{"id":2717,"date":"2026-06-07T13:59:32","date_gmt":"2026-06-07T13:59:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=2717"},"modified":"2026-06-07T13:59:34","modified_gmt":"2026-06-07T13:59:34","slug":"my-mother-in-law-replaced-my-wedding-dress-with-a-clown-costume-so-i-wore-it-anyway-the-morning-of-my-wedding-i-unzipped-the-garment-bag-holding-the-dress-id-spent-eight-months-choosing-t","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=2717","title":{"rendered":"My mother-in-law replaced my wedding dress with a clown costume, so I wore it anyway. The morning of my wedding, I unzipped the garment bag holding the dress I\u2019d spent eight months choosing. The one I\u2019d saved for"},"content":{"rendered":"

The heavy brass zipper of the white garment bag made a final metallic sound as my maid of honor, Olivia, pulled it down.
\n<\/em><\/strong>Morning light spilled softly into the bridal suite at The Willowbrook Manor, warm and golden, mixing with the scent of hairspray, perfume, and white lilies. My heart beat so hard it felt trapped inside my ribs.
\nThis was supposed to be the moment.
\n<\/span>The dress.
\nThe ivory silk gown I had spent eight months searching for. The gown I had saved every spare dollar to buy. The gown that was supposed to make me feel, for one beautiful day, like the kind of bride who belonged in a fairy tale.
\n<\/span>Olivia pulled the garment bag open.
\nThen she stopped breathing.
\nThe color drained from her face so quickly I thought she might faint.
\n\u201cWhat the hell is that?\u201d she whispered.
\nI stepped away from the vanity mirror, my silk bridal robe brushing my legs, and walked toward the closet.
\nThere was no ivory gown.
\nNo lace.
\nNo elegant train.
\nHanging inside the bag was a bright yellow-and-red striped shirt, oversized polka-dot pants, neon green suspenders, a rainbow wig, a red foam nose, and a pair of enormous floppy plastic shoes.
\nA clown costume.
\nMy bridesmaids froze behind me.
\nThe silence in the room turned thick and suffocating.
\nI stared at the costume, and something inside my chest cracked open\u2014not with confusion, but with recognition.
\nI knew exactly who had done this.
\nVictoria.
\nMy future mother-in-law.<\/p>\n

Victoria was a woman built out of old money, sharp manners, and the absolute belief that anyone beneath her social class was a stain on the furniture. From the first moment Ethan brought me to dinner at Ravenswood Country Club, she had made it painfully clear that I was not welcome.
\nI was Lily Carter. My father taught high school English. My mother worked as a nurse. We were ordinary, hardworking, and loving\u2014three qualities Victoria considered unfortunate.
\nI had put myself through state college while working two jobs. I became a social worker because I believed people deserved someone in their corner. Ethan, a brilliant corporate attorney from one of the city\u2019s oldest families, fell in love with me anyway.
\nTo him, I was real.
\nTo Victoria, I was an intrusion.
\n\u201cSo you\u2019re the social worker,\u201d she had said the first night we met, her eyes sliding down to my department-store heels. \u201cHow\u2026 noble.\u201d
\nShe made the word noble sound like a diagnosis.
\nFor years, she fought me quietly. She \u201cforgot\u201d to invite me to family dinners. She seated Ethan beside wealthy single women at galas. She corrected my posture, my clothes, my speech, my job, my parents, and my entire existence through little smiles and poison-laced compliments.
\nWhen Ethan proposed, Victoria\u2019s dislike became open warfare.
\nShe demanded a massive wedding at Ravenswood. She demanded four hundred guests. She demanded I wear the heavy Montgomery family gown that looked like it had been designed to punish the female body.
\n<\/span>When I refused and chose an eighty-person garden ceremony, she hissed, \u201cA Montgomery wedding should be elegant, not some backyard charity event.\u201d
\nI told her, \u201cI am marrying your son. If that embarrasses you, that is your problem.\u201d
\nShe did not speak to me for two months.
\nThen, three weeks before the wedding, she changed.
\nShe became sweet. Helpful. Apologetic.
\nEthan wanted so badly to believe she was trying. And because I loved him, I let myself believe it too.
\nI gave her one task.
\nOne.
\nShe lived five minutes from the bridal boutique, so I allowed her to transport my sealed garment bag to the venue that morning.
\nShe had smiled when she delivered it.
\n\u201cGood luck today, Lily,\u201d she whispered.
\nNow I knew why.<\/p>\n

Olivia grabbed my shoulders. \u201cLily, breathe. I\u2019m calling the boutique. We\u2019ll get a sample dress. We\u2019ll push the ceremony back. We can fix this.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reached into the garment bag and pulled out the polka-dot pants. The suspenders dangled from my hand.<\/p>\n

Then a laugh rose in my throat.<\/p>\n

Not joy.<\/p>\n

Not hysteria.<\/p>\n

Something dry, hollow, and terrifyingly calm.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Olivia blinked. \u201cWhat do you mean, no? I\u2019ll call Ethan.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will not call Ethan,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

My bridesmaids stared at me as though I had just declared war.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are not postponing. We are not calling the boutique. We are not hiding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLily,\u201d Olivia said, her voice breaking, \u201cyour dress is gone. What are you going to wear?\u201d<\/p>\n

I lifted the rainbow wig in one hand and the red nose in the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am wearing exactly what Victoria brought me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve lost your mind,\u201d Olivia whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cFor the first time today, I see everything clearly.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room exploded with protests.<\/p>\n

Everyone will laugh.<\/p>\n

The pictures will be ruined.<\/p>\n

You cannot walk down the aisle like that.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d I asked. \u201cVictoria went to a lot of trouble. She stole my dress, replaced it with a clown costume, and delivered it with a smile. She wanted a performance. I\u2019m going to give her one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke, one of my bridesmaids, covered her mouth. \u201cBut everyone will see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d I said. \u201cEveryone will see what she did. If I cry, she wins. If I cancel, she wins. If I hide in some emergency dress that doesn\u2019t fit me, she wins. I am not giving her my dignity. I am marrying Ethan today, and I am doing it in this costume.\u201d<\/p>\n

For a long moment, nobody spoke.<\/p>\n

Then Olivia\u2019s expression changed. Panic gave way to something darker. Something delighted.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are serious,\u201d she breathed. \u201cThis is the most savage thing I have ever heard.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe wanted to make me the joke,\u201d I said. \u201cFine. I will be the joke. But I will be the one telling it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brooke stepped forward. \u201cThen we\u2019ll do it with you. We\u2019ll draw clown makeup on our faces. We\u2019ll make it a whole statement.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cNo. You all stay beautiful in your navy dresses. I need to be the only clown. The contrast is the entire point.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then I turned to my makeup artist, Avery, who had been standing frozen in the corner with a brush in her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cAvery,\u201d I said, \u201cI need the most flawless bridal makeup you have ever done. Glowing skin. Perfect eyes. Elegant hair. White roses in the updo. From the neck up, I want to look like a bride from a magazine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Avery looked at the costume, then back at me.<\/p>\n

Slowly, she smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoney,\u201d she said, \u201cI am about to make you look like royalty.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the next two hours, the bridal suite became a war room.<\/p>\n

There were no more tears.<\/p>\n

Only strategy.<\/p>\n

Avery worked magic. My hair was swept into a romantic updo with small white roses pinned through it. My makeup was luminous and classic. My eyes looked bright, calm, and dangerous.<\/p>\n

Then I put on the costume.<\/p>\n

The striped shirt.<\/p>\n

The huge polka-dot pants.<\/p>\n

The neon suspenders.<\/p>\n

I refused the wig and the red nose. The beauty of my hair and makeup mattered. I wanted the contrast to be unmistakable.<\/p>\n

But I did put on the giant plastic shoes.<\/p>\n

When I stood before the mirror, the image was ridiculous and powerful. From the neck up, I was a perfect bride. From the neck down, I looked ready to entertain children at a birthday party.<\/p>\n

Olivia took a photo.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is going to break the internet,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d I said. \u201cLet the world see what Victoria does to women she thinks are beneath her.\u201d<\/p>\n

My phone rang.<\/p>\n

My mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoney,\u201d she said warmly, \u201cthey\u2019re about to start seating guests. Are you ready?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost,\u201d I said. \u201cMom, there was a problem with the dress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of problem? Is it torn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVictoria stole it. She replaced it with a clown costume.\u201d<\/p>\n

The silence on the other end was terrifying.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe did what?\u201d my mother asked, her voice dropping into a tone I had only heard once or twice in my life.<\/p>\n

PART TWO: THE ARCHITECTURE OF A STATEMENT<\/span><\/h1>\n
The silence on the other end of the phone stretched so long I could hear my mother\u2019s breathing shift from confusion to something sharper. Something ancient. The kind of quiet that precedes a storm that has been building for decades. Then her voice came through, stripped of its usual gentle cadence, lowered into a register I had only heard twice in my life: once when my father\u2019s business nearly collapsed, and once when a landlord tried to evict us from a damp apartment when I was nine.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cWhat exactly did she replace it with?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I closed my eyes. I could still feel the rough texture of the polka-dot pants against my fingertips. I could still see Olivia\u2019s pale face in the vanity mirror. I could still taste the metallic edge of my own calm.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cA clown costume,\u201d I said. \u201cBright stripes. Neon suspenders. A rainbow wig. A red foam nose. And a pair of oversized plastic shoes. She delivered it with a smile and told me good luck.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My mother did not gasp. She did not cry. She exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carries the weight of a decision already made. \u201cTell me you are not canceling.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m wearing it.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Another pause. Then, clear as glass: \u201cI\u2019m calling your father. We\u2019re leaving now. Keep the phone on speaker. I want to hear every word Avery says when she fixes your hair. And Lily? Do not apologize to anyone. Not to Ethan. Not to Victoria. Not to the photographer. You are the bride. You walk down the aisle. You speak your vows. You let the room see exactly what they are standing in.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The line clicked. I set the phone on the vanity. Olivia was already moving, her panic replaced by a focused, almost reverent efficiency. She handed me a glass of water, adjusted the lighting on the mirror, and opened the makeup kit with the steady hands of a woman who knew she was about to witness something historic.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Avery stepped forward, her brushes lined up like surgical instruments. \u201cFrom the neck up, you\u2019re walking into a magazine spread. From the neck down, you\u2019re walking into a war. Which means we don\u2019t rush. We don\u2019t flinch. We build it to last.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She began at my skin. Primer. Foundation. Concealer. Each layer applied with deliberate strokes, smoothing away the redness of stress, the shadows of sleepless nights, the faint tremor of anticipation. She worked in silence, her eyes tracking every angle, every highlight, every contour. When she moved to my eyes, she used a soft taupe shadow, a thin line of charcoal liner, and a coat of mascara that made my lashes look heavy and deliberate. My hair was swept back, pinned into a romantic updo with small white roses tucked between the twists, each stem trimmed to perfection, each placement calculated to catch the light when I turned my head.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When she finally stepped back, I looked at myself. The woman in the mirror was unrecognizable and entirely familiar. Her face was calm. Her eyes were clear. Her posture was straight. She looked like a bride. She looked like a woman who had decided to stop shrinking.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Then I stood. I stepped into the oversized striped shirt. I pulled up the polka-dot pants. I fastened the neon suspenders. I slipped my feet into the giant plastic shoes. The floorboards creaked under the weight. The fabric rustled. The room held its breath.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Olivia took a photo. \u201cThis is going to change everything,\u201d she whispered.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My phone buzzed. My mother\u2019s name flashed across the screen. I answered.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re ten minutes out,\u201d she said. \u201cYour father is driving. I\u2019ve already called the venue manager. I told him to expect a change in the bridal entrance. I told him not to panic. I told him to do his job. Lily?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t let them rewrite the story before you walk in. You get to tell it first.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI will,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The call ended. I placed the phone in a small satin clutch Avery had set aside. I took one last look at the mirror. The contrast was staggering. Perfect bridal elegance above a costume designed to mock. But the mockery had already been reversed. The joke was no longer on me. It was on the woman who thought humiliation could be packaged as tradition.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
At 12:47 p.m., the bridal suite door opened. My parents stepped inside. My mother wore a simple navy dress, her hair pinned back, her eyes scanning me with a fierce, unapologetic pride. My father stood behind her, his jaw set, his hands in his pockets, his gaze steady. He didn\u2019t smile. He didn\u2019t cry. He just nodded once.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYou look exactly like yourself,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
That was all I needed.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
At 1:15 p.m., the string quartet began tuning. The guests were seated. The garden path was lined with white chairs, draped with sheer fabric, scattered with rose petals that would soon be trampled under plastic shoes. I stood at the entrance to the courtyard, my mother on my left, my father on my right. Olivia stood behind me, holding the clutch, her breathing steady. Avery had stepped back into the shadows, her work complete.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Through the archway, I could see the crowd. Relatives in pastel suits and silk dresses. Friends in tailored blazers and summer dresses. Colleagues from Ethan\u2019s firm. My own friends, scattered like anchors in a sea of strangers. And at the front, beneath a white canopy, stood Ethan.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He was in a charcoal suit, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. He had not seen me yet. He had been told there was a \u201cminor wardrobe adjustment\u201d and that I would be a few minutes late. He was smiling politely, nodding to his uncle, adjusting his cufflinks, entirely unaware that the ground beneath him was about to shift.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Beside him, Victoria sat in the front row. She was wearing a dove-gray dress, her posture immaculate, her expression carefully arranged into the serene, benevolent mask of a mother welcoming her son\u2019s bride. She had not looked toward the entrance yet. She was watching Ethan. She was watching the altar. She was watching everything except the woman who was about to walk into her trap.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My mother squeezed my arm. \u201cWhenever you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t wait for a cue. I didn\u2019t wait for a sign. I stepped forward.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The quartet shifted into the first notes of the processional. The guests turned. Conversations stopped. Phones were lowered. And then they saw me.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The silence that followed was not the polite, reverent hush of a wedding ceremony. It was the sharp, suffocating quiet of a room that has just witnessed something impossible. Eyes widened. Shoulders tensed. Hands gripped armrests. A woman in the third row actually dropped her program. Someone gasped. Someone else whispered a name that sounded like a question.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
But I kept walking. One step. Then another. The plastic shoes clicked against the stone path. The neon suspenders caught the afternoon sun. The polka-dot pants swayed with each movement. Above it all, my face remained untouched by the absurdity. My hair held its shape. My makeup caught the light. My posture remained straight. I did not hurry. I did not slow down. I walked like a woman who had been born for exactly this moment.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Ethan saw me first. His smile faltered. His hands dropped to his sides. His eyes traveled from my face down to my shoulders, down to the striped shirt, down to the neon straps, down to the giant shoes. His breath hitched. He took half a step forward, then stopped. His face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and then something colder: recognition.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He knew. He knew exactly what had happened. He knew exactly who had done it. And he knew, in that exact second, that his mother had just handed him a choice he had spent his entire life avoiding.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Victoria saw me a moment later. Her head turned slowly. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. The serene mask shattered into something raw and unguarded. Panic. Then fury. Then calculation. She looked at me, then at Ethan, then at the guests, then back at me. Her hands gripped the edge of her chair. Her knuckles went white. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She had expected tears. She expected a canceled ceremony. She expected me to hide. She had not expected me to become the center of the room.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I reached the front. My father stepped back. My mother took her seat. I stood beside Ethan. He did not look at me immediately. He was still staring at the plastic shoes, his jaw tight, his breathing shallow. When he finally turned his head, his eyes were wet. Not with anger. With shame.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cLily,\u201d he whispered.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The officiant cleared his throat. He looked at my outfit, then at my face, then at Victoria, then back to the program in his hands. He swallowed hard. \u201cWe are gathered here today to join Ethan Montgomery and Lily Carter in marriage. Before we begin, I want to acknowledge that weddings are not just about tradition. They are about truth. And sometimes, truth arrives in unexpected forms.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He paused. The room was completely still. Even the birds had gone quiet.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Then he looked at me. \u201cLily, do you have anything you\u2019d like to say before we begin?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t hesitate. I turned toward the guests. I didn\u2019t raise my voice. I didn\u2019t gesture. I simply spoke into the quiet, letting the words land exactly where they were meant to.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like to thank Victoria,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
A ripple moved through the crowd. Victoria\u2019s head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto mine. She looked like a woman watching a wall collapse.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThank you for the costume,\u201d I continued. \u201cThank you for believing that humiliation could be disguised as preparation. Thank you for thinking I would cancel, hide, or apologize for wearing what you gave me. Thank you for reminding everyone in this room that love should never require a costume change to be accepted. And thank you for giving me the exact moment I needed to stop asking for permission to be seen.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I turned back to Ethan. \u201cI\u2019m not here to punish anyone. I\u2019m here to marry you. But if you\u2019re marrying a version of me that requires silence, apology, or shrinking, then we should stop right now. I will not spend my life editing myself to fit someone else\u2019s comfort. I will not wear a dress that was stolen. I will not walk down a path built on someone else\u2019s cruelty. But if you\u2019re marrying me, exactly as I am, then I\u2019m ready.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Ethan didn\u2019t speak for a long moment. He looked at me. He looked at his mother. He looked at his hands. Then he stepped closer. He didn\u2019t touch the clown suit. He didn\u2019t try to fix it. He just took my hands in his. His thumbs brushed over my knuckles. His voice was quiet, but it carried.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m marrying you,\u201d he said. \u201cNot the version they wanted. Not the version I was taught to expect. You. Exactly as you are.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The officiant nodded. He opened the book. He began the vows.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I don\u2019t remember the exact words. I remember the weight of Ethan\u2019s hands. I remember the way Victoria\u2019s breathing grew shallow. I remember the way my mother\u2019s eyes stayed fixed on my face, unblinking. I remember the way the sunlight hit the white roses in my hair. I remember the way the plastic shoes felt against the stone. I remember the way the room finally, slowly, began to exhale.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When the officiant asked for the rings, Olivia stepped forward. She handed me Ethan\u2019s band. I slid it onto his finger. He handed me mine. I held it for a second. Then I looked at Victoria one last time.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She didn\u2019t cry. She didn\u2019t smile. She just sat there, her posture rigid, her hands folded in her lap, her face completely still. The mask was gone. What remained was a woman who had finally realized that control is not the same as love, and that cruelty, once exposed, cannot be unmade.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I slid the ring onto my finger. The officiant spoke the final words. He pronounced us married. Ethan kissed me. It was not a dramatic kiss. It was not a cinematic moment. It was a quiet, steady press of lips, a promise made in daylight, a decision sealed in front of witnesses who would never forget what they had seen.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When we turned to face the room, the applause did not come immediately. It came slowly. Hesitantly. Then it grew. Not polite applause. Not performative applause. Real applause. The kind that arrives when a room finally understands what it has just witnessed.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t look at Victoria. I didn\u2019t look at the guests. I looked at Ethan. I looked at my hands. I looked at the path behind me. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had not just survived the day. I had claimed it.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The reception would come later. The conversations would follow. The fallout would be loud. But in that moment, under the white canopy, surrounded by the quiet hum of a changed room, I finally understood the difference between a wedding and a statement.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n

A wedding is what you\u2019re given. A statement is what you make.<\/span><\/p>\n

And I had just made mine…………………..<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Continue read next >>> PART2: My mother-in-law replaced my wedding dress with a clown costume, so I wore it anyway. The morning of my wedding, I unzipped the garment bag holding the dress I\u2019d spent eight months choosing. The one I\u2019d saved for<\/a><\/span><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The heavy brass zipper of the white garment bag made a final metallic sound as my maid of honor, Olivia, pulled it down. Morning light spilled softly into the bridal … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2719,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2717","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2717","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2717"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2717\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2722,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2717\/revisions\/2722"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2719"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2717"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2717"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2717"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}