By the time we reached Grandma\u2019s house, Dad\u2019s Mercedes was gone. So was Stephen Caldwell. Two police cruisers blocked the driveway, their lights painting red and blue streaks across the brick walls where I had spent half my childhood. Tyler\u2019s car sat crooked near the curb with the driver\u2019s door open. I jumped out before Detective Ruiz had fully stopped. \u201cTyler!\u201d An officer stepped from behind the porch. \u201cHe\u2019s okay.\u201d My brother appeared seconds later, pale and furious, rubbing the side of his neck.<\/p>\n
I grabbed his shoulders. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d Tyler glanced toward Ruiz. \u201cDad saw me watching. He came over and asked why I was following him. I told him you called.\u201d \u201cI told you not to.\u201d \u201cYeah, well, things got weird.\u201d He looked embarrassed. \u201cCaldwell came up behind Dad. They started arguing about whether they should leave. Dad grabbed my phone when he realized you were still connected. I tried to take it back.\u201d \u201cDid he hurt you?\u201d \u201cJust shoved me against the car.\u201d Tyler\u2019s laugh contained no humor. \u201cClassic Dad. Nothing worth putting on the family Christmas card.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s the green tin?\u201d Ruiz asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWith him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you see inside?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid your father open it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot outside.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the house. The back door stood open, and the screen had been torn loose near the latch. Dad had not bothered with subtlety.<\/p>\n
Ruiz ordered the property secured while she called for a warrant. Because I was named in Grandma\u2019s preliminary estate papers as a beneficiary and had a key, we could enter common areas but were instructed not to disturb anything Dad might have touched. The kitchen looked ransacked. Cabinet doors hung open. Flour and sugar containers had been moved. Grandma\u2019s old ceramic rooster lay broken on the floor.<\/p>\n
Tyler stared at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe loved that ugly thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
The stupid observation nearly broke me.<\/p>\n
I bent to pick up one piece, then stopped before touching it.<\/p>\n
Dad had moved through Grandma\u2019s house less than twenty-four hours after burying her, hunting something she had spent years keeping from him. Whatever remained of my assumptions about ordinary family greed was dissolving. This was bigger than an inheritance dispute. Bigger than the forged death certificate. Dad had behaved as though the contents of that tin could destroy him.<\/p>\n
An officer found Grandma\u2019s bedroom door forced open.<\/p>\n
Inside, the mattress had been shifted, drawers emptied, clothing dumped across the carpet. The round cookie tin where Grandma once stored the blue passbook sat crushed beside the dresser.<\/p>\n
Ruiz stood in the doorway.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father knew where she kept the first one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo he probably knew she used containers as hiding places.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked around.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrandma knew that too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe would have expected him to search.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruiz followed my gaze.<\/p>\n
I had spent countless weekends in that room. Grandma\u2019s hiding places had never been sophisticated. Cash inside old birthday cards. Jewelry in a sewing basket. Important papers beneath folded linens. Yet the woman who had arranged a bank alert lasting twenty-seven years would not rely entirely on a tea tin.<\/p>\n
I walked to the closet.<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe,\u201d Ruiz warned.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not touching anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
At the back hung Grandma\u2019s winter coats. Above them sat the shelf where the cookie tin had been hidden. Dad had cleared everything from it.<\/p>\n
I crouched.<\/p>\n
The baseboard beneath the hanging clothes was slightly darker at one corner.<\/p>\n
I remembered being nine years old, watching Grandpa repair termite damage there.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere used to be a loose panel.\u201d<\/p>\n
An evidence technician examined it and photographed the area before carefully prying it free.<\/p>\n
Behind the wood sat an envelope.<\/p>\n
Dad had missed it.<\/p>\n
My name was written across the front.<\/p>\n
CHLOE \u2014 IF RICHARD FINDS THE GREEN TIN.<\/p>\n
My throat closed.<\/p>\n
Ruiz photographed the envelope, then handed it to me after the technician cleared it.<\/p>\n
Inside was a small brass key and a note.<\/p>\n
My dear girl,<\/p>\n
If you are reading this, Richard has begun searching openly. That means he believes I am no longer able to stop him.<\/p>\n
Do not chase the green book.<\/p>\n
Let him have it.<\/p>\n
The green passbook tells him where the money went.<\/p>\n
The blue passbook tells you why.<\/p>\n
The key tells you where the truth began.<\/p>\n
Go to Samuel.<\/p>\n
Ask him about October 15, 2012.<\/p>\n
Do not believe the death certificate.<\/p>\n
Grandma\u2019s signature appeared beneath the final line.<\/p>\n
I read the message twice.<\/p>\n
Tyler leaned over my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cOctober fifteenth was Mom\u2019s death.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at Ruiz.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does she mean, don\u2019t believe the certificate?\u201d<\/p>\n
I told him about Caldwell.<\/p>\n
Tyler\u2019s face went blank.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe guy who was just here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the doctor who signed Mom\u2019s death certificate?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat heavily on Grandma\u2019s bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would Dad be with him?\u201d<\/p>\n
I had no answer I wanted to say aloud.<\/p>\n
Ruiz examined the brass key. A small number was stamped into one edge.<\/p>\n
307.<\/p>\n
Samuel Ortega lived thirty minutes away in a narrow ranch house surrounded by overgrown rose bushes. He opened the door before we knocked, as though he had been standing behind it watching the street. Age had bent him but had not softened his eyes. When he saw me, he stared so long that Tyler moved closer to my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look like her,\u201d Samuel said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome inside.\u201d<\/p>\n
His dining table had already been cleared except for four cardboard archive boxes. Each bore handwritten dates spanning 1999 to 2012.<\/p>\n
Ruiz showed him the brass key.<\/p>\n
Samuel closed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie kept it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does 307 open?\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cA vault.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt the bank?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt Green Meadows Cemetery.\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought I had misheard him.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe cemetery?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s an old mausoleum wall in the historical section. Decades ago, wealthy families rented document compartments there while estate transfers were being settled. Most were sealed permanently or emptied. Number 307 remained under a private lease.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGrandma\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOriginally Michael Walker\u2019s family.\u201d<\/p>\n
The unfamiliar man from the photograph suddenly felt closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me who Michael was.\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel folded his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was Anna\u2019s childhood friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a friend?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler shifted beside me.<\/p>\n
Samuel looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother loved him.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the tabletop.<\/p>\n
\u201cWas he my father?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI believed he could be.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Mom know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe knew there was uncertainty.\u201d<\/p>\n
The wording hurt more than a simple yes would have.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Richard know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEventually.\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel opened the first box.<\/p>\n
Inside were copies of police reports, photographs, witness statements, and handwritten notes. One image showed Mom with two newborns.<\/p>\n
Two.<\/p>\n
I reached for it before remembering the evidence gloves Ruiz had given me.<\/p>\n
Mom sat in a hospital bed, exhausted and smiling. One baby lay against each arm.<\/p>\n
On the back Grandma had written:<\/p>\n
Anna with Chloe and Claire. June 9.<\/p>\n
Tyler whispered, \u201cJesus.\u201d<\/p>\n
I touched the photograph through the plastic sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did Claire go?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is where the case fell apart.\u201d<\/p>\n
He explained that Mom had tried to leave Richard months after the twins were born. According to Grandma, Richard had discovered Anna remained in contact with Michael. The marriage became volatile. Mom told Grandma that Richard monitored her money, intercepted her mail, and threatened to make sure she never saw either child again if she left.<\/p>\n
\u201cOne evening Anna arrived at Maggie\u2019s with you,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cOnly you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere was Claire?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard had her.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hands went cold.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLeverage.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grandma contacted police.<\/p>\n
Samuel interviewed Mom.<\/p>\n
Before authorities could act, Mom withdrew her complaint and returned to Richard.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Claire?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat child vanished from the official record.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow does a baby vanish?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBirth documentation was amended. Hospital records disappeared. Your certificate was reissued showing a single birth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt should have been.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruiz asked, \u201cWho had access?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel opened another folder.<\/p>\n
One name appeared repeatedly.<\/p>\n
Dr. Stephen Caldwell.<\/p>\n
The same man Dad had taken from Grandma\u2019s house today.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was an obstetric resident at the hospital where Anna delivered,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cLater he became Richard\u2019s close friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt sick.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Dad kill Claire?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo evidence of that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe suspected an illegal private placement.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mean adoption?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSold?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel\u2019s silence was answer enough.<\/p>\n
Tyler stood and walked toward the window.<\/p>\n
I could see his shoulders rising and falling.<\/p>\n
All my life I had thought Tyler and I were Dad\u2019s two children. Now even the basic architecture of our family was collapsing.<\/p>\n
Samuel opened the 2012 box.<\/p>\n
\u201cFourteen years later, Anna contacted me again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said she had located evidence that Claire survived.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat evidence?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA financial transfer tied to the trust.\u201d<\/p>\n
The passbooks.<\/p>\n
Samuel nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaggie had tracked payments through the bank for years. She believed Richard and Caldwell had used a network of intermediaries to move money and falsify identity documents.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Mom find Claire?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe believed she found the family who received her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cColorado.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart hammered.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she go?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe planned to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOctober 15?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The date on Grandma\u2019s note.<\/p>\n
Samuel removed a cassette tape from the box.<\/p>\n
I stared at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruiz found an old recorder on Samuel\u2019s bookshelf. He inserted the cassette with careful hands.<\/p>\n
Static filled the room.<\/p>\n
Then Mom\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n
Older than in the hospital photograph.<\/p>\n
Exactly as I remembered.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m recording this because Richard found out about Michael.\u201d<\/p>\n
My breath disappeared.<\/p>\n
Tyler turned from the window.<\/p>\n
The tape crackled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how much time I have. He took my phone.\u201d<\/p>\n
A distant bang sounded.<\/p>\n
Mom whispered, \u201cHe locked me in the basement.\u201d<\/p>\n
I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n
Tyler sat beside me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe thinks Michael is coming to take Chloe and me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another noise.<\/p>\n
Footsteps.<\/p>\n
Then Dad\u2019s voice, muffled but recognizable even after fourteen years.<\/p>\n
\u201cANNA!\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom breathed rapidly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf someone finds this, Richard knows Chloe may not be his.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler looked at me.<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t look back.<\/p>\n
The tape recorded another door opening.<\/p>\n
A man\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnna?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom whispered, \u201cMichael.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then louder, \u201cWhere\u2019s Chloe?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt Margaret\u2019s. We get you first.\u201d<\/p>\n
Footsteps rushed across concrete.<\/p>\n
Dad shouted from above.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re not taking her!\u201d<\/p>\n
A violent crash followed.<\/p>\n
Mom screamed.<\/p>\n
The recording cut out.<\/p>\n
I sat completely still.<\/p>\n
My childhood memory of that day had always begun later.<\/p>\n
Grandma picking me up from school.<\/p>\n
Dad arriving after dark with red eyes.<\/p>\n
The announcement that Mom had suffered a sudden aneurysm.<\/p>\n
A closed-casket funeral three days later.<\/p>\n
I had never seen her body.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy was the casket closed?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Samuel\u2019s eyes glistened.<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard said the medical procedure left visible damage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat procedure?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe never explained.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ruiz asked for Mom\u2019s death certificate.<\/p>\n
Samuel handed her a copy.<\/p>\n
Stephen Caldwell had signed it.<\/p>\n
Cause of death: ruptured cerebral aneurysm.<\/p>\n
Location of death: Henderson residence.<\/p>\n
No hospital listed.<\/p>\n
No autopsy.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened to Michael?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Samuel removed another report.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe disappeared the same night.\u201d<\/p>\n
My pulse skipped.<\/p>\n
\u201cBoth of them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Dad told me Mom died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Michael?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard told people Michael fled after having an affair with Anna.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at Grandma\u2019s note.<\/p>\n
Do not believe the death certificate.<\/p>\n
The old room seemed to narrow around me.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you investigate?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI tried.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat stopped you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA medical examiner accepted Caldwell\u2019s certification. Richard produced cremation authorization.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCremation?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mother is buried at Green Meadows.\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is what you were told.\u201d<\/p>\n
My skin prickled.<\/p>\n
\u201cWas she cremated or buried?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe never established what was inside the casket.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tyler muttered a curse.<\/p>\n
Ruiz asked, \u201cCan we seek exhumation?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cBut there may be a faster way.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pointed toward the brass key.<\/p>\n
\u201cVault 307.\u201d<\/p>\n
We drove to Green Meadows just before sunset.<\/p>\n
The historical section lay beyond the newer graves, past a row of enormous oak trees and weathered stone angels. Samuel led us to an old retaining wall built into a slope. Most of its small brass doors had been sealed with concrete.<\/p>\n
Number 307 was almost hidden behind ivy.<\/p>\n
Ruiz arranged for cemetery management to meet us. After confirming the old lease records listed Michael Walker\u2019s family and later Margaret Henderson as authorized custodians, they allowed the compartment to be opened under police supervision.<\/p>\n
My hand shook when I inserted Grandma\u2019s key.<\/p>\n
It turned twice.<\/p>\n
The metal door released with a low click.<\/p>\n
Inside sat a steel chest.<\/p>\n
On top lay a yellow baby blanket sealed inside brittle plastic.<\/p>\n
I recognized it instantly from the photograph of Mom holding the twins.<\/p>\n
My knees weakened.<\/p>\n
The chest contained documents, cassette tapes, photographs, and a small silver necklace.<\/p>\n
I picked up the necklace.<\/p>\n
A tiny crescent moon hung from the chain.<\/p>\n
Mom wore it in nearly every photograph from my childhood.<\/p>\n
Dad told me it had been buried with her.<\/p>\n
I looked at Ruiz.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said she was wearing this in the casket.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nobody spoke.<\/p>\n
Beneath the necklace was an envelope in Grandma\u2019s handwriting.<\/p>\n
Chloe,<\/p>\n
If you have reached this place, then Richard found more than I hoped he ever would.<\/p>\n
There is one truth I was too frightened to tell you while I lived.<\/p>\n
I saw your mother after her funeral.<\/p>\n
The cemetery vanished around me.<\/p>\n
I read the sentence again.<\/p>\n
Then again.<\/p>\n
Tyler took the letter from my shaking hands and stared.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n
I kept reading.<\/p>\n
Three years after Anna was declared dead, I saw her through the window of a private medical transport outside St. Catherine\u2019s Behavioral Center. She looked drugged. I tried to reach her. Richard stopped me before I could.<\/p>\n
I reported it.<\/p>\n
No one believed me.<\/p>\n
Samuel believed me.<\/p>\n
We spent eleven years trying to find where she had been moved.<\/p>\n
Last year I learned Caldwell was still involved.<\/p>\n
If Richard knows I found this place, Anna may be moved again.<\/p>\n
My phone buzzed.<\/p>\n
Unknown number.<\/p>\n
A photograph loaded.<\/p>\n
A woman sat beside a window.<\/p>\n
Her dark hair was streaked with gray. Her face was thinner, older, turned partly away from the camera.<\/p>\n
But I knew the shape of her hands.<\/p>\n
I knew the tiny scar below her left ear.<\/p>\n
Mom.<\/p>\n
The timestamp on the photograph was five weeks old.<\/p>\n
July 28, 2026.<\/p>\n
I made a sound I did not recognize.<\/p>\n
Ruiz took the phone.<\/p>\n
Another message appeared.<\/p>\n
RICHARD DIDN\u2019T KILL ANNA.<\/p>\n
HE HID HER.<\/p>\n
A third message followed.<\/p>\n
IF YOU WANT HER ALIVE, STOP OPENING WHAT MAGGIE LEFT YOU.<\/p>\n
Tyler whispered, \u201cThat could be fake.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt could,\u201d Ruiz said.<\/p>\n
Then the phone rang.<\/p>\n
UNKNOWN CALLER.<\/p>\n
Ruiz signaled for silence and answered on speaker.<\/p>\n
For several seconds we heard only breathing.<\/p>\n
Then a woman spoke.<\/p>\n
Weak.<\/p>\n
Hoarse.<\/p>\n
But familiar enough that fourteen years disappeared in an instant.<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe?\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees gave way.<\/p>\n
I dropped beside the open vault.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
A sob came through the line.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed both hands around the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
She breathed sharply.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen to me. You cannot let Richard find Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n
The call cut off.<\/p>\n
I stared at the dead screen.<\/p>\n
Mom had not asked me to save her.<\/p>\n
She had given me a warning about the sister I had spent twenty-seven years never knowing existed.<\/p>\n
And somewhere, apparently alive, my mother still believed Richard was looking for her too.<\/p>\n
By the time we reached Grandma\u2019s house, Dad\u2019s Mercedes was gone. So was Stephen Caldwell. Two police cruisers blocked the driveway, their lights painting red and blue streaks across the … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5914,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5917","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-chapter-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5917","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5917"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5917\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5945,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5917\/revisions\/5945"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5914"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5917"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5917"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thechapterstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5917"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}