<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I used to think the hardest part of raising twins was the exhaustion. The kind that turns time into a blur of bottles, diapers, and three-hour stretches of sleep if you\u2019re lucky. But I was wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The real shock came the night I opened the nanny-cam app and saw something that made my blood run cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My boys, Liam and Noah, were eleven months old\u2014two tiny hurricanes in matching pajamas. If you\u2019ve never had twins, imagine sleep deprivation becoming part of your personality. I hadn\u2019t slept more than three consecutive hours in nearly a year, and I\u2019d stopped remembering what it felt like to wake up without a knot of dread in my stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My husband, Mark, traveled for work at least twice a month. Sometimes more. And we didn\u2019t have a safety net.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No family. No grandparents. No aunt who could swing by with soup and tell me to go shower. My parents were gone, and I\u2019d been their only child. Mark had grown up in foster care, bouncing between homes like a piece of luggage nobody wanted to claim. We built our life on our own\u2014proud of it, even\u2014but when the twins arrived, that pride started to feel like a weight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two weeks before everything unraveled, I broke down on the kitchen floor with one baby screaming in my arms and the other banging a spoon like he was trying to summon help through noise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can\u2019t keep doing this,\u201d I sobbed into the phone while Mark tried to sound calm on the other end. \u201cI\u2019m so tired I can\u2019t even think straight anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His voice softened instantly, the way it always did when he heard that edge in me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have to do this alone,\u201d he said. \u201cI should\u2019ve hired help months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So we did it the \u201cright\u201d way. Licensed agency. Verified references. Background checks. CPR certification. I went through the paperwork like it was a contract with the universe: if something went wrong, it wouldn\u2019t be because I hadn\u2019t done enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The agency sent Mrs. Higgins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked like someone\u2019s favorite aunt. Around sixty, maybe. Gray hair twisted into a neat bun, soft blue cardigan, sensible flats. She smelled faintly of lavender and sugar cookies, and she spoke in that warm, confident way that made you think of bedtime stories and band-aids on scraped knees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, my little darlings,\u201d she said the moment she saw the boys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And my sons\u2014who normally reacted to strangers like they were being offered to wolves\u2014crawled straight into her lap like they\u2019d been waiting for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark and I just stared at each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell,\u201d he whispered, like he didn\u2019t want to jinx it, \u201cthat feels like a good sign.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It felt like oxygen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Within days, Mrs. Higgins knew the rhythm of our house better than I did. Bottles warmed without asking. Laundry folded so perfectly it looked ironed. The linen closet reorganized in the exact way Mark liked, with fitted sheets tucked into matching pillowcases like some kind of domestic magic trick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boys adored her. I adored her. For the first time since giving birth, it felt like I could unclench.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then one evening, Mark did something I hadn\u2019t expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI booked us an overnight at the spa,\u201d he said, holding up his phone as if it were proof of miracles. \u201cJust one night. No monitors. No interruptions. Just\u2026 sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I started crying before I could stop myself\u2014silent, humiliating tears of relief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mrs. Higgins squeezed my hand gently when she heard the plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou both look exhausted,\u201d she said. \u201cYou deserve rest. The boys will be perfectly fine. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nodded. I smiled. I thanked her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And still, a small part of me couldn\u2019t fully relax.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That morning, before we left, I installed a nanny camera in the living room. Quietly. Secretly. I didn\u2019t tell Mark. I didn\u2019t tell her. I told myself it was for peace of mind, but the truth was, becoming a mother had sharpened some primitive instinct inside me\u2014something that never fully trusted comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night, around 8:45 p.m., Mark and I were in plush white robes at the spa lounge, pretending we remembered how to be a couple instead of two exhausted parents passing each other like ships. He was talking about the massage menu. I was smiling, nodding, trying to be present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then my thumb tapped the nanny-cam app.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boys were asleep in the living room, small bundled shapes breathing steadily. Mrs. Higgins sat on the couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She wasn\u2019t knitting. She wasn\u2019t watching TV. She was just\u2026 sitting there, perfectly still, like she was listening for something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she looked around the room slowly and carefully, the way someone does when they want to be sure they\u2019re alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A cold sensation crawled up my spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She reached up and lifted off her gray hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It came off in one piece.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A wig.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My heart slammed so hard I thought I might throw up right there in that quiet, expensive spa lounge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Underneath, her hair was short and dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mouth went dry. \u201cOh my God,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark heard the change in my voice and took the phone from my hand. I watched his face drain of color as he stared at the screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he demanded, half to me and half to the universe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the video, she pulled a wipe from her pocket and scrubbed her face. The wrinkles smeared away. Age spots vanished. Even a small mole near her cheek disappeared like it had never existed. The woman on the couch wasn\u2019t sixty. She looked closer to late forties, maybe early fifties\u2014still older, but not the soft, harmless grandmother figure we\u2019d hired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My stomach twisted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she stood and walked toward the window. With practiced ease, she reached behind the curtain and dragged out a large duffel bag I hadn\u2019t known was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My blood turned to ice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe\u2019re leaving,\u201d I said, already standing. \u201cRight now. My babies are in danger.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark didn\u2019t argue. He didn\u2019t even speak. We bolted for the car, throwing on clothes, moving like our bodies had been trained for emergencies\u2014because parenthood trains you whether you want it to or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The drive home felt like a nightmare that wouldn\u2019t end. Every streetlight looked too slow, every red light felt personal. My mind sprinted ahead of the car, building horror stories faster than I could stop them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kidnapping. Ransom. Revenge. Something sick and planned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I refreshed the feed again and again until my hand cramped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then\u2014on the screen\u2014she opened the bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But she didn\u2019t pull out a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She pulled out neatly wrapped packages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A pair of hand-knit blue sweaters with the boys\u2019 names embroidered across the front. Two soft stuffed elephants. And then\u2026 a camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She positioned it carefully near the crib and leaned in, whispering like she was afraid of waking the air itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJust one picture for Nana.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nana.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The word hit me like a slap because it didn\u2019t belong in my fear. It didn\u2019t match the duffel bag. It didn\u2019t match the wig. It didn\u2019t match the lies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned my head slowly toward Mark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo you know her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His eyes stayed locked on the road, but his jaw tightened so hard I saw the muscle jump.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMark,\u201d I pressed, my voice shaking. \u201cYou know her, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then, like the truth was a stone he\u2019d been carrying in his mouth, he finally said it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe\u2019s my mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The world tilted. Not dramatically, like in movies. It tilted quietly, the way your mind tilts when it realizes it trusted something that wasn\u2019t real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou told me she was a monster,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI told you we didn\u2019t have a relationship.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou said she wasn\u2019t safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI said she wasn\u2019t part of my life,\u201d he snapped, and the sharpness in his voice wasn\u2019t aimed at me. It was aimed at the past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not the same thing,\u201d I said, because it wasn\u2019t. Not even close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We pulled into the driveway like we were arriving at the scene of a crime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was out of the car before it fully stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside, the house was peaceful in a way that made me furious. Mrs. Higgins\u2014Margaret\u2014sat calmly on the couch holding Noah against her chest. Liam slept in the crib. The air smelled like the lavender candle I\u2019d lit that morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked up when we burst in, her eyes calm but wary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMark,\u201d she said softly, like his name was something fragile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMom, don\u2019t,\u201d he replied immediately, voice tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stepped forward, my whole body vibrating with adrenaline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cStart explaining.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She carefully set Noah back into the crib as if she had all the time in the world, then turned to face us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy name is Margaret,\u201d she said. \u201cI work for the agency under the name Mrs. Higgins because families\u2026 warm up to it. But I wore the wig and makeup because I knew Mark would recognize me. And I knew he wouldn\u2019t let me near the children.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou lied to us,\u201d I said, hearing how thin my voice sounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes,\u201d she answered, calm as a confession. \u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes glistened, but she didn\u2019t look away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause I wanted to see my son,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd my grandsons.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark laughed once\u2014bitter, sharp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t get to play grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI never stopped being your mother,\u201d she replied gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou lost that right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI lost custody,\u201d she corrected quietly. \u201cThere\u2019s a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My chest tightened. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d I asked. \u201cBecause I clearly don\u2019t know the whole story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d Mark said fast, like he wanted to slam a door on the conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt matters to me,\u201d I said, because it did. If someone had been holding my babies while wearing a disguise, it mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret folded her hands. \u201cHis father didn\u2019t want him. I didn\u2019t have money or support. The court didn\u2019t listen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou failed,\u201d Mark shot back, and for a second he didn\u2019t sound like my husband. He sounded like a boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was young and alone,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I never stopped loving you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she added something that made the air in the room change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been sending money every month since the twins were born,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cI wanted to help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My stomach dropped as the anonymous envelopes from the last year clicked into place, one by one, like beads on a string.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark\u2019s face hardened. \u201cI should\u2019ve sent it back,\u201d he said roughly. \u201cThat was my mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMistake?\u201d she echoed softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He pointed toward the door. \u201cYou need to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret\u2019s gaze flicked to me before she moved, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle in a way that somehow hurt more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI never meant to frighten you,\u201d she said. \u201cI just didn\u2019t know how else to reach him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then she picked up the duffel bag and walked out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The door shut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The quiet afterward was louder than anything that had happened before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned to Mark. \u201cYou owe me the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sank onto the couch and covered his face with both hands like he wanted to disappear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can\u2019t do this,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because I couldn\u2019t carry a marriage built on half-truths and locked doors\u2014not with two tiny lives depending on us to be the safe place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t get to shut down,\u201d I said quietly. \u201cNot after that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He rubbed his hands over his face. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen explain it to me,\u201d I said, steady even as my insides shook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He stared at the floor. \u201cShe\u2019s a monster.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My voice dropped. \u201cA monster whose money you took?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe owes me,\u201d he said, jaw clenched. \u201cShe didn\u2019t fight hard enough for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou were eight,\u201d I said softly. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t have known what she fought.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He stood abruptly like my words burned. \u201cDon\u2019t defend her. It\u2019s over. She\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And he walked away like walking away was his language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it didn\u2019t feel over to me. Not even close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next morning, after Mark left for work, I called the agency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMargaret?\u201d the coordinator said. \u201cYes. She\u2019s been with us six years. Excellent record. Families request her by name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAny complaints?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNone. She\u2019s one of our most trusted caregivers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That didn\u2019t fit the story Mark had carried like a shield.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I found Margaret\u2019s number in the employee paperwork. I knew I shouldn\u2019t call her without telling Mark. I knew. But some questions turn into poison when you leave them unanswered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She agreed to meet at a nearby restaurant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I brought the twins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When she saw them, her face softened in a way that didn\u2019t feel performative. It felt\u2026 aching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThank you for reaching out,\u201d she said gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI need to hear your side,\u201d I told her, because I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She took a breath, looking down at her hands as if the story lived there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHis father abandoned us,\u201d she said. \u201cThen someone called Social Services. Mark was taken. Visits were supervised. Court dates. Lawyers. I ran out of money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMark said you didn\u2019t fight,\u201d I said carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes filled, but she held my gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI sold my car. I worked two jobs. I slept on a friend\u2019s couch for months to pay legal fees. In the end, the judge said stability mattered more than love. I had the latter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My throat tightened. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell him that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI tried,\u201d she said, voice steady but broken at the edges. \u201cLetters came back. Phone calls were blocked. When he turned eighteen, I reached out again. He answered once and said, \u2018Stop pretending you care.\u2019 Then he hung up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sounded like Mark. The same Mark who could lock pain in a box and build a whole life around not opening it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been sending money,\u201d she continued, \u201cbecause it\u2019s the only way he\u2019ll accept anything from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou disguised yourself,\u201d I said, still struggling with that part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t want to scare you,\u201d she said quickly. \u201cI only thought\u2026 if I could see the boys once, I could live with that. But then I saw how exhausted you were.\u201d Her voice softened. \u201cYou reminded me of myself back then. I couldn\u2019t walk away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I left that restaurant, I didn\u2019t feel lighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt like I\u2019d been handed a truth that had been split in half and fed to two different people until both halves became sharp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That evening, after the twins were asleep, I told Mark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI met her,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He froze. \u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His face tightened instantly. \u201cYou went behind my back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou went behind mine first,\u201d I replied evenly. \u201cYou took her money and hid her from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Silence stretched, heavy and ugly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re angry,\u201d I said. \u201cYou have every right to be. But you\u2019re punishing her without knowing the whole truth, and you\u2019re hurting yourself too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sat down slowly, the fight draining out of him like someone unplugged it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t know what it felt like,\u201d he said, voice low. \u201cTo wait for her to choose me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd maybe she did,\u201d I said gently. \u201cMaybe she just didn\u2019t win.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they looked tired in a different way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how to forgive her,\u201d he admitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to forgive everything,\u201d I said. \u201cJust start with a conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two days later, he agreed to meet her at a coffee shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stayed in the car with the boys, hands clenched around the steering wheel like it was holding me together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Through the window, I watched them sit across from each other. Mark rigid. Margaret composed but trembling in her stillness. They barely spoke at first. Then she said something and Mark\u2019s shoulders tightened. He responded and she nodded, eyes wet. Minutes passed like hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then, slowly, I saw a shift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His shoulders dropped\u2014not all the way, but enough to tell me a door had cracked open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When he returned to the car, his eyes were red.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what happens next,\u201d he said, voice rough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou talked,\u201d I said. \u201cThat\u2019s something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He swallowed hard. \u201cShe said she would\u2019ve chosen me every time. That she never stopped fighting, even after the papers were signed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He stared down at his hands. \u201cI think I needed to hear that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The following Sunday, Margaret came over again\u2014no wig, no makeup disguise, no borrowed softness. Just herself, standing awkwardly at the door with her hands folded like she didn\u2019t know where to put them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI won\u2019t push,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cI only want whatever you\u2019re comfortable giving.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark hesitated long enough to make my stomach twist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he stepped aside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can come in,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret\u2019s smile was fragile, like it didn\u2019t trust happiness yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When she held the boys, she whispered, \u201cHello, my little darlings,\u201d and this time it didn\u2019t sound like a line. It sounded like a promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mark watched carefully, eyes guarded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, after a long moment, he said softly, almost to himself, \u201cThey\u2019re lucky to have you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margaret looked at him like he\u2019d just handed her something she\u2019d spent a lifetime believing she didn\u2019t deserve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And for the first time since that night at the spa, I felt something settle in me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not a neat ending. Not perfection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just the beginning of something honest.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I used to think the hardest part of raising twins was the exhaustion. The kind that turns time into a blur of bottles, diapers, and three-hour stretches of sleep if … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5880,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5879","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5879"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5881,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5879\/revisions\/5881"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5880"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5879"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5879"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hotfreshnewss.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5879"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}