At 10:16 on Friday night, I asked an eight-year-old girl to take off her sneakers, and the look she gave me made me stop with one hand still on the hallway light switch.<\/p>\n
It should have been nothing. My daughter Mia had invited her best friend, Kaylee Whitman, for a sleepover, and the two of them had spent the evening eating popcorn, painting their nails, and arguing cheerfully over which movie deserved a second viewing. They were supposed to be brushing their teeth. Instead, Mia was hopping around in mismatched socks while Kaylee stood beside the guest-room door wearing the same pink sneakers she'd arrived in nearly five hours earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cShoes off before bed,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Kaylee's fingers tightened around the straps of her backpack.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The politeness was what caught me. She didn't whine. She didn't roll her eyes. She didn't offer an excuse about cold feet or say she'd forgotten slippers. Her face simply went blank, as though I'd asked a question she had practiced not answering.<\/p>\n
Mia laughed. \u201cKaylee, you're not sleeping in sneakers.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee looked sharply at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt's okay,\u201d I said. \u201cIf you want to keep them on for now, that's fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her shoulders lowered perhaps half an inch.<\/p>\n
I remember that tiny movement because of everything that came afterward.<\/p>\n
Kaylee had arrived at 5:40 that afternoon in her father's gray truck. Greg Whitman had barely put the vehicle in park before Kaylee climbed out carrying an overnight bag and a backpack pressed hard against her chest. He'd apologized for being rushed. Work trouble, he'd said. His wife Tasha was waiting in another car down the street, although I hadn't understood why they had come separately.<\/p>\n
Tasha had eventually driven past us slowly. Sunglasses covered half her face despite the weak evening light. She lifted two fingers from the steering wheel in greeting but didn't stop.<\/p>\n
Greg told Kaylee he'd collect her Saturday morning.<\/p>\n
\u201cEight sharp,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Kaylee nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cRemember what we talked about.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another nod.<\/p>\n
I had assumed it was ordinary parent-child instruction: behave yourself, say thank you, don't stay awake until dawn. Now, watching Kaylee refuse to remove those shoes, I wondered what else it might have meant.<\/p>\n
At 10:28, I found both girls under Mia's blanket whispering. Kaylee still had her sneakers on. The laces were tied in tight double knots, so tight that the pink fabric puckered around the eyelets.<\/p>\n
\u201cLights out in ten minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia groaned theatrically.<\/p>\n
Kaylee said, \u201cThank you, Mrs. Harper.\u201d<\/p>\n
Again, too formal.<\/p>\n
I went downstairs, rinsed the popcorn bowls, and told myself to stop turning an awkward child into a mystery. Some kids were shy in other people's homes. Some had routines. Some hated being barefoot. There were dozens of innocent explanations, and I chose every one of them because innocent explanations allow adults to finish washing dishes.<\/p>\n
Twenty minutes later, I heard a thump upstairs.<\/p>\n
Then silence.<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
Another thump came from the hallway.<\/p>\n
When I reached the stairs, Kaylee was gripping the banister and trying to walk without bending her ankles. Mia stood behind her looking confused.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe needs water,\u201d Mia said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can get it,\u201d Kaylee answered quickly.<\/p>\n
Her face had gone pale.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're limping.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I'm not.\u201d<\/p>\n
She took another step and flinched.<\/p>\n
I crouched, keeping some distance between us. \u201cDid you hurt yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDuring dance or recess?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo the shoes hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n
That did it.<\/p>\n
Her eyes filled so quickly that for one strange second I wondered whether I had imagined it.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don't make me take them off.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words were barely audible.<\/p>\n
I looked at Mia. \u201cSweetheart, go get Kaylee some water.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia knew my serious voice. She disappeared downstairs.<\/p>\n
I sat on the step below Kaylee so I wouldn't tower over her.<\/p>\n
\u201cNobody is making you do anything right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
She wiped her cheek with her sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut if you're hurt, I need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm not.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're having trouble walking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy shoes are new.\u201d<\/p>\n
They weren't. The toes were scuffed, and the white rubber around the soles had gone gray with use.<\/p>\n
I could have pointed that out. Instead, I asked, \u201cWould it help if I called your dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her reaction was immediate.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Not hesitant. Not embarrassed.<\/p>\n
Terrified.<\/p>\n
She stepped backward so abruptly that her heel struck the stair riser.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, please. Don't call him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'll be good.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sentence hit me harder than her fear had.<\/p>\n
I had not accused her of misbehaving.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would I think you weren't good?\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared at me as if I'd asked something impossible.<\/p>\n
Mia came back carrying a plastic cup with unicorns on it. Kaylee drank almost the whole thing without looking at either of us.<\/p>\n
I let the girls return to the bedroom. Then I stood in my kitchen with my phone in my hand.<\/p>\n
Greg's number was in the school-parent directory. Calling him seemed obvious. His daughter was limping. I was responsible for her overnight.<\/p>\n
Yet I kept hearing Kaylee.<\/p>\n
I'll be good.<\/p>\n
I put the phone down.<\/p>\n
At 11:07, Mia came downstairs alone.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee says she's tired.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds reasonable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn't want to change into pajamas.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced toward the stairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she bring pajamas?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. They're in her backpack.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let her sleep in her clothes if she wants.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia frowned. \u201cShe's being weird.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMia.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon't say that about your friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm not being mean. She is.\u201d<\/p>\n
I lowered my voice. \u201cMaybe something is bothering her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia considered this with the grave seriousness eight-year-olds sometimes summon without warning.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn't like Thursdays.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Thursdays?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe gets quiet on Fridays after her dad works late Thursday.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand stopped halfway to the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long have you noticed that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia shrugged. \u201cA while.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHas Kaylee told you why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. She says I'm not supposed to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at my daughter.<\/p>\n
Children have entire countries of conversation that adults never visit. They exchange warnings on playgrounds, observe bruises without knowing what to call them, notice who never brings lunch and whose parent makes them flinch. We think silence means ignorance. Sometimes it only means they lack the language for what they've seen.<\/p>\n
\u201cHas she ever said she's afraid to go home?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia looked uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said Tasha gets mad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTasha is her stepmother?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does she get mad about?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before I could ask more, Kaylee appeared at the bottom of the stairs.<\/p>\n
Her face was white.<\/p>\n
\u201cMia.\u201d<\/p>\n
My daughter turned.<\/p>\n
Kaylee wasn't looking at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou promised.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mia's expression collapsed. \u201cI didn't tell anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou told about Thursday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat's not a secret.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee's breathing quickened.<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee,\u201d I said gently, \u201cMia isn't in trouble, and neither are you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at the front door.<\/p>\n
It was nearly eleven-thirty.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want to go home?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
The answer came before I finished the question.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don't send me home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou promise?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cUntil morning?\u201d<\/p>\n
Something cold moved through me.<\/p>\n
\u201cUntil morning,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Only then did she return upstairs.<\/p>\n
I waited until both girls were in bed. At midnight, I checked on them. Mia was asleep sideways across her pillow. Kaylee lay rigid beneath the blanket, still fully dressed.<\/p>\n
Still wearing the pink sneakers.<\/p>\n
I went downstairs and searched for Greg's social-media page. I found family photographs. Greg smiling beside Kaylee. Tasha in expensive-looking clothes. Holiday pictures. A spotless kitchen. A lake vacation. One photograph showed Kaylee between Greg and Tasha in matching Christmas pajamas.<\/p>\n
Nothing looked wrong.<\/p>\n
That frightened me more than I expected.<\/p>\n
At 12:34, I searched Tasha's name. She had dozens of posts about parenting, discipline, routines, and \u201craising accountable children.\u201d None were overtly alarming. If anything, the page looked calculatedly wholesome.<\/p>\n
I closed my laptop, embarrassed by myself.<\/p>\n
Then I heard footsteps.<\/p>\n
Kaylee stood in the kitchen doorway.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan't sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cWant warm milk?\u201d<\/p>\n
Another shake.<\/p>\n
I noticed her backpack.<\/p>\n
She was carrying it again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you keep that with you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her arms closed tighter around it.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy stuff is in here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won't touch it.\u201d<\/p>\n
She studied me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won't?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced toward the stairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes Mia ever get punished?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure. She loses screen time sometimes. She has chores.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean punished.\u201d<\/p>\n
I chose my words carefully. \u201cWhat does punishment mean to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked down at her shoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI should go upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n
She turned.<\/p>\n
Then I saw it.<\/p>\n
A dark spot near the back of her left shoe.<\/p>\n
Small. Almost black against the pink fabric.<\/p>\n
I thought she'd stepped in something.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait.\u201d<\/p>\n
She froze.<\/p>\n
I moved closer.<\/p>\n
The stain wasn't on the sole. It had soaked outward from the inside near her heel.<\/p>\n
My mouth went dry.<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee, is that blood?\u201d<\/p>\n
She backed away.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour shoe\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI scraped it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm not angry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said I'm fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her voice cracked.<\/p>\n
I lowered myself to the kitchen floor.<\/p>\n
That surprised her enough to stop her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm not going to chase you around my house. I'm not going to grab you. But I think you're hurt, and I need to make sure you're safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared at me for several seconds.<\/p>\n
Then she sat against the opposite cabinet.<\/p>\n
We were six feet apart.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you untie the shoe yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her lips trembled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre the knots stuck?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
I crawled no closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you let me cut the laces?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her head snapped up.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe'll know.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
The sentence that changed the night.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho will know?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee covered her mouth.<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cTasha?\u201d<\/p>\n
No answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat will Tasha know?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee's eyes moved toward the trash can, then the counters, then my phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe checks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChecks what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I told.\u201d<\/p>\n
I felt my pulse in my throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow could your shoes tell her that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee began crying.<\/p>\n
Not loudly. She cried with terrifying discipline, catching every breath before it became a sound.<\/p>\n
I moved my phone farther away so she could see I wasn't recording her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don't have to explain everything tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her gaze dropped to my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I need to know whether you need a doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe'll know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe always knows.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wanted to call the police immediately. I wanted to call Greg. I wanted to drive Kaylee to an emergency room and let professionals take over.<\/p>\n
Instead, I sat there for nearly two hours wrestling with the sentence adults use when fear asks us to act.<\/p>\n
She's not my child.<\/p>\n
At 2:03, Kaylee finally let me touch one shoe.<\/p>\n
I didn't remove it.<\/p>\n
I only pressed lightly around the heel.<\/p>\n
She jerked so violently that I pulled my hand away.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her forehead shone with sweat.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes it hurt that badly?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cBoth feet?\u201d<\/p>\n
Another nod.<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid someone do this to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes met mine.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I thought she would answer.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered, \u201cI want Mia.\u201d<\/p>\n
I woke my daughter and let them sleep together in the living room where I could see them.<\/p>\n
I didn't sleep.<\/p>\n
At 4:18, I noticed Kaylee's backpack beside the couch.<\/p>\n
The zipper was partly open.<\/p>\n
I remembered promising not to touch it.<\/p>\n
Then something white protruding from the opening caught my eye.<\/p>\n
A folded note.<\/p>\n
I stared at it for a long time.<\/p>\n
Finally, I pulled it out.<\/p>\n
There were only a few words.<\/p>\n
The message instructed us not to indulge what it described as Kaylee's attention-seeking behavior.<\/p>\n
No explanation.<\/p>\n
No medical warning.<\/p>\n
No mention of injured feet.<\/p>\n
I photographed the note exactly where I found it.<\/p>\n
Then I photographed the backpack.<\/p>\n
Then the shoes.<\/p>\n
I didn't know why I was documenting things. Some instinct had finally overtaken politeness.<\/p>\n
At 5:02, Kaylee woke.<\/p>\n
She saw the note in my hand.<\/p>\n
Every trace of sleep vanished from her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou looked.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you wouldn't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her betrayal cut deeper than I expected.<\/p>\n
\u201cI'm sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe'll know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee, listen to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She scrambled backward across the couch.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to put it back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe'll know if it's folded different.\u201d<\/p>\n
My hands went cold.<\/p>\n
I refolded it along the existing creases and returned it precisely where I'd found it.<\/p>\n
Kaylee watched every movement.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered, \u201cCan we just go to school?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt's Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her face fell.<\/p>\n
I understood.<\/p>\n
School was safety.<\/p>\n
Home wasn't.<\/p>\n
At 6:12, I called Briar Creek Elementary's counselor, Mrs. Fox, using the emergency number she'd once given parents during a district workshop. I expected voicemail.<\/p>\n
She answered.<\/p>\n
I told her enough to make her stop me halfway through.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo not confront the parents.\u201d<\/p>\n
My grip tightened on the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBring Kaylee to the school.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt's Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI'll meet you there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Greg? He's supposed to pick her up at eight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon't call him yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach dropped.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Fox, what aren't you telling me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing. I need to see the child.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHas something happened before?\u201d<\/p>\n
A pause.<\/p>\n
\u201cBring her in.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked across the room.<\/p>\n
Kaylee was awake, watching me.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd, Claire?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBring the shoes if she lets you remove them. Bring the note. Don't wash anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the dark stain near Kaylee's heel.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would I wash them?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mrs. Fox didn't answer directly.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust don't.\u201d<\/p>\n
When I hung up, Kaylee whispered, \u201cWho was that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Fox.\u201d<\/p>\n
Instead of relaxing, she went rigid.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou told her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told her you're hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaylee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou weren't supposed to tell.\u201d<\/p>\n
She started pulling frantically at the double knots.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop. You're hurting yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to go home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou begged me not to send you home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI changed my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause now she'll check.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCheck what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kaylee yanked one lace until her hands shook.<\/p>\n
I moved toward her.<\/p>\n
She recoiled.<\/p>\n
Then the knot loosened.<\/p>\n
The left shoe slipped partly from her heel.<\/p>\n
Her sock underneath was red.<\/p>\n
Not a spot.<\/p>\n
Not a scrape.<\/p>\n
Red.<\/p>\n
Mia walked into the room behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned too late.<\/p>\n
She saw it.<\/p>\n
Kaylee looked down at her own foot and made a sound so small I almost didn't hear it.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered the words that ended every excuse I had left.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease don't let Tasha know I showed you.\u201d<\/p>\n
At 10:16 on Friday night, I asked an eight-year-old girl to take off her sneakers, and the look she gave me made me stop with one hand still on the … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20047,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20048","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-insightdrama"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20048","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=20048"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20048\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20083,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20048\/revisions\/20083"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/20047"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=20048"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=20048"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=20048"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}