{"id":17005,"date":"2026-07-11T17:12:07","date_gmt":"2026-07-11T10:12:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/?p=17005"},"modified":"2026-07-11T17:12:07","modified_gmt":"2026-07-11T10:12:07","slug":"i-sold-my-grandmas-house-to-help-my-husband-open-his-dream-restaurant-but-on-opening-night-he-introduced-another-woman-as-the-real-reason-i-made-it","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/?p=17005","title":{"rendered":"I Sold My Grandma’s House to Help My Husband Open His Dream Restaurant \u2013 But on Opening Night, He Introduced Another Woman as ‘The Real Reason I Made It’"},"content":{"rendered":"

I sold the only house I inherited from my late grandma so my husband could open his dream restaurant. On opening night, he thanked another woman for making it possible. I didn’t shout. I ordered coffee, touched the old recipe card in my wallet, and made one call that changed every table in the room.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The first thing Thomas bought with the money from my grandmother’s house was a stove.<\/p>\n

Not a little stove.<\/p>\n

A six-burner commercial beast with silver knobs, heavy grates, and a price tag that made me fold the invoice twice before signing the check.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The first thing Thomas bought with the money from my grandmother’s house was a stove.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered when it arrived.<\/p>\n

I stood beside him in the empty kitchen of the restaurant we could suddenly afford and thought of Grandma Daisy’s yellow house on Willow Street.<\/p>\n

The porch swing.<\/p>\n

The chipped kitchen tiles.<\/p>\n

The long oak table where she had fed half the neighborhood without ever calling it charity.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“She’s beautiful.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

Thomas wrapped an arm around my waist.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“We’re really doing this, Harper.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I smiled because I wanted to believe we were.<\/p>\n

In my wallet, tucked behind my driver’s license, was the only thing I had kept from Grandma Daisy’s kitchen.<\/p>\n

One stained recipe card.<\/i><\/p>\n

I rarely pulled it out.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

I smiled because I wanted to believe we were.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I knew every word by heart.<\/p>\n

“Feed people before you impress them.”<\/strong><\/i><\/p>\n

Grandma Daisy had written that across the bottom in careful green ink.<\/p>\n

I thought I understood it.<\/p>\n

Opening night proved I had not.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Feed people before you impress them.”<\/i><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

***<\/p>\n

Six months later, I stood at the edge of Thomas’s dining room in an emerald silk dress I had bought on sale and never worn.<\/p>\n

Crystal chandeliers glittered above a crowd of investors, food bloggers, local politicians, and people who seemed to know exactly where to place their hands in photographs.<\/p>\n

The restaurant was called\u00a0Copper & Ash.<\/i><\/p>\n

Thomas said the name sounded expensive.<\/p>\n

The room certainly did.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The restaurant was called\u00a0Copper & Ash.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

White tablecloths. Copper lamps. Gold-rimmed plates. Tiny arrangements of herbs in glass vases. The good furniture Thomas chose to keep from Grandma’s house, claiming it had “the right aesthetic.”<\/p>\n

Not a single chair looked like it had ever held anyone tired.<\/p>\n

I kept smoothing my dress.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not because it was wrinkled.<\/p>\n

Because my hands needed somewhere to go.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

I kept smoothing my dress.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

***<\/p>\n

Thomas moved through the room like the evening belonged to him.<\/p>\n

He shook investor hands, kissed cheeks, laughed for cameras, and accepted compliments with the easy hunger of a man who had practiced being admired.<\/p>\n

Near the kitchen door, a dishwasher carried a tray stacked too high.<\/p>\n

Thomas stepped around him without looking.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

Thomas moved through the room like the evening belonged to him.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

A prep cook peeked out, then disappeared when nobody waved him forward.<\/p>\n

I noticed.<\/p>\n

Then I told myself not to be petty.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

This was Thomas’s night.<\/i><\/p>\n

Our night.<\/i><\/p>\n

At least, that was what I still believed when he climbed onto the small stage near the bar and tapped the silver microphone.<\/p>\n

The room quieted.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

This was Thomas’s night.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Thomas smiled that wide, polished smile he had learned after the first article called him “one to watch.”<\/p>\n

“Welcome, everyone,” he said. “Tonight is the beginning of a dream.”<\/p>\n

People applauded.<\/p>\n

I clapped too.<\/p>\n

My palms made almost no sound.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Tonight is the beginning of a dream.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“I couldn’t have opened these doors without my muse,” he added, all pride and unbridled joy.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

A few heads turned toward me.<\/p>\n

Warmth rose in my face before I could stop it.<\/p>\n

I thought of the auction sign in Grandma Daisy’s yard.<\/p>\n

The closing papers.<\/p>\n

The check.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

A few heads turned toward me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The way I had stood alone in the empty kitchen one last time, touching the place on the table where my grandmother used to keep an extra plate.<\/p>\n

Thomas had been too busy with contractors to notice what I was sacrificing.<\/p>\n

I stepped forward.<\/p>\n

Only one step.<\/p>\n

Thomas did not look at me.<\/p>\n

His eyes locked on the VIP booth near the window.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

Thomas did not look at me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

A blonde woman rose from the leather seat.<\/p>\n

Alexa.<\/i><\/p>\n

I knew her as the consultant Thomas insisted we hire for branding.<\/p>\n

She wore a white dress that caught every light in the room and walked to the stage as if she had rehearsed the distance.<\/p>\n

Thomas held out his hand.<\/p>\n

She took it.<\/p>\n

He pulled her close.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

A blonde woman rose from the leather seat.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“This woman,” he said into the microphone, “is the real reason I made it.”<\/p>\n

The room erupted.<\/p>\n

Cameras lifted.<\/p>\n

Someone whistled.<\/p>\n

Alexa smiled at me from the stage.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not accidentally.<\/p>\n

Directly.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“This woman is the real reason I made it.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Thomas waited until the applause softened.<\/p>\n

Then he said, almost lazily, “And to my wife, sorry, honey, but I don’t love you anymore. We are divorcing.”<\/p>\n

A laugh broke out near the bar.<\/p>\n

Then died when nobody joined it.<\/p>\n

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

He looked relieved.<\/p>\n

That was what I remember most.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“We are divorcing.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Not guilt.<\/p>\n

Relief.<\/i><\/p>\n

As if humiliating me in front of a hundred people had finally freed him from the burden of being decent in private.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

***<\/p>\n

Alexa touched his arm.<\/p>\n

The photographers kept shooting.<\/p>\n

For a few seconds, the room filled with the kind of silence people pretend they do not hear.<\/p>\n

Then conversations began again, smaller and sharper.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The photographers kept shooting.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I turned and walked to the bar.<\/p>\n

My shoes did not wobble.<\/p>\n

My hands did not shake.<\/p>\n

That surprised me.<\/p>\n

I sat on the nearest stool and ordered coffee.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

My hands did not shake.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The bartender blinked. “Coffee?”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Black.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

He poured it without asking anything else.<\/p>\n

Good man.<\/p>\n

I reached into my purse for my phone.<\/p>\n

My fingers brushed my wallet first.<\/p>\n

Then the recipe card inside it.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

My fingers brushed my wallet first.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The paper was soft at the corners from years of being carried.<\/p>\n

I thought of Grandma Daisy’s Thursday table.<\/p>\n

One extra chair.<\/i><\/p>\n

Always.<\/i><\/p>\n

No speech about generosity.<\/p>\n

No announcement.<\/p>\n

Just soup on the stove and a place setting waiting for whoever needed it.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

I thought of Grandma Daisy’s Thursday table.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

I took out my phone and made one call.<\/p>\n

“Harper?” Mrs. Alvarez answered on the second ring.<\/p>\n

“Are you busy tonight?”<\/p>\n

A pause.<\/p>\n

“That depends. Are you asking as Daisy’s granddaughter?”<\/p>\n

I looked toward the stage.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Are you busy tonight?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Thomas was laughing with Alexa while an investor lifted a glass to them both.<\/p>\n

“Yes,” I said. “I think Grandma’s table needs one more night.”<\/p>\n

I tapped my screen, sharing the location.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later, Thomas stormed toward the bar.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“What the hell is wrong with you?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

I stirred my coffee, though there was nothing in it to stir.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

I tapped my screen, sharing the location.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

His face was red beneath the restaurant lights.<\/p>\n

“People are asking questions. Did you call someone? My host says there’s a group at the door.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“There is.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“Who?”<\/p>\n

I took a sip.<\/p>\n

“The Thursday Supper Club.”<\/p>\n

Thomas stared at me like I had spoken another language.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Did you call someone?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

***<\/p>\n

The front doors opened before he could ask again.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Alvarez entered first, carrying three aluminum casserole dishes stacked in her arms.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

She was 82, five feet tall, and still had the posture of a woman who had corrected children at crosswalks for thirty years.<\/p>\n

Behind her came Mr. Bell, the retired mechanic who used to fix Grandma Daisy’s car for peach cobbler instead of cash.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The front doors opened before he could ask again.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Then Mrs. Chen from the library.<\/p>\n

A church volunteer named Ruth.<\/p>\n

A man who had once slept in Grandma Daisy’s guest room after his apartment flooded.<\/p>\n

More followed.<\/p>\n

Ordinary people.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

More followed.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

No diamonds.<\/p>\n

No cameras.<\/p>\n

No one wearing white linen unless it had been washed soft by years of use.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

The host looked terrified.<\/p>\n

Thomas looked worse.<\/p>\n

“Harper,” he hissed, “this is a private opening.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The host looked terrified.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I set down my cup.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“So was Grandma’s house.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

That stopped him… only for a second.<\/p>\n

Then he leaned closer. “Do not make a scene.”<\/p>\n

“I didn’t invite a scene,” I said. “I invited dinner guests.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

That stopped him… only for a second.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Mrs. Alvarez spotted me and smiled.<\/p>\n

“Harper pumpkin pie,” she called, using the name only people from Willow Street ever used. “Where do you want us?”<\/p>\n

The room changed.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Not dramatically.<\/p>\n

That would have been easier to dismiss.<\/p>\n

It changed the way a kitchen changes when bread comes out of the oven.<\/p>\n

Quietly.<\/p>\n

All at once.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Where do you want us?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

A dishwasher stepped out from behind the service station and stared at Ruth.<\/p>\n

“Aunt Ruth?”<\/p>\n

She turned, saw him, and opened both arms.<\/p>\n

The tray in his hands nearly slipped before he set it down and hugged her.<\/p>\n

A line cook pushed through the kitchen door.<\/p>\n

“Mr. Bell?”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

She turned, saw him, and opened both arms.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

The old mechanic grinned. “Still burning onions, Danny?”<\/p>\n

The cook laughed, and the sound filled a corner of the room that had been silent all night.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Chen waved at the pastry chef.<\/p>\n

“I still have your overdue book record, Jenna.”<\/p>\n

The pastry chef covered her mouth, then ran around the counter to hug her.<\/p>\n

Thomas watched the staff come alive around people he had never bothered to see.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Still burning onions, Danny?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Alexa’s smile thinned.<\/p>\n

An investor whispered something to his wife.<\/p>\n

I walked to the host stand, took the reservation book, and opened it.<\/p>\n

“There are empty tables after nine.”<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Thomas grabbed my wrist. “Those are for critics.”<\/p>\n

I looked at his hand until he let go.<\/p>\n

“Then critics can wait.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“There are empty tables after nine.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Mrs. Alvarez placed the casserole dishes on the bar.<\/p>\n

“We brought food in case there wasn’t enough.”<\/p>\n

That almost made me laugh.<\/p>\n

In a restaurant that cost my inheritance, Grandma Daisy’s people had arrived prepared to feed themselves.<\/p>\n

Thomas rubbed both hands over his face.<\/p>\n

“You cannot do this.”<\/p>\n

“I already did.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“You cannot do this.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“Why?” he gasped.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I reached into my wallet and pulled out the recipe card.<\/p>\n

For years, I had kept it hidden like a private relic.<\/p>\n

Now I slid it across the bar.<\/p>\n

Thomas looked down.<\/p>\n

The ink had faded, but Grandma Daisy’s words were still readable.<\/p>\n

“Feed people before you impress them.”<\/i><\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

For years, I had kept it hidden like a private relic.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

He stared at it.<\/p>\n

The room behind him kept rearranging itself.<\/p>\n

Two servers pushed tables together without being asked.<\/p>\n

Ben from the kitchen brought out bowls of soup.<\/p>\n

Someone poured coffee.<\/p>\n

Someone found more chairs.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Mrs. Alvarez set one extra place at the end of the longest table.<\/p>\n

Always one extra.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The room behind him kept rearranging itself.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Thomas looked at me.<\/p>\n

“Do you remember why I sold her house?” I asked.<\/p>\n

His answer came quickly.<\/p>\n

“To help me open this restaurant.”<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“No.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The words died on his tongue.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Do you remember why I sold her house?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I looked toward the joined tables, where Grandma Daisy’s old neighbors were passing bread to food bloggers, investors, dishwashers, servers, and strangers who had stopped pretending not to watch.<\/p>\n

“I sold a building,” I said. “Not what happened inside it.”<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Thomas followed my gaze.<\/p>\n

For the first time all evening, he really looked.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“I sold a building. Not what happened inside it.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The photographers had moved on.<\/p>\n

The influencers were confused.<\/p>\n

But the staff were smiling.<\/p>\n

The kitchen door kept swinging open, and each time it did, the room smelled less like ambition and more like food.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The influencers were confused.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Mrs. Alvarez waved the dishwasher into an empty chair and made him eat before clearing anything else.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The pastry chef brought out pie.<\/p>\n

Not the tiny plated dessert Thomas had approved.<\/p>\n

Real pie.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Messy slices. Uneven crust. Whipped cream leaning sideways.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The pastry chef brought out pie.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

People reached for forks.<\/p>\n

Some laughed with food in their mouths.<\/p>\n

The dining room no longer looked perfect.<\/p>\n

It looked alive.<\/p>\n

Thomas stared at the tables as if watching someone unlock a room he had forgotten building.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

It looked alive.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

Alexa stepped down from the stage.<\/p>\n

“Thomas,” she said carefully, “we should talk to the investors.”<\/p>\n

But he did not move.<\/p>\n

He kept looking at Grandma Daisy’s recipe card.<\/p>\n

Then at the people.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Then at me.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

He kept looking at Grandma Daisy’s recipe card.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“Why tonight?” he asked.<\/p>\n

I could have said because he humiliated me.<\/p>\n

Or because he chose a spotlight over a marriage.<\/p>\n

Or that he’d entirely forgotten my grandmother’s house had paid for every polished surface in the room.<\/p>\n

All true.<\/p>\n

None of them were the whole truth.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Why tonight?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

“Because tonight is the first time your restaurant became what I thought we were building.”<\/p>\n

Thomas lowered his eyes.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I saw the man who once made pasta in our tiny apartment and fed the neighbor’s kids because their mother worked late.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Then Alexa touched his sleeve again, and he looked away.<\/p>\n

That was answer enough.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

For a moment, I saw the man who once made pasta in our tiny apartment.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

I picked up Grandma Daisy’s card and slipped it back into my wallet.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Several months later, after the divorce was final and Thomas had reimbursed me, people asked if I planned to open a restaurant.<\/p>\n

I didn’t.<\/p>\n

I had no interest in reservations, reviews, or crystal chandeliers.<\/p>\n

On Thursday evenings, I unlocked the neighborhood community center instead.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

The divorce was final.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

One long folding table.<\/p>\n

Mismatched chairs.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Soup in a dented pot.<\/p>\n

Bread wrapped in clean towels.<\/p>\n

One extra place setting at the end.<\/p>\n

Always.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

One extra place setting at the end.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

The first night, twelve people came.<\/p>\n

By winter, we needed two tables.<\/p>\n

Nobody gave speeches.<\/p>\n

Someone refilled a tea cup before pouring their own, while others replaced missing spoons and moved over without being asked.<\/p>\n

The room\u00a0remembered<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

Nobody gave speeches.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n

One rainy Thursday, a little boy pointed to the empty chair at the end.<\/p>\n

“Who’s that for?”<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I set Grandma Daisy’s recipe card beside the soup pot.<\/p>\n

The door opened before I could answer.<\/p>\n

A woman stood there with wet hair, a grocery bag in one hand, and the tired look of someone who had practiced not needing anything.<\/p>\n

I pulled out the empty chair.<\/p>\n

“For her,” I said.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n
\n

“Who’s that for?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I sold the only house I inherited from my late grandma so my husband could open his dream restaurant. On opening night, he thanked another woman for making it possible. … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8,9,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17005","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17005","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=17005"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17005\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17006,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17005\/revisions\/17006"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=17005"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=17005"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailystoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=17005"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}