{"id":3660,"date":"2026-07-11T10:17:51","date_gmt":"2026-07-11T10:17:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=3660"},"modified":"2026-07-11T10:17:51","modified_gmt":"2026-07-11T10:17:51","slug":"part-2-my-husband-was-living-two-lives","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=3660","title":{"rendered":"PART 2: MY HUSBAND WAS LIVING TWO LIVES\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
Sarah leaned forward, the ambient noise of the coffee shop fading into the background. Her eyes, usually warm, were now made of flint.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cHe thinks he\u2019s playing a game, Allison,\u201d Sarah said, her voice dropping to a register that meant business. \u201cHe thinks he\u2019s the smartest man in the room because he\u2019s managed to keep his two worlds from colliding. We aren\u2019t just going to divorce him. We are going to dismantle him.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
I looked at my best friend, the woman who had held my hair back when I had the flu, who had stood beside me when my mother died. I saw the absolute certainty in her posture.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the play?\u201d I asked.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cFirst, we secure the perimeter,\u201d Sarah said, pulling a legal pad from her bag. \u201cHe\u2019s an investment consultant. That means he handles other people\u2019s money. People who cheat in their marriages with this level of entitlement almost always cut corners in their finances. We need to find out if he\u2019s using marital assets to fund his second life, or worse, if he\u2019s commingling client funds.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
I nodded, my mind already shifting gears. The panic and heartbreak were still there, a heavy stone in my chest, but I locked them in a box. I was a senior marketing manager. I knew how to execute a flawless campaign. I knew how to find the cracks in a facade.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cGive me forty-eight hours,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
The next two days at the office were a masterclass in psychological warfare. Maya was practically vibrating with joy, talking about floral arrangements and seating charts. I smiled, nodded, and offered gentle suggestions, all while my mind was a steel trap.<\/span><\/div>\n
During my lunch breaks, I didn\u2019t eat. I sat in my car and used my own personal laptop to dig. Michael was careless. He used the same password for his personal email as he did for his private investment portal. It took me three hours to bypass a secondary security question he\u2019d set up (the name of his first dog, a golden retriever named Buster).<\/span><\/div>\n
When I finally got into his hidden financial folders, my blood ran cold.<\/span><\/div>\n
He wasn\u2019t just buying Maya diamonds and omakase dinners. He had taken out a second mortgage on our apartment\u2014forging my digital signature. He had also been quietly siphoning funds from a blind trust he managed for a elderly client, using the money to fund his \u201cnew venture\u201d with his investors.<\/span><\/div>\n
He was bankrupt. He was a fraud. And he was planning to use my assets to cover his tracks.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I printed everything. Every ledger, every forged document, every transfer receipt. I handed the physical copies to Sarah on Wednesday morning.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She looked through them, a slow, terrifying smile spreading across her face. \u201cHe\u2019s not just a cheater, Allison. He\u2019s a felon. This is beautiful.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s close the net,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
On Thursday evening, I texted Michael. <\/span>Emergency campaign launch in Chicago. Flying out tonight, back Sunday. Don\u2019t wait up.<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
His reply was instantaneous. <\/span>So proud of you, babe. I\u2019ll hold down the fort. Love you.<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I didn\u2019t fly to Chicago. I booked a room at the Four Downtown, three blocks from our apartment. Then, I sent a text to Maya from a burner phone I\u2019d bought that afternoon.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Michael asked me to drop off the keys to the apartment so you could let yourself in. He\u2019s stuck at the office. I\u2019m his executive assistant, Sarah. I\u2019m in the lobby.<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It was a lie, but Maya didn\u2019t know my real name. She only knew me as \u201cAllison, the new marketing girl.\u201d She wouldn\u2019t question an executive assistant.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Twenty minutes later, Maya walked into the lobby of our building, wearing a cream trench coat and carrying an overnight bag. She looked around, spotted me, and gave a bright, nervous wave.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHi! You must be Sarah,\u201d she said, walking up. \u201cMichael said you were helping him with the new launch. I\u2019m Maya.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI know who you are, Maya,\u201d I said. My voice was perfectly level. \u201cLet\u2019s go up.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She frowned slightly at my tone but followed me into the elevator. The ride up to the 14th floor was silent. When I unlocked the door to my apartment, she stepped inside and looked around.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d she murmured. \u201cHe has such good taste.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHe does,\u201d I said, closing the door behind us and locking it. \u201cHe also has a very specific way of organizing his life. Did you know that?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya turned to look at me, confused. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I walked over to the kitchen island, picked up the thick manila folder Sarah had prepared, and tossed it onto the marble counter. It landed with a heavy, final slap.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cOpen it,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya hesitated, her smile faltering. \u201cIs this\u2026 is this about the wedding venue? Did he put a deposit down somewhere else?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cOpen it, Maya.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She reached out with trembling fingers and opened the folder. I watched her eyes scan the first page. It was a bank statement showing a $50,000 transfer from our joint account to a jewelry store, dated the day after his \u201cfinance conference\u201d in Dallas.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She flipped the page. A photo of Michael and me, taken in Maui on our third anniversary. The exact same beach, the exact same palm trees as the photo on her desk.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya stopped breathing. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a ghost. She looked at the photo, then at me, then back at the photo.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2026 I don\u2019t understand,\u201d she whispered. \u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I took a step forward. \u201cMy name is Allison Davis. I am the senior marketing manager at TechSphere. And I am the woman whose husband you are sleeping with.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The silence in the apartment was absolute. The hum of the refrigerator sounded like a jet engine.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Maya choked out, taking a step back. \u201cNo, he said\u2026 he said his wife was dead. He said she died three years ago. He said he was a widower.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The sheer audacity of the lie almost made me laugh. He hadn\u2019t just lied to her; he had built a graveyard for me to make his story more sympathetic.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cLook at the date on the photo, Maya,\u201d I said softly. \u201cThat was taken last year. When he told me he was in San Francisco.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya\u2019s hands began to shake violently. She dropped the folder. The photos spilled across the floor. The receipt for the $550 omakase dinner fluttered to the ground between us.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s married,\u201d she whispered, the reality finally shattering her illusion. \u201cHe\u2019s married to you.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s married to me. And he\u2019s using your family\u2019s money to pay for his lifestyle, because he embezzled from his clients and maxed out our mortgage.\u201d I looked at her, feeling a sudden, unexpected wave of pity. She wasn\u2019t the villain. She was just the mark. \u201cPack your bag, Maya. And when you leave, tell him you\u2019re done. Tell him you found out he\u2019s a fraud.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2026 I can\u2019t\u2026\u201d She was crying now, silent, horrified tears.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Before she could finish, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the hallway.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Michael was home early.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya gasped, looking at the door in sheer panic. I didn\u2019t move. I just stood there, waiting.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The door swung open. Michael stepped in, loosening his tie, a charming smile already forming on his lips. \u201cMaya, babe, I got out of the\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He stopped.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The smile died on his face. His eyes darted from Maya\u2019s tear-streaked face to me, standing calmly in the center of the living room. For a second, his brain couldn\u2019t process the image. He looked like a man who had stepped off a curb and missed the pavement.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cAllison?\u201d he stammered, his voice cracking. \u201cWhat\u2026 what are you doing here? I thought you were in Chicago.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI never left,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Michael\u2019s eyes widened. He looked at Maya, then at the scattered photos on the floor. The mask slipped. The charming, confident investor vanished, replaced by a cornered, pathetic animal.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cAllison, listen to me,\u201d he started, holding his hands up, stepping toward me. \u201cIt\u2019s not what it looks like. I was going to tell you. I was just\u2026 I was confused.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cConfused?\u201d I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. \u201cYou forged my signature on a second mortgage, Michael. You stole from your clients. And you told this poor girl that I was dead.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Michael froze. \u201cHow do you know about the mortgage?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cBecause I\u2019m not just your wife,\u201d I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. \u201cI\u2019m the one who just forwarded your entire financial ledger to the SEC and the district attorney. Sarah is currently serving you with divorce papers, and the bank has already frozen the accounts.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
His knees actually buckled. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen island to stay upright. \u201cYou\u2026 you can\u2019t do that. You\u2019ll ruin me. I\u2019ll go to prison.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYou should have thought about that before you tried to bankrupt me,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I looked at Maya, who was staring at Michael with a mixture of horror and absolute disgust. \u201cLeave, Maya. There\u2019s nothing for you here but a prison visitation room.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Maya didn\u2019t say a word. She grabbed her bag, walked past Michael without looking at him, and walked out the door. The click of the latch closing behind her sounded like a gunshot.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Michael slumped against the counter, burying his face in his hands. \u201cAllison, please. We can fix this. We can work this out.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I walked over to the hallway, picked up my coat, and looked at the man I had spent seven years loving.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThere is no \u2018we\u2019, Michael. There\u2019s just you, and the cell you\u2019re about to occupy.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I walked out, leaving him sitting in the ruins of the life he had tried to secretly double. I didn\u2019t look back.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
\n<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Hundreds of miles away, in the sterile, fluorescent-lit quiet of a Knoxville hospital room, Frank Callaway was fighting a different kind of war.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. Maggie lay in the bed, looking fragile, her skin the color of old parchment. But her eyes were open. They were awake.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The toxicology report had come back an hour ago. The doctors had been blunt. Maggie hadn\u2019t just fainted. She had been systematically poisoned.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Brittany\u2019s \u201cspecial sweet tea\u201d had been laced with crushed, concentrated doses of Maggie\u2019s own beta-blockers and heavy sedatives. They weren\u2019t trying to kill her quickly. They were trying to break her mind, to make her docile, confused, and physically weak, so she would sign over the Power of Attorney and the deed to the house without realizing what she was doing.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank sat in the vinyl chair beside the bed, holding her hand. His thumb stroked her knuckles. He was a man who had spent thirty-five years as a senior forensic investigator for the state. He knew how to follow the money. He knew how to find the lies.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
And he knew how to set a trap.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The door creaked open. Kevin poked his head in, followed closely by Brittany. Kevin had the perfect expression of concerned worry plastered on his face. It made Frank\u2019s stomach turn.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cDad,\u201d Kevin whispered, walking in. \u201cHow is she?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cStable,\u201d Frank said, his voice rough. He didn\u2019t let go of Maggie\u2019s hand. \u201cThe doctors say she just needs rest.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Brittany stepped forward, her eyes darting to the medical chart at the foot of the bed. \u201cOh, thank goodness. We were so worried, Frank. You know how fragile she\u2019s been lately.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Fragile.<\/span><\/em> The word tasted like ash in Frank\u2019s mouth.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cKevin,\u201d Frank said, looking up at his son. \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking. You were right the other day. About the house. About the accounts.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin\u2019s eyes lit up. A microscopic shift, but Frank caught it. The predator smelling blood.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI was, Dad?\u201d Kevin said, trying to keep his voice sympathetic.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYes. Your mother is sick. If she needs long-term care, this house is going to be a burden. And the retirement accounts\u2026 they\u2019ll just get eaten up by medical bills.\u201d Frank let out a long, shaky sigh, playing the part of the defeated, aging father perfectly. \u201cI want to sign the papers. I want to transfer the house and the accounts into your name. Just to protect it all for the family.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Brittany actually smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing, but it was there. \u201cOh, Frank. That\u2019s so smart. That\u2019s exactly what Kevin was saying we needed to do.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI have the documents in my briefcase,\u201d Kevin said, his voice speeding up with barely concealed excitement. \u201cI drew them up just in case. I can get the notary from the front desk to come up right now.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cDo it,\u201d Frank said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Ten minutes later, a notary sat at the small table in the corner of the room. Kevin laid out the thick stack of documents. Power of Attorney. Quitclaim deed for the house. Transfer of beneficiary for the $1.2 million retirement fund.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cJust sign on the dotted lines, Dad,\u201d Kevin said, handing him a pen. \u201cWe\u2019ll take care of everything from here. You and Mom won\u2019t have to worry about a thing.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank took the pen. He looked at Kevin. \u201cBefore I sign, Kevin\u2026 I need you to say it. On the record. The notary needs to know I\u2019m of sound mind and that I\u2019m doing this willingly.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cOf course, Dad,\u201d Kevin said smoothly.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Frank said, his voice suddenly dropping the frail, old-man act. It became the hard, clipped voice of a seasoned investigator. \u201cI need you to say why we\u2019re doing this. Tell the notary why your mother is in this bed.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin blinked, confused by the shift in tone. \u201cDad, what are you talking about? She\u2019s sick. She had a reaction to her medication.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cLook at me, Kevin.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin looked. And for the first time in his life, he saw the absolute, terrifying coldness in his father\u2019s eyes.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cTell the notary,\u201d Frank said, his voice like grinding stone, \u201cthat you\u2019ve been crushing her heart medication into her tea. Tell him that you\u2019ve been keeping her sedated for four days so she wouldn\u2019t fight you when you stole her life savings. Say it.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The room went dead silent. The notary stopped writing.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin\u2019s face went pale. He looked at Brittany, who was suddenly staring at the floor. He looked back at his father, a nervous, pathetic laugh escaping his lips.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cDad, come on. That\u2019s crazy. You\u2019re stressed. You\u2019re not making sense.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI have the security camera footage from the kitchen, Kevin,\u201d Frank lied, his face a mask of stone. \u201cI have the neighbor\u2019s testimony. And I have the toxicology report. The police are already in the hallway.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin\u2019s eyes widened in sheer panic. \u201cYou\u2026 you called the cops? On your own son?\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI called the cops on a parasite,\u201d Frank said.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He didn\u2019t sign the papers. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He hit a button.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The door to the hospital room opened. Two uniformed officers stepped in, followed by Earl Hutchins, the neighbor, who looked grim but resolute.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cKevin Callaway, Brittany Callaway,\u201d the lead officer said. \u201cYou are under arrest for elder abuse, fraud, and attempted poisoning. You have the right to remain silent\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin stood up, knocking his chair over. \u201cYou can\u2019t do this! I\u2019m your son! Dad, call them off! I\u2019ll give the money back! I\u2019ll fix it!\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Brittany was crying now, backing away from the officers. \u201cIt was his idea! He told me to do it! I didn\u2019t want to hurt her!\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cSave it for the judge,\u201d the officer said, snapping the cuffs onto Kevin\u2019s wrists.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Kevin was dragged toward the door. He struggled, his face red, his arrogance entirely shattered. He looked back at his father, begging with his eyes.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank didn\u2019t flinch. He didn\u2019t look away. He just watched the boy he had raised walk out of his life for the final time.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
When the door closed, the room was quiet again. The heart monitor kept its steady, rhythmic beep.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank let out a breath he felt like he\u2019d been holding for five days. He turned back to the bed. Maggie was looking at him, a small, weak smile on her lips.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYou got him,\u201d she whispered.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI got him, Maggie,\u201d Frank said, sitting back down and taking her hand again. \u201cHe\u2019s gone. He\u2019s never coming back.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re going to sell the house,\u201d she said softly.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cYes, we are,\u201d Frank agreed. \u201cI\u2019m thinking we move to the coast. Somewhere with a porch. Somewhere quiet.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like that, Frank.\u201d<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank looked out the window. The sun was setting over Knoxville, casting a warm, golden light across the parking lot. The world was still turning. The bad people had been stopped. The good people had survived.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He squeezed his wife\u2019s hand, and for the first time in months, he felt the heavy, suffocating weight in his chest finally begin to lift.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
\n<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
EPILOGUE<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Betrayal is a funny thing. It always wears a mask. It wears the mask of a loving son, asking for advice. It wears the mask of a devoted husband, kissing your forehead before a \u201cbusiness trip.\u201d It makes you feel foolish for doubting it. It makes you feel crazy for noticing the cracks.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
But the truth is, the mask always slips.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It slips when a neighbor notices a wife sliding out of a chair. It slips when a coworker shows you a photo of your husband on her desk.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Allison Davis didn\u2019t just survive her husband\u2019s betrayal; she weaponized it. Michael is currently serving a six-year sentence in a federal correctional facility for wire fraud and embezzlement. Maya moved back to Texas and started her own marketing firm. Allison was promoted to Vice President of Global Marketing at TechSphere. She kept the apartment. She kept her dignity. And she kept her peace.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Frank and Maggie Callaway sold their big house in the polished subdivision. They bought a small, beautiful cottage on the coast of South Carolina. They spend their days walking on the beach, reading on the porch, and enjoying the quiet. They cut Kevin out of their will entirely. The retirement accounts went to a local charity for elder care.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
They learned the hardest lesson of all: Family isn\u2019t just about blood. It\u2019s about who shows up when you\u2019re sick. It\u2019s about who holds your hand when the world goes dark.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do when someone tries to steal your life\u2026 is to simply take it back.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sarah leaned forward, the ambient noise of the coffee shop fading into the background. Her eyes, usually warm, were now made of flint. \u201cHe thinks he\u2019s playing a game, Allison,\u201d … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3655,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3660","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\/3660","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=3660"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3660\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3661,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3660\/revisions\/3661"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3655"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3660"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3660"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3660"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}