{"id":4472,"date":"2026-07-27T19:04:12","date_gmt":"2026-07-27T19:04:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/?p=4472"},"modified":"2026-07-27T19:04:16","modified_gmt":"2026-07-27T19:04:16","slug":"when-my-parents-found-my-pregnancy-test-my-mother","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/?p=4472","title":{"rendered":"When my parents found my pregnancy test, my mother\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"

When my parents found my pregnancy test, my mother hurled my backpack out onto the front lawn, and my father told me that as of that night, I was dead to them. Twenty years later, I drove back to that exact same driveway just to look them in the eye\u2026 but the girl who opened the front door looked so much like me that all the air rushed out of my lungs.<\/h2>\n
<\/div>\n

\u201cIs she\u2026?\u201d
\nThe girl didn\u2019t finish her sentence, but she didn\u2019t need to.
\nMy mother kept weeping silently, doing that thing she always did where she made a scene without making a sound. My father, however, stood rigid with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like he was greeting the congregation on the church steps, not facing the teenage daughter he had thrown out into the street.
\nI turned my attention back to the girl.
\nShe looked way too much like me for it to be a coincidence. It wasn\u2019t just her facial features. It was the defensive way she kept her sneaker wedged against the door, ready to slam it shut if things went south. It was the subtle tilt of her chin when she felt scrutinized.
\nIt was like looking at my teenage self, just\u2026 better fed. Calmer. More loved, I realized with a sudden pang of shame.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d I asked.
\nMy mother immediately stepped in front of her. \u201cYou do not have to speak to her, Maya.\u201d
\nMaya.<\/i>\u00a0Hearing that name fall from my mother\u2019s lips sent a bizarre chill through me. Not just because it was a beautiful name, but because I had picked it out myself, decades ago, for the little girl I thought I was going to have.
\nThe girl narrowed her eyes at me. \u201cDo I know you?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I answered softly. \u201cBut it looks like we should have met a very long time ago.\u201d
\nMy father finally stepped off the porch. \u201cYou\u2019ve said your piece. Now get off my property.\u201d
\nI took a slow, deliberate look at him. He had aged much worse than I\u2019d pictured. He was smaller. Hollowed out. The terrifying authority he used to project now just looked like poorly managed exhaustion.
\n\u201cTwenty years without seeing me,\u201d I shot back, \u201cand you still think you can boss me around.\u201d \u201cAnd you still come around here just to cause a scene.\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t come to cause a scene. I came to look you dead in the eye when you finally heard me say out loud what you did to me.\u201d
\nMaya glanced back and forth between us. \u201cWhat the hell is going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

My mother dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her cardigan. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing that concerns you, sweetheart. Just go back inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

But the girl planted her feet.<\/p>\n

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

Her defiance sparked a sudden, unexpected surge of strength in my chest. Maybe because I wasn\u2019t just standing there fighting for myself anymore. The way they were trying to hush her up felt sickeningly familiar to how they used to silence me.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cThey threw me out of this house when I was sixteen because I got pregnant,\u201d I said, keeping my eyes locked on Maya. \u201cThey kicked me out into a rainstorm. No money. No high school diploma. Nobody to call. And apparently, after they scrubbed me from their lives, they decided to just start over.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

Maya\u2019s brow furrowed deep. \u201cGrandma\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother stared at the concrete. \u201cDon\u2019t listen to her crazy talk.\u201d \u201cIs it a lie?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

Nobody answered her. The silence was so suffocating that even the cicadas in the oak trees seemed to mute themselves.<\/p>\n

I took a deep breath. I had replayed this exact confrontation in my head a thousand times. In my wildest fantasies, I showed up looking flawless, delivered a few devastating one-liners, and left them completely broken. In other versions, they dropped to their knees sobbing for forgiveness, and I magnanimously decided whether or not to grant it.<\/p>\n

Real life didn\u2019t match the movie script. Real life smelled like damp mildew, stale coffee, and old dust. Real life featured a teenager standing in a doorway, staring at us like we had just cracked the earth wide open under her feet.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cWho is she?\u201d Maya demanded, looking past me to them.<\/p>\n

My father set his jaw. \u201cShe\u2019s nobody.\u201d<\/p>\n

That word hit my chest like a blunt object. It was so familiar, so deeply ingrained, that for a split second, I was a terrified sixteen-year-old with a soaked backpack all over again.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

But before I could even defend myself, Maya spoke up, her voice eerily calm. \u201cIf she was nobody, you two wouldn\u2019t be shaking like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother actually started to tremble. My father grabbed her by the elbow\u2014not to comfort her, but with that controlling grip of his, trying to micromanage the way his wife was falling apart.<\/p>\n

That was when I really\u00a0saw<\/i>\u00a0my mother. Not the ruthless enforcer who locked me out that night. Not the pious martyr of the church potlucks. Just a fragile, pride-sick old woman who had been carrying the weight of a massive lie for far too long.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Even seeing her like that, I felt zero pity. I only felt a starving hunger for the truth. \u201cWho is her mother?\u201d I asked Maya directly.<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s head snapped up. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart started hammering against my ribs. Maya blinked, totally lost. \u201cWhat do you mean, who\u2019s my mom?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My father barked over her, \u201cThat is enough! Get the hell out of here before I throw you out myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

I offered him a humorless, icy smile. \u201cI\u2019d love to see you try.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe it was my tone, or maybe it was the realization that I wasn\u2019t the malnourished kid he had bullied decades ago, but he stayed put. And in that tiny hesitation, I saw something in my father\u2019s eyes I had never witnessed before: genuine fear.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya let go of the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, standing directly across from me. \u201cI want somebody to explain what\u2019s going on,\u201d she demanded. \u201cRight now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She had fire.\u00a0My<\/i>\u00a0fire. And for a fleeting second, even before I knew the exact bloodline connecting us, I felt an intense, painful surge of maternal pride.<\/p>\n

My mother practically collapsed into a rusty patio chair, her knees giving out completely. My father stood his ground. \u201cYour mom was a woman who ran out on us a long, long time ago,\u201d he said, glaring at me with raw venom. \u201cAnd she only came back today to destroy the little bit of peace we have left in this house.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

His words gutted me, but it wasn\u2019t the insult itself. It was the specific phrasing.\u00a0Your mom.<\/i><\/p>\n

Not \u201cher.\u201d Not \u201cthis crazy woman.\u201d Not even \u201cmy daughter.\u201d\u00a0Your mom.<\/i><\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s eyes went wide. The oxygen left the atmosphere.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cWhat did you just say?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

My father clamped his mouth shut. He had slipped up. He realized it the second the words left his tongue.<\/p>\n

My mother started shaking her head frantically. \u201cNo, no, please, no\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya whipped her head toward him. \u201cWhat did you mean by that?\u201d He went totally mute.<\/p>\n

I pressed my palm against my sternum because I actually thought I might pass out. The porch, the peeling siding, the overgrown weeds\u2014everything started spinning in slow motion around this grotesque, impossible reality that my body was digesting before my brain could.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I choked out, mostly to myself. \u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya was studying my face like she was trying to read a map. \u201cAre you\u2026?\u201d she started.<\/p>\n

My voice cracked down the middle. \u201cI had a little girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nobody moved a muscle. \u201cOr, at least, that\u2019s what they told me I had.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My mother let out a pathetic, wheezing sob. My legs turned to lead. I slumped back against the porch railing to stay upright.<\/p>\n

Twenty years.<\/b><\/p>\n

Twenty years of believing that, after I delivered in a crowded county hospital in Memphis, my baby girl had passed away just hours later. Twenty years of carrying that grief like a burning coal in my stomach. Twenty years of hating myself for being too broke, too young, and too alone to ask the doctors more questions while I lay there bleeding, doped up on painkillers, listening to an exhausted nurse say that \u201csometimes God just needs another angel.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I never got to see a body. I never got to hold her. They didn\u2019t show me a single thing.<\/p>\n

I just blindly signed a stack of clinical paperwork and cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, there was no baby. Just an endless void.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I repeated, locking eyes with my mother. \u201cDo not tell me you did that. Tell me you weren\u2019t actually capable of doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My father finally closed the distance between us. \u201cDrop the theatrics.\u201d<\/p>\n

And in that exact moment, the last remaining thread of my sanity snapped. I slapped him across the face.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t plan it. I didn\u2019t think about the consequences. It was pure, unfiltered reflex.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed across the yard like a gunshot. Maya jumped backward. My mother leaped out of her chair. My father grabbed his face, utterly stunned\u2014not by the physical pain, but by the sheer humiliation of someone finally striking back.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty years,\u201d I hissed at him, my entire body vibrating. \u201cTwenty years letting me believe my daughter was dead in the ground.\u201d \u201cShe wasn\u2019t dead!\u201d my mother shrieked.<\/p>\n

All three of us whipped our heads toward her.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The horrific truth of her confession hung in the humid air. There was no walking it back now. My mother clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes frantic with panic. Maya took a stumbling step backward.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you talking about?!\u201d I could barely keep myself on my feet. \u201cTell her,\u201d I growled at my mother. \u201cLook that girl dead in the eyes and tell her exactly what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at me with this sickening blend of deep shame and desperate self-justification. As if, after everything, she still expected me to sympathize with her twisted logic.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cYou were totally alone,\u201d she stammered, her voice cracking. \u201cYou had zero money. There was no way a kid like you was going to survive out there with a newborn.\u201d \u201cAnd so you decided to steal my baby?!\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t steal her!\u201d \u201cThen what the hell do you call it?!\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya was sobbing silently now, the tears cascading down her cheeks without her even trying to wipe them away. My father raised a hand. \u201cAlright, that is enou\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShut up!\u201d Maya screamed at him.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The absolute venom and authority in her teenage voice gave me goosebumps. My mother sank back down into the rusty chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father made an arrangement with a social worker at the clinic,\u201d she confessed, staring at the dirt. \u201cWe told them the baby was born with complications. We said that if they handed her over to you, you\u2019d just drag her down and ruin both your lives. We told them it was better to keep it off the books. That we could take her back here, give her a stable home, and a real name. We even drove back to Memphis a few days later to find you, but they said you\u2019d already checked out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I let out a harsh, agonizing, suffocating laugh.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cYou drove back to look for me? After you locked me out? After you threw a pregnant teenager onto the street? And you want me to buy that this was some act of parental mercy?\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother looked up, her eyes totally shattered.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was about the shame at first. Yes. I\u2019m not going to lie about that. But then\u2026 then we went and looked at her in the nursery\u2026\u201d Her voice fractured into a sob. \u201cAnd she looked exactly like you did the day you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

That sentence gutted me in the most manipulative, filthy way possible. Not because it was a sweet sentiment, but because it\u2019s exactly the kind of poetic garbage abusers use to dress up an unforgivable sin and call it fate.<\/p>\n

Maya was ghostly pale. \u201cSo\u2026?\u201d she breathed out. \u201cAre you\u2026 my mom?\u201d<\/p>\n

Neither of my parents had the guts to answer her. So I did. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My own voice sounded totally foreign to me. It sounded like it was coming from a woman standing five feet away, not from my own vocal cords.<\/p>\n

Maya froze. She stared at me with an intensity that physically hurt. I watched a dozen emotions sprint across her face: complete shock, pure terror, a tiny spark of impossible hope, and finally, a bright, fiery, absolute rage.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what have I been my whole life?\u201d she yelled, turning on my parents. \u201cYour granddaughter? Your secret do-over? Your cover-up?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My father tilted his chin up, desperately clinging to his pathetic delusion of righteousness. \u201cYou were whatever you needed to be in order to have a decent life.\u201d<\/p>\n

She let out a wet, hysterical laugh. \u201cDecent? You\u2019ve been lying to my face since I took my first breath!\u201d \u201cWe gave you everything!\u201d he barked. \u201cNo! You gave me a hostage situation!\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t tear my eyes away from her. Every time her lip quivered, every time she shifted her weight, I was struck by the suffocating weight of twenty stolen years. At the same time, I was terrified. Terrified of reaching out. Terrified of trying to claim a connection I wasn\u2019t sure I had earned the right to touch.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your full legal name?\u201d I asked her, my voice gentle.<\/p>\n

She took a long second to answer, her eyes still locked in a glare on my parents. \u201cMaya Rose Gallagher.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gallagher.<\/i>\u00a0My father\u2019s surname. I didn\u2019t know a last name could physically stab you in the chest until that exact second.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cI picked the name Maya,\u201d I told her quietly. Her expression shifted.<\/p>\n

It was a microscopic change, but I caught it: a puzzle piece snapping into place in her mind where there used to just be empty paranoia.<\/p>\n

My mother started bawling again. \u201cI overheard it,\u201d she wept. \u201cI heard you whispering it to your stomach when you were pregnant. That\u2019s why\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya turned to look at the old woman with bone-chilling slowness. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t even let me have my own name?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nobody said a word. A pickup truck rumbled down the county road. A dog barked a few blocks over. A neighbor\u2019s lawnmower buzzed in the distance. The rest of the world was just spinning on, totally indifferent, while our entire universe was burning to the ground on this overgrown patio.<\/p>\n

Maya looked back at me. \u201cDid you know about me? All this time?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

That question shattered my heart. \u201cNo,\u201d I promised her, my voice shaking. \u201cI swear to God, I had no idea. They told me you didn\u2019t make it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She squeezed her eyes shut, seemingly weighing whether or not to trust me. When she opened them, the dam broke, and she really started crying.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy entire life, I felt this weird\u2026 ache right here,\u201d she said, pressing a hand to her breastbone. \u201cLike everyone in this house loved me, but nobody could ever look me in the eye for too long. It always felt like I was trying to remember a memory that never actually happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I took a hesitant step closer. \u201cMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n

We just stood there, staring at each other, separated by three feet of concrete and two decades of kidnapping. I wanted to grab her and hug her. I was too terrified to try.<\/p>\n

Maybe she felt the same paralyzing fear, because she didn\u2019t step forward either. She just sniffled and asked in a tiny, fragile voice that wrecked me completely: \u201cDo I\u2026 did you have\u2026 I mean, do I have any brothers or sisters?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I swallowed a hard lump in my throat.<\/p>\n

I thought of the dusty memory box sitting in my closet back in Seattle. The faded ultrasound strips. The plastic hospital bracelet. The incredible life I had built out West. And the other life\u2014the boy who actually got to grow up with me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I told her, managing a watery smile. \u201cYou have a little brother.\u201d Maya\u2019s jaw dropped.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cSeriously?\u201d I nodded. \u201cHis name is Miles. He\u2019s seventeen.\u201d<\/p>\n

A weird, complex emotion flickered across her face. It was almost a smile, blooming right in the middle of a warzone. Almost. My father slammed his fist down on the rusty patio table.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright, enough of this absolute garbage! Nobody is taking anyone anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya slowly turned to face him. And for the very first time in her life, she wasn\u2019t looking at him like a grandfather, or a guardian, or even an elder. She was looking at him like an irrelevant old man who had just run out of ammunition.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m leaving,\u201d she stated. My mother jumped up so fast she tipped the patio chair backward into the grass.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sweetie, please don\u2019t do this to me!\u201d Maya yanked her arm out of reach when my mother tried to grab her.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cDo not call me that. Not today.\u201d<\/p>\n

The absolute rejection in her tone left my mother gasping for air.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t know what to say, either. Because while every cell in my body wanted to throw her in my SUV and speed off, the logical part of me knew you couldn\u2019t fix twenty years of trauma with a packed duffel bag and a road trip. This girl was woven out of years of lies. She had deep attachments, hometown guilt, ingrained habits. And then there was me: a total stranger wearing her face, showing up on a Friday afternoon to announce that her entire existence was a staged theatrical production.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Maya furiously wiped her eyes. \u201cI want to check something,\u201d she announced.<\/p>\n

She marched through the front door without waiting for permission. The three of us trailed behind her on pure instinct. She stomped down the hallway into the living room, yanked open the bottom drawer of an old oak cabinet, and pulled out a battered, faded yellow envelope. She tossed it onto the coffee table.<\/p>\n

\u201cI found this hidden in the back three years ago,\u201d she said, her voice trembling. \u201cThey never gave me a straight answer about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I picked it up with numb fingers and peeled it open. Inside was a tiny plastic hospital wristband.<\/p>\n

It was minuscule. Transparent. The printed text was severely faded by time. I read my own name. My maiden name.<\/p>\n

And printed right beneath it, in smudged black ink:\u00a0Baby Girl<\/i>.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the edge of the sofa.<\/p>\n

\u201cI always knew something was screwed up,\u201d Maya sobbed, burying her face in her hands. \u201cWhen I found that, they lied and said it belonged to a sick cousin who passed away. But then I\u2019d find hidden toddler photos of me stuffed in shoeboxes, but zero baby pictures in the family albums. Nothing on the walls. It was like I just magically spawned as a two-year-old.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked up at my parents standing in the doorway.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

They didn\u2019t look terrifying anymore. They didn\u2019t look intimidating, or righteous, or invincible. They were just two pathetic, shrinking people who had blown up multiple lives just because they thought they could play God.<\/p>\n

Maya took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at me. \u201cI don\u2019t know what happens next.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have absolutely no idea, either,\u201d I admitted. It was the first completely honest sentence spoken in that house all day.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

She gave me a slow nod, almost like she appreciated that I wasn\u2019t trying to sell her a fairytale ending. \u201cBut I\u2019m not sleeping in this house tonight,\u201d she declared.<\/p>\n

My heart did a backflip. \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother let out a wretched wail. \u201cMaya, please\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The girl turned to her. Her voice was shaking, but her spine was steel.<\/p>\n

\u201cI lived here my entire life. And yet, the very first person to ever tell me the truth was a random stranger knocking on the front door.\u201d<\/p>\n

I desperately wanted to interrupt her. I wanted to scream that I wasn\u2019t a stranger, that I was her mother, and that I had spent the last two decades searching for her without even knowing she was missing. But I bit my tongue. Not yet.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t have the right to overwhelm her with declarations of love she wasn\u2019t ready to process.<\/p>\n

Maya stormed upstairs to grab a duffel bag. I stood frozen in the living room, clutching the plastic hospital bracelet, listening to my pulse hammer in my eardrums. My father never said another word. My mother just sat heavily at the dining table, crying into her hands, staring at the linoleum like she might find forgiveness down there.<\/p>\n

When Maya came back down the stairs, she was carrying bare essentials: a few changes of clothes, a phone charger, a manila folder, and one framed photo she kept turned away from me. She walked right past her grandparents without saying goodbye.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

When she reached the screen door, she stopped and looked back at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you seriously drive all the way out here just to look them in the eyes?\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought about the massive emotional baggage I had hauled down here: my decades of anger, my morbid curiosity, my unhealed trauma, and that desperate, childish need to look my abusers in the face and prove I had survived them. I took one final look at the suffocating house that broke me.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I answered honestly. \u201cBut it looks like the universe had other plans.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya held my gaze. I could see the terror swirling in her eyes, sure. But there was something else in there, too. Something fragile and brave, like a tightrope stretched across a massive canyon.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen drive safe,\u201d she told me, pushing the screen door open. \u201cBecause I think we\u2019re both going to have to figure out who we actually are today.\u201d<\/p>\n

Click Here to continuous Read\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b Full Ending Story\"\ud83d\udc49\"Part 2 : When my parents found my pregnancy test, my mother\u2026<\/a><\/h1>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When my parents found my pregnancy test, my mother hurled my backpack out onto the front lawn, and my father told me that as of that night, I was dead … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3999,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4472","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\/4472","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=4472"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4489,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4472\/revisions\/4489"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3999"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/realstoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}