{"id":4482,"date":"2026-06-03T05:01:58","date_gmt":"2026-06-03T05:01:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/?p=4482"},"modified":"2026-06-03T05:02:15","modified_gmt":"2026-06-03T05:02:15","slug":"part1-an-eight-year-old-girl-sleeps-alone-but-every-morning-she-complains-that-her-bed-feels-too-small-when-her-mother-checks-the-security-camera-at-2-a-m-she-breaks-down-in-sil","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/?p=4482","title":{"rendered":"Part1: An eight-year-old girl sleeps alone, but every morning she complains that her bed feels \u201ctoo small.\u201d When her mother checks the security camera at 2 a.m., she breaks down in silent tears\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Our family resides in a quiet, immaculate two-story house nestled in the affluent suburbs of **San Jose, California**. It is a place that is always bathed in brilliant, golden sunlight during the day. Yet, at night, the silence that settles over our home is so absolute, so profound, that you can hear the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock echoing all the way from the downstairs living room.<\/p>\n

My husband and I have only one child, a spirited, bright-eyed daughter named **Emily**.<\/p>\n

From the very beginning of our marriage, we made a solemn pact that we would have just one child. It was not born out of selfishness. It was not because we feared the sleepless nights or the financial hardship. It was because we possessed a fierce, almost suffocating desire to give her absolutely everything we possibly could.<\/p>\n

This house, worth nearly $780,000, was purchased only after more than a decade of relentless saving. Emily\u2019s education fund was fully established before she could even crawl. I had meticulously charted out her potential college pathways before she could properly read a picture book. I wanted to build a fortress around her, a life devoid of the struggles I had faced.<\/p>\n

But more than anything, I wanted to teach her the invaluable armor of independence.<\/p>\n

When Emily was still in preschool, a time when most children are constantly slipping into their parents\u2019 beds at the first crack of thunder, I taught her to sleep alone in her own room. It wasn\u2019t because I didn\u2019t love her. On the contrary\u2014I loved her with a ferocity that frightened me. I loved her enough to understand a fundamental truth: a child cannot grow tall if they are forever clinging to the safety of an adult\u2019s arms.<\/p>\n

Emily\u2019s bedroom was, by far, the most beautiful space in our home.<\/p>\n

It featured a sprawling, two-meter-wide bed equipped with a premium, custom-ordered mattress worth nearly $2,000. Her walls were lined with custom-built shelves groaning under the weight of classic storybooks and colorful comics. Her favorite stuffed animals were always neatly arranged like a plush, loyal guard at the foot of her bed. A soft, yellow nightlight shaped like a crescent moon bathed the room in a gentle, reassuring amber glow.<\/p>\n

Every single night, our routine was a sacred ritual. I read her a story, pressed a long kiss to her warm forehead, whispered my love, and turned off the overhead light. Emily was never afraid of the dark. She never cried out for me. She slept the deep, untroubled sleep of a child who knew she was entirely safe.<\/p>\n

Until one crisp Tuesday morning.<\/p>\n

I was standing by the cold granite countertop of our kitchen, the rich smell of brewing coffee filling the air, when Emily shuffled out of the hallway. She was still wearing her soft cotton pajamas, her hair a messy bird\u2019s nest. She wrapped her little arms around my waist, burying her face into my side.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom\u2026\u201d she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion. \u201cI didn\u2019t sleep well last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned around, wiping my hands on a dish towel, and offered a warm, dismissive smile. \u201cWhy not, sweetheart?\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily frowned. Her little brow furrowed as she searched for the right words. \u201cMy bed felt\u2026 really cramped.\u201d<\/p>\n

A soft laugh escaped my throat. \u201cYour bed is two meters wide, Emily, and you sleep entirely alone. How on earth could it be cramped? Did you forget to tidy it up again and let your mountain of stuffed animals take over your side?\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily slowly shook her head, her eyes wide and unusually serious. \u201cNo, Mom. I cleaned it. There was nothing on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I patted her head, mentally chalking it up to a bizarre dream or a child\u2019s fleeting imagination, and handed her a plate of toast. I thought nothing of it.<\/p>\n

But as I would soon discover, my assumption was a terrible, naive mistake. The first crack in my perfect fortress had just appeared, and I was completely blind to it.<\/p>\n

**Chapter 2: The Weight of the Invisible**<\/p>\n

Two days passed. Then three. Then an entire, grueling week.<\/p>\n

Every single morning, like a broken record playing a deeply unsettling tune, Emily descended the stairs with dark circles forming beneath her eyes, offering a variation of the same complaint.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, I couldn\u2019t sleep well.\u201d
\n\u201cMy bed felt way too small again.\u201d
\n\u201cI felt squeezed all the way to the edge, like I was going to fall.\u201d<\/p>\n

My initial amusement quickly morphed into a quiet, simmering anxiety. I began checking her room at night before I went to sleep, verifying that the bed was indeed empty and perfectly made. It always was.<\/p>\n

Then came the morning that sent a jagged shard of ice straight down my spine.<\/p>\n

I was brushing her hair before school when she suddenly pulled away, looked at me through the mirror, and asked a question that made my blood run cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom\u2026 did you come into my room last night?\u201d<\/p>\n

I froze, the hairbrush hovering mid-air. I crouched down so I was at eye level with her, forcing my face to remain neutral. \u201cNo, sweetie. I didn\u2019t. Why would you ask that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily hesitated, her small hands twisting the hem of her shirt. \u201cBecause\u2026 because it felt like someone was lying right next to me. Breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n

*Breathing.*<\/p>\n

A cold dread coiled tightly in my gut. I forced a light, hollow laugh, desperate to keep my voice from trembling. \u201cOh, Emily, you must have been having a very vivid dream. Mom slept in her bed with Dad all night long. The house is completely locked. You\u2019re safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hugged her tightly, hoping to transfer my supposed confidence into her small frame. But from that moment on, I lost the ability to sleep peacefully.<\/p>\n

I needed to speak to my husband. **Daniel Mitchell** is a brilliant, highly respected cardiothoracic surgeon. He is a man of science, logic, and relentless schedules, often returning home long after the sun has set, smelling of sterile hospital corridors and sheer exhaustion.<\/p>\n

That evening, as he untied his tie in our bedroom, I relayed Emily\u2019s bizarre complaints. I watched his face for a reaction, hoping for a medical explanation, a psychological rationale\u2014anything to dispel the creeping terror in my chest.<\/p>\n

Daniel merely sighed, a soft, tired sound, and offered a gentle smile. \u201cLaura, kids imagine things. Night terrors, sleep paralysis, an overactive imagination fueled by that new comic book series she\u2019s reading. Our house has a state-of-the-art security system. Nothing like what you\u2019re thinking could possibly happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

He kissed my cheek and went to shower, his mind already drifting back to tomorrow\u2019s surgeries.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t argue with him. I knew better than to debate a surgeon armed with logic. But a mother\u2019s instinct does not bow to logic.<\/p>\n

The next morning, while making Emily\u2019s bed, I smoothed my hand over the expensive sheets. Right there, resting against the pristine white fabric of her second pillow\u2014the one she never used\u2014was a single, wiry strand of silver-gray hair.<\/p>\n

My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.<\/p>\n

I knew I couldn\u2019t rely on Daniel\u2019s logic anymore. I needed proof. I needed to see exactly what was happening in the dark.<\/p>\n

**Chapter 3: The Electronic Eye**<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t tell Daniel. I simply drove to the electronics store and purchased a small, high-definition, night-vision camera.<\/p>\n

I felt a sickening wave of guilt as I installed it discreetly in the upper corner of Emily\u2019s bedroom ceiling, hiding it behind the molding. I wasn\u2019t doing this to spy on my child\u2019s private moments. I was doing it to preserve my own sanity, to prove to myself that the gray hair was a fluke, a stray fiber carried in from the laundry.<\/p>\n

That night, I put Emily to bed with our usual routine. The bed was completely clear. No clutter. Nothing taking up space. I kissed her, turned on the camera from my phone app to ensure the angle was correct, and walked out.<\/p>\n

I lay in my own bed, listening to the deep, even breathing of my husband beside me. I tried to close my eyes, but the darkness behind my eyelids was suffocating. I tossed and turned, the digital clock on my nightstand glowing relentlessly.<\/p>\n

*1:15 AM.*
\n*1:45 AM.*<\/p>\n

At exactly 2:00 AM, my throat felt parched. I slid out of bed, the floorboards cool beneath my bare feet. As I walked past the darkened living room toward the kitchen, I pulled my phone from my robe pocket. My thumb hovered over the security app.<\/p>\n

*Just a quick look,* I told myself. *Just to make sure she\u2019s dreaming peacefully.*<\/p>\n

I tapped the screen. The feed buffered for a second before the infrared black-and-white image of Emily\u2019s room flickered into view.<\/p>\n

I stopped walking. My blood turned to ice in my veins.<\/p>\n

On the small screen glowing in the pitch-black hallway, I watched as Emily\u2019s bedroom door slowly, silently swung open.<\/p>\n

A figure stepped inside.<\/p>\n

It was a thin, frail frame. Hair that appeared stark white in the night vision. The steps were slow, shuffling, and unsteady.<\/p>\n

I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the raw gasp that tore from my throat. My knees turned to water.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t an intruder. It wasn\u2019t a phantom.<\/p>\n

It was my mother-in-law. **Margaret Mitchell**.<\/p>\n

Margaret lived with us in the guest suite downstairs. She was 78 years old. As I watched, paralyzed in the dark hallway, she shuffled directly toward Emily\u2019s bed. She reached out with trembling, delicate hands and gently pulled back the heavy duvet.<\/p>\n

And then, slowly, achingly, she climbed into the bed and lay down beside my eight-year-old daughter.<\/p>\n

As if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if it were her own bed.<\/p>\n

On the screen, Emily shifted uncomfortably, instinctively pushing herself toward the very edge of the two-meter mattress to make room for the sudden weight. She frowned in her sleep, her face squished against the edge, but she didn\u2019t wake up.<\/p>\n

Margaret reached out and pulled the blanket over Emily\u2019s shoulder, patting her softly.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t breathe. I stood in the dark, the blue light of the phone illuminating my terrified face, and I wept. I cried without making a single sound, the tears hot and fast down my cheeks.<\/p>\n

But it wasn\u2019t just the shock of the intrusion that broke me. As I turned up the volume on my phone, bringing the speaker close to my ear, I heard Margaret\u2019s frail, crackling voice whisper into the quiet room.<\/p>\n

\u201cHush now, Danny. Mama\u2019s right here. Mama won\u2019t let you go hungry tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart shattered. She wasn\u2019t crawling into her granddaughter\u2019s bed. She thought she was crawling into her son\u2019s.<\/p>\n

**Chapter 4: The Ghost of Memory**<\/p>\n

Margaret Mitchell was a woman who had poured every ounce of her lifeblood into her child.<\/p>\n

She became a widow when Daniel was only seven years old. A horrific car accident had stripped her of her husband, leaving her alone with a young boy and a mountain of medical debt. For more than forty years, she never even considered remarrying.<\/p>\n

Daniel had once told me, his voice thick with a rare, naked emotion, about the days of his childhood. Margaret worked every grueling job imaginable to keep a roof over their heads. She scrubbed floors in office buildings at midnight. She hauled heavy, wet laundry for wealthy families. She stood on a freezing street corner selling hot breakfast food before the sun even rose.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere were weeks, Laura,\u201d Daniel had whispered to me years ago, \u201cwhere she ate nothing but stale, dry bread and drank tap water, just so she could afford to put a small piece of chicken or fish on my plate. She starved so I could grow.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Daniel finally left their tiny apartment for medical school, she continued to work. She would mail him thin, worn envelopes containing $20 or $30, the bills carefully folded and tucked inside letters urging him to study hard and eat well.<\/p>\n

As for herself, she lived in a state of heartbreaking frugality, refusing to buy new clothes, wearing shoes until the soles wore completely through.<\/p>\n

But in recent years, the cruel thief of time had begun to visit her. Margaret had started showing undeniable signs of severe memory loss.<\/p>\n

Once, she wandered out of the house and got lost, eventually found by police sitting on a park bench at midnight, sobbing because she couldn\u2019t find \u201cher little boy.\u201d Once, while we were eating a lavish Sunday dinner I had prepared, she suddenly stopped, looked directly at Daniel, and asked with terrifying emptiness, \u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

We had taken her to a specialist. The doctor, a kind man with sad eyes, delivered the verdict gently: *Early-stage Alzheimer\u2019s.*<\/p>\n

But Daniel, swallowed by the relentless demands of his surgical schedule, had largely avoided the reality of the diagnosis. He paid for her medications, he ensured she lived with us in comfort, but he rarely sat with her. He was saving lives at the hospital while the woman who gave him life was slowly vanishing in his own home.<\/p>\n

The next morning, after the sun had risen and Margaret was safely downstairs, I sat Daniel down at the kitchen island. My hands were shaking as I placed my phone between us.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to watch this,\u201d I said, my voice barely a whisper.<\/p>\n

Daniel frowned, annoyed by the interruption to his morning coffee routine. \u201cLaura, I have a bypass scheduled at eight\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWatch it, Daniel.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pressed play. I watched his face. I watched the confident, unshakeable surgeon slowly disintegrate.<\/p>\n

As he saw his mother shuffle into the room, as he heard her whisper his name to his daughter, all the color drained from his face. His breath hitched, a harsh, jagged sound. He covered his mouth, his eyes welling with tears that spilled over and dropped onto the expensive granite counter.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2026 she thinks Emily is me,\u201d he choked out, the realization tearing through him. \u201cShe thinks it\u2019s forty years ago. She thinks we\u2019re still in that freezing apartment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently. \u201cGod, Laura. This is my fault. I\u2019ve been so consumed with my career, with being the great Dr. Mitchell, that I completely forgot my mother is terrified and losing her mind in the room downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reached across the island and gripped his hands tightly. We didn\u2019t blame her. In that moment of profound tragedy, we loved her more than we ever had.<\/p>\n

But our moment of grief was violently interrupted.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, a piercing, high-pitched alarm shattered the quiet of the morning. It was the front door security chime.<\/p>\n

Daniel and I shot up from our stools, our chairs clattering to the floor. We sprinted to the entryway. The heavy oak front door was wide open, a cold morning breeze sweeping into the foyer.<\/p>\n

Margaret was gone.<\/p>\n

**Chapter 5: Reframing Time**<\/p>\n

Panic, sharp and suffocating, seized my throat. Daniel didn\u2019t even put on his shoes; he sprinted out the door in his socks, flying down the driveway. I grabbed my keys and ran after him.<\/p>\n

We found her three blocks away, walking dangerously close to the edge of the busy intersection. She was wearing only her thin nightgown, her bare feet bleeding from the rough asphalt. She was frantically searching the faces of strangers waiting for the bus.<\/p>\n

When Daniel reached her, he fell to his knees on the sidewalk and wrapped his arms around her frail waist, sobbing into her shoulder. Margaret looked down at him, her eyes clouded with confusion, before a soft smile graced her lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Danny,\u201d she whispered, stroking his hair. \u201cWhy are you crying? I was just going to the market to get you an apple for school.\u201d<\/p>\n

We brought her home. We bathed her feet. And the very next day, we sat in the sterile, brightly lit office of her neurologist.<\/p>\n

This time, Daniel wasn\u2019t the detached professional. He was a terrified son. We asked the hard, painful questions about her nighttime wandering, the cognitive shifts, and how rapidly these symptoms could drag her completely into the dark.<\/p>\n

The doctor nodded sympathetically. He explained a phenomenon called *sundowning*\u2014a state of severe confusion, anxiety, and restlessness that typically worsens as the daylight fades.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo a patient with Alzheimer\u2019s,\u201d the doctor explained softly, \u201cfamiliar spaces can become terrifyingly unfamiliar without any warning. When the present becomes a place of fear and confusion, the broken mind instinctively reaches backward. It searches for the strongest, most comforting anchors of the past. For your mother, Daniel, her strongest anchor is caring for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That single explanation reframed our entire world.<\/p>\n

Margaret was not an intruder invading my daughter\u2019s sanctuary. She was a lost, terrified woman desperately searching the dark halls of a strange house for the only version of Daniel she fully understood\u2014the little boy who once needed her to survive.<\/p>\n

We immediately implemented practical, mechanical changes to the house.<\/p>\n

We installed soft-chiming door alarms that would alert our phones if any door was opened after midnight. We set up a gentle, amber-glow nightlight path from Margaret\u2019s downstairs room directly to the bathroom. We placed a pressure sensor pad beneath her mattress that would silently notify us if she stood up during the night.<\/p>\n

But we knew the mechanical changes were merely bandages. The deeper, more vital changes had to be emotional.<\/p>\n

Daniel fundamentally altered his life. He began rejecting late shifts and passing on non-critical surgeries. Twice a week, without fail, he came home at 5:00 PM. He would sit beside his mother in the living room, holding her frail hand, and ask her to tell him stories about his childhood. He listened intently, even when her stories looped endlessly or contradicted themselves in the span of five minutes.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, she would call him \u201cDanny\u201d and smooth his graying hair exactly the way she must have done decades ago in that freezing apartment.<\/p>\n

And sometimes\u2026 she would look at him with a blank, polite stare, completely unaware that the man holding her hand was the boy she had starved for. Those were the days Daniel cried in his car before coming inside.<\/p>\n

But the most remarkable adaptation came from the person I least expected: Emily.<\/p>\n

In her quiet, eight-year-old wisdom, Emily processed the truth faster and more beautifully than any adult could. We had brought her into our bed for a few nights while we figured things out, but soon, it was time to address her room.<\/p>\n

I sat on the edge of her two-meter bed, holding her small hands. \u201cEmily, Grandma has a sickness in her brain. Sometimes, it makes her mix up old memories with new ones. When she came into your bed, she wasn\u2019t trying to scare you. She thought you were Daddy, from a long, long time ago. She just wanted to keep him safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily stared at me, her large eyes processing the weight of my words. She didn\u2019t look scared. She looked profoundly sad.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo\u2026 Grandma is just lonely?\u201d Emily asked softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, baby. Very lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emily nodded solemnly. \u201cCan I read her a story tonight? Maybe it will help her remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

That evening, I watched from the doorway as my eight-year-old daughter sat next to my seventy-eight-year-old mother-in-law. Emily held up a picture book, pointing out the words. Margaret struggled, her eyes losing focus, but Emily never corrected her. She simply leaned closer, resting her little head against Margaret\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n

When I tucked Emily in later that night, she whispered a sentence that carried more profound clarity than any medical report we had received.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d Emily whispered, pulling the blankets up to her chin, \u201cGrandma just misses being a mom at night.\u201d<\/p>\n

I kissed her forehead, my vision blurring with tears. \u201cI know, sweetheart. I know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to lock my door anymore,\u201d Emily said confidently.<\/p>\n

I hesitated, my protective instincts warring with the beauty of my daughter\u2019s empathy. But I agreed. I left the door unlocked.<\/p>\n

*1:30 AM.*<\/p>\n

My phone chimed softly. The pressure sensor in Margaret\u2019s bed had triggered. I held my breath, watching the camera feed.<\/p>\n

**Chapter 6: The Imprint of a Lifetime**<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t run out to stop her. Daniel, wide awake beside me, held my hand tight as we both stared at the glowing screen.<\/p>\n

Margaret shuffled down the hallway, navigating the amber nightlights. She pushed open Emily\u2019s door. The camera caught the frail woman approaching the massive bed.<\/p>\n

But this time was different.<\/p>\n

Emily wasn\u2019t asleep. She had heard the door. As Margaret pulled back the heavy duvet, preparing to wedge herself onto the very edge of the mattress, Emily sat up.<\/p>\n

On the silent video feed, I watched my tiny daughter reach out her arms. She didn\u2019t push away to the edge. Instead, Emily wrapped her arms around her grandmother\u2019s fragile neck and hugged her tightly.<\/p>\n

Margaret froze for a second, startled by the embrace. But then, slowly, she wrapped her own arms around Emily. She lay down, not on the edge, but right in the middle of the bed, holding her granddaughter close. Emily rested her head on Margaret\u2019s chest, and within minutes, both of them were fast asleep.<\/p>\n

My daughter\u2019s bed was never too small.<\/p>\n

It was simply that a profoundly lonely, aging woman\u2014lost in the confusing labyrinth of her own fading memories\u2014was desperately searching for the warmth of a child she had spent her entire lifetime holding together.<\/p>\n

Months have passed since that terrifying night I first checked the camera. There are still deeply difficult nights. There are still moments when the alarms go off, when Margaret looks lost in her own kitchen, weeping because she cannot find the door to an apartment that was demolished twenty years ago.<\/p>\n

But there are also mornings that make every tear worth it.<\/p>\n

There are mornings when Margaret sits at the breakfast table, looks at Emily as she eats her toast, and her eyes suddenly spark with absolute, crystal clarity. She will smile, a beautiful, genuine smile, and say, \u201cYou\u2019re my sunshine, Emily.\u201d<\/p>\n

And every single time she says it, every time I see Daniel\u2019s shoulders relax and Emily beam back at her, I am reminded of a powerful truth.<\/p>\n

Alzheimer\u2019s is a cruel, relentless thief. It may steal names. It may rearrange time, folding decades into a single, confused moment. It may eventually take away every memory Margaret has ever made.<\/p>\n

But it cannot, and will not, ever erase the permanent imprint of a lifetime spent fiercely loving someone. The mind forgets, but the heart\u2014the muscle memory of love\u2014remains.<\/p>\n

*If you want more stories like this, or if you\u2019d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I\u2019d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don\u2019t be shy about commenting or sharing.*<\/p>\n

Related Stories<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I booked a $150,000 private island vacation for our anniversary. My husband invited his parents and his ex-girlfriend. \u201cYou can handle the cooking and cleaning while we enjoy the beach,\u201d he commanded. His mother sneered, \u201cIt\u2019s the least you can do for my son\u2019s money.\u201d I smiled, cancelled the entire booking on my phone, and left them standing at the empty pier.<\/a><\/h3>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Our family resides in a quiet, immaculate two-story house nestled in the affluent suburbs of **San Jose, California**. It is a place that is always bathed in brilliant, golden sunlight … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4486,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4482","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-reddit-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4482","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4482"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4482\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4488,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4482\/revisions\/4488"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4486"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4482"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4482"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/redditlovers.live\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4482"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}