. She just balled herself up in my arms and placed her tiny hand over my mouth.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cShh,\u201d she whispered. \u201cIf we don\u2019t make any noise, sometimes he goes away.\u201d<\/p>\n

Outside, the front door swung open.<\/p>\n

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

Sergio\u2019s footsteps entered my house as casually as if he were walking into his own backyard.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you, champion?\u201d he said, using that warm, friendly tone he always put on during family dinners. \u201cLook, I know you got scared. Paula exaggerates everything. You know how she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby began to tremble violently.<\/p>\n

I dialed 911 with the speaker turned off.<\/p>\n

A dispatcher answered. I gave her my address in a low whisper, doing the best I could. I said \u201cdomestic violence,\u201d \u201cminor involved,\u201d \u201cintruder inside my house,\u201d \u201csuspected camera in a child\u2019s bedroom.\u201d The woman didn\u2019t interrupt me. She only instructed me to keep the line open and avoid confronting the aggressor.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Sergio was walking through the living room.<\/p>\n

I heard him lifting things up.<\/p>\n

The chair.<\/p>\n

A glass.<\/p>\n

The plate where Ruby had just eaten her dinner.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, so you did eat, princess,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Ruby closed her eyes and wet herself.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t make a sound.<\/p>\n

I felt something inside me break forever.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d I whispered into her ear. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, my love. I\u2019m right here with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the other side of the wall, Sergio reached the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert, don\u2019t be ridiculous. That girl has behavioral issues. Paula can\u2019t handle her. I was just instilling structure.\u201d<\/p>\n

The word\u00a0structure<\/i>\u00a0made me sick to my stomach.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I knelt next to Ruby, took her doll, and found the uneven seam. She looked at me with sheer terror.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going to throw it away,\u201d I promised her. \u201cI\u2019m just going to take out something that shouldn\u2019t be inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

Using a small pair of scissors from my sewing kit, I snipped the fabric belly open. Inside was old cotton stuffing, a tiny Ziploc bag, and a small, round tracking device. I stomped on it with my heel until it crunched.<\/p>\n

Sergio went completely silent outside.<\/p>\n

Then, he pounded on the laundry room door.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a very bad idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby began to chant under her breath:<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I\u2019m sorry, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wrapped my arms tightly around her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Do you hear me? Nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio shoved the door hard. The washing machine groaned against the floorboards.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen up.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen up, or I\u2019ll tell everyone what Paula did. You think she\u2019s innocent? You think your sister didn\u2019t know?\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence drove a painful wedge of doubt into my chest.<\/p>\n

I looked at the phone. Paula was still on the parallel call, her breathing ragged, as if she were running.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you do, Paula?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

It took her a long time to speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cI let him punish her.\u201d<\/p>\n

The silence that followed was worse than Sergio slamming against the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot like that,\u201d she sobbed. \u201cI swear to God I didn\u2019t know about the camera. But I did let him send her to bed without dinner. He told me Ruby was manipulating me, that if I wasn\u2019t firm, she would grow up ruined. I was so tired, Robert. I was afraid. I depended on him. And one day, I just stopped defending my daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted to hate her.<\/p>\n

In that moment, I did hate her.<\/p>\n

But Ruby, who couldn\u2019t fully comprehend everything, heard her mother weeping through the phone and whispered:<\/p>\n

\u201cMommy is sad.\u201d<\/p>\n

That completely destroyed me.<\/p>\n

Outside, a distant siren wailed.<\/p>\n

Then another.<\/p>\n

In Austin at night, sirens echo strangely between the old historic avenues and the highway grids. They sound close and far away at the same time, as if they were coming from Zilker Park and I-35 simultaneously. Sergio heard them too.<\/p>\n

He stopped shoving the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert,\u201d he said, his friendly voice completely gone. \u201cThink carefully about what you\u2019re doing. That girl isn\u2019t yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

I opened my phone\u2019s camera app and started recording through the crack beneath the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cSay it again,\u201d I replied. \u201cSay it for the District Attorney.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was another silence.<\/p>\n

Then Sergio laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have nothing on me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then Ruby, still wet and shaking, pulled away from me. She tugged at my sleeve.<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle,\u201d she said. \u201cIn the chair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUnderneath the chair.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t understand until she pointed her tiny finger toward the door.<\/p>\n

The chair.<\/p>\n

The one he used to block her door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is underneath the chair, Ruby?\u201d<\/p>\n

She swallowed hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe little black box. He hides it there when Mommy cleans.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio overheard.<\/p>\n

He slammed against the door with such violence that the wood split slightly along the frame.<\/p>\n

\u201cShut up!\u201d<\/p>\n

That word, screamed at a five-year-old girl, was what stripped away my remaining fear.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t open the door.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t go out.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t try to play the hero.<\/p>\n

I simply put my body between the door and Ruby, while police cruisers screeched to a halt outside and neighbors began to peer out of their windows. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly lady from across the street who sold baked goods on weekends and always knew everything before anyone else, shouted from the sidewalk:<\/p>\n

\u201cThe cops are here, you bastard!\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergio bolted toward the exit.<\/p>\n

But he didn\u2019t get far.<\/p>\n

Two local police officers entered cautiously\u2014one through the front door and the other through the side gate leading to the yard. They ordered him to the ground. Sergio threw his hands up immediately, instantly playing the victim of a misunderstanding.<\/p>\n

\u201cOfficers, I\u2019m her stepfather,\u201d he said. \u201cI came for the girl because they have her hidden away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is not her stepfather,\u201d I yelled from the laundry room. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t have custody. The child is terrified.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I finally managed to shift the washing machine and open the door, Ruby clung to my leg. An officer knelt down to talk to her, but she hid her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t touch her,\u201d I requested. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n

A representative from the victim services unit arrived. She didn\u2019t have the cold look of a bureaucrat. She brought a thermal blanket, water, and a voice that didn\u2019t crowd the room. She asked Ruby if she wanted to sit down. She didn\u2019t tell her \u201cdon\u2019t cry.\u201d She didn\u2019t say \u201cbe brave.\u201d She only said:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou get to decide if you want to talk right now or later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby looked at her as if she were being offered an entirely new language.<\/p>\n

Part 3<\/h2>\n

Half an hour later, my house looked like a crime scene from a television show. Yellow tape, flashing lights, neighbors standing around in bathrobes, the harsh overhead light of the dining room shining down on the now-cold beef stew. Sergio was sitting on the curb, handcuffed, wearing the exact same crisp blue shirt he wore when he brought flowers to our family gatherings.<\/p>\n

He was no longer smiling.<\/p>\n

Paula arrived around two in the morning.<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t been in Dallas.<\/p>\n

She had been hiding at a coworker\u2019s house in West Lake Hills, where she had spent the day gathering the courage to file a report. She stepped out of a cab with her hair loose, no makeup, and a wrinkled blouse. The moment she saw Ruby, she broke down completely.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy baby girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby didn\u2019t run to her.<\/p>\n

She stayed glued to my side.<\/p>\n

Paula understood.<\/p>\n

She stopped three paces away and sank to her knees on the pavement.<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me,\u201d she said. \u201cForgive me, Ruby. I was supposed to protect you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The little girl stared down at the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I allowed to eat today, Mommy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Paula clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.<\/p>\n

I had to look away, staring up at the city skyline, because if I looked at my sister, I was going to say something that wouldn\u2019t help anyone. The city remained beautiful and indifferent, with its flashing lights and clean streets, as if the world could simply go on being lovely while a child had to ask permission to feed herself.<\/p>\n

The victim services advocate spoke with Paula. Shortly after, representatives from Child Protective Services arrived. They threw around legal terms that I could barely process: failure to protect, child abuse, emergency protection orders, psychological evaluation, legal representation for minors.<\/p>\n

Paula handed over her phone.<\/p>\n

That was where the worst of it lay.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t just the hidden camera.<\/p>\n

There were text messages from Sergio to a friend, mocking the punishments. Photos of the list. Audio clips where he told Paula that a child \u201ceither breaks early or grows up useless.\u201d And a video of Ruby crying behind a locked door while he wedged a chair against it from the outside, telling her that good girls don\u2019t cause problems.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t let me see any more than that.<\/p>\n

Thank God.<\/p>\n

The police searched Paula\u2019s house that very same morning; she authorized the entry. I rode with Ruby in the ambulance for a medical evaluation, though she refused to let go of my shirt fabric. At the Children\u2019s Hospital, they checked her stomach, her hydration levels, and the small bruises that she automatically explained away as \u201cI fell.\u201d<\/p>\n

Every \u201cI fell\u201d felt like a stone crushing my chest.<\/p>\n

At six in the morning, the city began to wake up.<\/p>\n

A pale grey light filtered through the hospital window. Outside, someone was selling hot coffee and breakfast pastries to family members who had spent the night waiting for news. That smell of warm dough made me cry without warning, because I thought of all the times a person buys food without a second thought, and of Ruby asking if I would let her eat tomorrow, too.<\/p>\n

She was sleeping on the cot wrapped in a pink blanket.<\/p>\n

She was squeezing my finger.<\/p>\n

Paula sat on the other side, not touching her. Her eyes were swollen, carrying the look of someone who had just seen the full extent of her own guilt, stripped of all excuses.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey aren\u2019t going to let me keep her, are they?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s better this way,\u201d she said, her voice trembling. \u201cThey shouldn\u2019t let me have her back until I learn how to be her mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the first right thing I had heard her say in a long time.<\/p>\n

The days that followed were a blur of state offices, formal statements, and absolute exhaustion. We went to the Family Justice Center, then to the District Attorney\u2019s office, then to CPS. I learned that justice doesn\u2019t arrive like it does in the movies, with dramatic music and a clean resolution. It arrives with photocopies, signatures, endless waiting rooms, psychologists who speak in quiet tones, social workers who look you dead in the eye, and a little girl who draws a picture of a house with no doors.<\/p>\n

Sergio tried to fight the charges.<\/p>\n

He claimed it was all just discipline.<\/p>\n

He claimed Paula was unstable.<\/p>\n

He claimed I wanted to take Ruby away just to punish my sister.<\/p>\n

But the black recording device beneath the chair held a digital memory. And inside that memory was his voice. His calm, everyday voice. The one that dictated when a little girl could eat and when it was simply her water day.<\/p>\n

He was formally indicted and held for trial.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t understand all the legal jargon, but I understood perfectly when the CPS attorney told me:<\/p>\n

\u201cFor now, Ruby is not returning to that home.\u201d<\/p>\n

My legs felt weak with relief.<\/p>\n

Paula signed every single document she was required to sign. She accepted court-ordered psychological therapy, protective orders, and constant supervision. She didn\u2019t fight the temporary guardianship order. She looked at me as we walked out of the family court building and said:<\/p>\n

\u201cLove her better than I could.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat won\u2019t be very difficult to beat,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

It hurt her.<\/p>\n

It hurt me to say it, too.<\/p>\n

But it was the truth.<\/p>\n

Ruby stayed with me.<\/p>\n

In the beginning, she would hoard bread underneath her pillow. Folded tortillas inside her clothes drawers. A banana hidden behind her coloring supplies. The child psychologist told me not to scold her, explaining that her body was still processing the fact that food wouldn\u2019t suddenly disappear as a punishment.<\/p>\n

So, every single night, I left a small basket right next to her bed.<\/p>\n

An apple.<\/p>\n

Some crackers.<\/p>\n

A small cup of water.<\/p>\n

And a note written in large block letters:<\/p>\n

\u201cYOU CAN EAT WHENEVER YOU ARE HUNGRY.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

The first time she read it, she looked up and asked:<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if it\u2019s nighttime?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if it\u2019s nighttime.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if I\u2019m not perfectly good?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if you act exactly like a normal kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t smile.<\/p>\n

But that night, she went to sleep with the note tucked beneath her pillow.<\/p>\n

Weeks passed.<\/p>\n

One Sunday, I took her to the local Farmers\u2019 Market. The air was filled with chatter, flowers, smoking brisket, vendors selling fresh produce, and kids begging for fresh-squeezed orange juice. Ruby walked glued to my side, but she was no longer asking for permission just to look around. She stopped in front of a Tex-Mex food stand and pointed at some fresh cheese.<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I allowed to try some?\u201d<\/p>\n

The words \u201cam I allowed\u201d still squeezed my chest tight, but this time, her voice sounded different.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t terror.<\/p>\n

It was an old habit slowly breaking apart.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I told her. \u201cAnd you can also say, \u2018I want to.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby crinkled her nose, concentrating hard.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to try some.\u201d<\/p>\n

I bought her a small plate.<\/p>\n

She ate slowly.<\/p>\n

She blew on it.<\/p>\n

She chewed.<\/p>\n

Nobody took a single thing away from her.<\/p>\n

Afterward, we walked down toward Congress Avenue Plaza. The trees provided a deep shade, and a street musician was playing a violin near a bench. The historic stone storefronts looked freshly washed by the afternoon sun. Ruby had a purple balloon tied to her wrist and a brand-new doll tucked inside her backpack\u2014one with no strange seams, and no dark secrets hidden inside.<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle,\u201d she said suddenly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up, sweetie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs my mommy bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat down with her on a bench.<\/p>\n

I took my time responding, because easy lies do their own kind of damage.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mommy did some bad things,\u201d I told her. \u201cVery bad things. She didn\u2019t protect you when she was supposed to protect you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby looked up at her balloon.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Sergio?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSergio is dangerous. And he is never going to get anywhere near you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am going to do everything humanly possible to make sure it\u2019s never.\u201d<\/p>\n

She thought about that for a moment.<\/p>\n

Then, she asked:<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I good?\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt that familiar knot tighten in my throat.<\/p>\n

I lifted her up into my arms and set her on my lap, looking out toward the plaza\u2014at the people walking past buying ice cream, at the tourists taking photos, at the city that just kept moving forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cRuby, you don\u2019t have to earn your food. Or hugs. Or a bed to sleep in. Or leaving the lights turned on. Or having someone protect you. You don\u2019t earn those things. You have a right to them simply because you are a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes welled up with tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if I make a mistake?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEspecially when you make a mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n

She wrapped her arms around my neck.<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t stiff anymore.<\/p>\n

Her tiny body completely relaxed against my chest, as if she could finally rest, even if just a little bit. She cried out loud without covering her mouth. I let her cry. The sounds of the plaza continued all around us\u2014distant bells ringing and footsteps echoing on the pavement.<\/p>\n

That night, when we got back home, I made a fresh batch of beef stew.<\/p>\n

The exact same one.<\/p>\n

With potatoes, carrots, and rice.<\/p>\n

I set two plates on the table along with a warm tortilla wrapped in a cloth napkin. Ruby climbed up onto her chair. She looked down at the steaming stew. Then, she looked up at me.<\/p>\n

For a split second, I feared that old question would return.<\/p>\n

But it didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

She picked up her spoon.<\/p>\n

She blew on it.<\/p>\n

And right before taking a bite, she said:<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow I want eggs and beans.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t help myself.<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow we are having eggs and beans.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby took her first spoonful. Then another. She ate peacefully, her legs swinging back and forth beneath the chair, getting a tiny bit of broth on her pajamas.<\/p>\n

When she finished, she left her spoon inside the bowl and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me, sweetie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was actually hungry today.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her.<\/p>\n

She looked right back at me.<\/p>\n

And then, she smiled.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a huge smile. It wasn\u2019t a miraculous cure. It was barely a sliver of light peaking into a house that had been locked in darkness for far too long.<\/p>\n

But through that sliver of light, I swear to you, life finally began to find its way back in\u2026\u2026\u2026<\/p>\n

Continue read next>>>PART2: My sister left her five-year-old daughter with me for three days, and I thought I\u2019d only have to put on cartoons and heat up some food. But on the first night, when I served her a bowl of homemade beef stew, the little girl didn\u2019t even touch her spoon. Instead, trembling, she asked me: \u201cUncle\u2026 am I allowed to eat today?<\/a><\/h1>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 2 I noticed an open seam on the doll\u2019s belly. It wasn\u2019t a normal tear. It had fresh, clumsy stitches made with black thread, as if someone had sliced … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3381,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3375","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3375","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3375"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3375\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3387,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3375\/revisions\/3387"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3381"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3375"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3375"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3375"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}