{"id":6701,"date":"2026-10-11T14:10:21","date_gmt":"2026-10-11T14:10:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=6701"},"modified":"2026-10-11T15:24:35","modified_gmt":"2026-10-11T15:24:35","slug":"part-3-a-father-started-charging-his-18-year-old-son-250-a-month-for-his-room-five-years-later-the-young-man-received-a-box-that-turned-his-life-upside-down","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/?p=6701","title":{"rendered":"PART 3: – “A Father Started Charging His 18-Year-Old Son $250 a Month for His Room \u2013 Five Years Later, the Young Man Received a Box That Turned His Life Upside Down”"},"content":{"rendered":"

PART 3
\n<\/span>For several minutes, I stayed in that chair without moving.
\n<\/span>The computer screen had gone black, but Dad\u2019s face was still there in my mind.
\n<\/span>I love you, son. I always have.
\n<\/em>Those were words I had spent twenty-three years waiting to hear.
\n<\/span>And he had waited until he was gone to say them.
\n<\/span>I looked down at the wooden box sitting on the floor beside me.
\n<\/span>Sixty envelopes.
\n<\/span>Sixty months.
\n<\/span>Every $250 I had handed him.
\n<\/span>Fifteen thousand dollars.
\n<\/span>I picked up another envelope and turned it over in my hands.
\n<\/span>My name was written on the front.
\n<\/span>Not printed.
\n<\/span>Not typed.
\n<\/span>Written in Dad\u2019s handwriting.
\n<\/span>For my son.
\n<\/strong>I opened it carefully.
\n<\/span>Inside was another note.
\n<\/span>Only three sentences.
\n<\/span>\u201cYou probably hate me right now.
\n<\/span>I understand.
\n<\/span>I hope someday you\u2019ll understand me too.\u201d
\n<\/span>I closed my eyes.
\n<\/span>\u201cWhy couldn’t you just talk to me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

The studio gave me no answer.<\/p>\n

Only the faint hum of the equipment.<\/p>\n

I stood and walked back toward the mixing desk.<\/p>\n

Dad’s final instruction kept repeating in my head.<\/p>\n

There’s something in there to help you get started.<\/em><\/p>\n

I had already found the money.<\/p>\n

But somehow, I knew that wasn’t what he meant.<\/p>\n

I pulled open the drawer again.<\/p>\n

It was empty now.<\/p>\n

Or so I thought.<\/p>\n

I ran my fingers along the bottom.<\/p>\n

Then I felt something.<\/p>\n

A tiny metal latch.<\/p>\n

I pressed it.<\/p>\n

The bottom panel popped upward.<\/p>\n

I froze.<\/p>\n

There was a hidden compartment beneath the drawer.<\/p>\n

Inside was a thick black notebook.<\/p>\n

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

The cover was worn and scratched.<\/p>\n

On the front, Dad had written one word.<\/p>\n

SONGBOOK.<\/strong><\/p>\n

My heart started pounding.<\/p>\n

I opened it.<\/p>\n

The first pages contained handwritten lyrics.<\/p>\n

Dozens of them.<\/p>\n

Some were dated twenty-five years earlier.<\/p>\n

Some were written only months ago.<\/p>\n

I turned the pages slowly.<\/p>\n

Then I saw something that made my breath stop.<\/p>\n

A song title.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor My Little Buddy.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

The date beside it was fourteen years ago.<\/p>\n

The year Mom died.<\/p>\n

I stared at the page.<\/p>\n

Dad had written an entire song the year she died.<\/p>\n

I began reading.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t about fame.<\/p>\n

It wasn’t about music.<\/p>\n

It was about a little boy who had lost his mother and a father who was terrified he wouldn’t know how to raise him.<\/p>\n

My vision blurred.<\/p>\n

I wiped my eyes and kept reading.<\/p>\n

Halfway down the page, Dad had written:<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I can’t give him the world, I’ll give him the strength to build one.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I sat down again.<\/p>\n

For years, I had believed Dad simply stopped caring after Mom died.<\/p>\n

But this notebook told a different story.<\/p>\n

A painful story.<\/p>\n

A story about a man who had no idea how to express love without turning it into responsibility.<\/p>\n

I kept turning pages.<\/p>\n

There were songs about me.<\/p>\n

My first day of school.<\/p>\n

My twelfth birthday.<\/p>\n

The night I learned my first guitar chord.<\/p>\n

The day I told him I wanted to study music.<\/p>\n

Even the night we had our worst argument.<\/p>\n

I found a page dated the night I slammed my bedroom door.<\/p>\n

At the top, Dad had written:<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I just pushed my son farther away.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

Underneath it were only six words.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don’t know how to fix this.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I covered my mouth.<\/p>\n

All those years…<\/p>\n

I thought he didn’t care.<\/p>\n

He had been writing about me.<\/p>\n

Maybe even thinking about me more than I ever realized.<\/p>\n

Then I noticed something strange.<\/p>\n

The pages became more recent.<\/p>\n

One entry was dated three months before his death.<\/p>\n

Another two months before.<\/p>\n

Then one from only six weeks earlier.<\/p>\n

I turned the page.<\/p>\n

And stopped.<\/p>\n

There was no song.<\/p>\n

Instead, Dad had written a letter.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you’re reading this, I’ve run out of time.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

My hands began shaking.<\/p>\n

I read on.<\/p>\n

He explained that he had known for some time that his cancer had returned.<\/p>\n

He had kept the diagnosis from me.<\/p>\n

Not because he didn’t trust me.<\/p>\n

Because he knew exactly how I would react.<\/p>\n

He knew I would quit work.<\/p>\n

He knew I would spend every waking hour taking care of him.<\/p>\n

And he didn’t want my life to stop because his was ending.<\/p>\n

That sentence hurt more than anything.<\/p>\n

Because I realized something.<\/p>\n

Even when Dad was making decisions I hated…<\/p>\n

He had been making them around me.<\/p>\n

For me.<\/p>\n

But there was more.<\/p>\n

He wrote that after discovering his illness, he had contacted Frank.<\/p>\n

Together, they had started restoring the old recording studio.<\/p>\n

The equipment.<\/p>\n

The guitars.<\/p>\n

The computers.<\/p>\n

The microphones.<\/p>\n

Everything.<\/p>\n

Dad had been secretly preparing the place for me.<\/p>\n

Then I reached the final page.<\/p>\n

It contained a name.<\/p>\n

Daniel Mercer.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I didn’t recognize it.<\/p>\n

Underneath it was an address.<\/p>\n

And beneath that:<\/p>\n

\u201cAsk him about the song.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I stared at the page.<\/p>\n

Who was Daniel Mercer?<\/p>\n

And what song?<\/p>\n

I immediately thought of the old band.<\/p>\n

Maybe he had been one of them.<\/p>\n

I grabbed my phone and called Frank.<\/p>\n

He answered on the fourth ring.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, buddy.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice sounded tired.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank, I need to ask you something.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout your dad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you find?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA notebook.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank exhaled.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you found that too.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood completely still.<\/p>\n

\u201cToo?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn’t answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank, who is Daniel Mercer?\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence.<\/p>\n

Long enough that I knew the name meant something.<\/p>\n

Finally, he said:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe studio.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ll be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon’t open anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ll explain when I get there.\u201d<\/p>\n

The call ended.<\/p>\n

I stared at my phone.<\/p>\n

For the first time since Dad died, I felt something other than grief.<\/p>\n

I felt fear.<\/p>\n

Not because I believed Dad had done something terrible.<\/p>\n

Because I realized there were still things about him I didn’t know.<\/p>\n

Things Frank had known.<\/p>\n

Things Dad had deliberately hidden.<\/p>\n

And apparently, things that had nothing to do with the money.<\/p>\n

Twenty-five minutes later, headlights appeared outside the studio.<\/p>\n

Frank walked through the door carrying a small paper bag.<\/p>\n

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

Then at the notebook in my hand.<\/p>\n

His expression changed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou found Daniel’s name.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank put the bag down.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father’s old producer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProducer?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you were the drummer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled sadly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father and I started that band together. Daniel was the guy who helped us get our first real recording contract.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank pulled out a chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit down.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat.<\/p>\n

He remained standing.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father had a chance to make it big.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don’t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

He walked toward the wall of photographs.<\/p>\n

He pointed to an old picture of Dad standing beside three other musicians.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’ve seen these guys.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat band wasn’t just popular around here. We were offered a national tour.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes widened.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty-three cities.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank smiled faintly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMajor venues. Record deal. Everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why didn’t he go?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cBecause your mother was pregnant with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stopped breathing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father was supposed to leave for the tour two weeks after you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at the photograph.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn’t make sense.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt does when you know your father.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank’s voice softened.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe had two choices. Chase the dream he’d spent years building, or stay home with your mother and newborn son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe chose us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe chose you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked away.<\/p>\n

For years, I’d thought Dad had given up music because he wasn’t successful.<\/p>\n

The truth was more complicated.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe never told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe didn’t want you to feel like you owed him for giving up his dream.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes burned.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why did he spend my entire childhood telling me music was a waste of time?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank didn’t answer immediately.<\/p>\n

Then he said:<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause he was scared.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cScared of what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat you would make the same sacrifice.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

Frank continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father loved music. But he also knew how quickly a dream can consume everything else. When he saw you falling in love with it, he panicked.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered Dad standing in my bedroom doorway.<\/p>\n

Music doesn’t pay the bills.<\/em><\/p>\n

At the time, I thought he was insulting me.<\/p>\n

Now I wondered if he had been trying, in his broken way, to protect me from becoming him.<\/p>\n

Frank walked back to the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere’s something else you need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father didn’t build this studio alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI figured.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe had help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom Daniel.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt my stomach tighten again.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank looked toward the notebook.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Daniel believed your father had unfinished business.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat unfinished business?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe song.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glanced down at the notebook.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe one he told me to ask Daniel about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat song is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank looked at me for several seconds.<\/p>\n

Then he reached into his coat pocket.<\/p>\n

He pulled out a small envelope.<\/p>\n

He placed it on the table.<\/p>\n

My name was written on it.<\/p>\n

I stared.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father gave it to me six weeks before he died.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn’t touch it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does it say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to open it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I picked it up.<\/p>\n

The envelope was sealed.<\/p>\n

My hands trembled as I opened it.<\/p>\n

Inside was a single sheet of paper.<\/p>\n

Dad’s handwriting.<\/p>\n

I began reading.<\/p>\n

\u201cSon,<\/strong><\/p>\n

There is one thing I never told you about your mother.<\/strong><\/p>\n

She knew about the band.<\/strong><\/p>\n

She knew about the tour.<\/strong><\/p>\n

And she was the one who told me to go.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I stopped.<\/p>\n

I read the sentence again.<\/p>\n

Then again.<\/p>\n

Frank watched me carefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

He sat across from me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother didn’t want him to give up music.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why did he stay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank’s eyes became wet.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause something happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

I lowered the paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank looked toward the studio door.<\/p>\n

Then back at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother was sick before you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n

My chest tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of sick?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer doctors weren’t sure how much time she had.\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n

Frank continued quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father found out just before the tour was supposed to begin.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe stayed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe stayed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause she was dying?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd because she wanted him to.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked down at the letter.<\/p>\n

There was more writing on the back.<\/p>\n

I turned it over.<\/p>\n

The final line read:<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother made me promise that if I ever got another chance at music, I would take it.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

I felt tears running down my face.<\/p>\n

But then I noticed something.<\/p>\n

A second sentence.<\/p>\n

Written beneath it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI kept that promise too late.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn’t answer.<\/p>\n

Instead, he stood and walked toward the computer.<\/p>\n

He turned it on.<\/p>\n

A password screen appeared.<\/p>\n

He typed something.<\/p>\n

The computer unlocked.<\/p>\n

A folder appeared on the desktop.<\/p>\n

FINAL MASTER \u2014 DO NOT DELETE<\/strong><\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank didn’t respond.<\/p>\n

He clicked the folder.<\/p>\n

Inside was one audio file.<\/p>\n

The date was three weeks before Dad died.<\/p>\n

Frank put on the headphones.<\/p>\n

Then he handed them to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pressed play.<\/p>\n

At first, there was silence.<\/p>\n

Then a guitar chord.<\/p>\n

Soft.<\/p>\n

Unsteady.<\/p>\n

Then Dad’s voice.<\/p>\n

Older.<\/p>\n

Weaker.<\/p>\n

But unmistakable.<\/p>\n

He began singing.<\/p>\n

I couldn’t understand all the words at first.<\/p>\n

Then I heard my name.<\/p>\n

My entire body went cold.<\/p>\n

This wasn’t an old song.<\/p>\n

Dad had written it recently.<\/p>\n

For me.<\/p>\n

I listened until the recording ended.<\/p>\n

There was no applause.<\/p>\n

No background instruments.<\/p>\n

Just Dad and his guitar.<\/p>\n

At the end, he spoke instead of singing.<\/p>\n

\u201cBuddy, if you’re hearing this, I didn’t get enough time.\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut maybe time was never the point.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice cracked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe what mattered was what we did with the time we had.\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn’t breathe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI spent too many years trying to make you strong.\u201d<\/p>\n

A pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cI forgot you also needed me to be kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pressed my hand over my mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know I hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another pause.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I know saying sorry now doesn’t fix it.\u201d<\/p>\n

His breathing became shaky.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if there’s one thing I want you to understand\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

The recording became quiet.<\/p>\n

Then Dad said:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were never the rent.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes opened.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were never the burden.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice broke.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were the reason.\u201d<\/p>\n

The recording ended.<\/p>\n

I pulled off the headphones.<\/p>\n

For a moment, neither Frank nor I spoke.<\/p>\n

Then Frank whispered:<\/p>\n

\u201cHe recorded that three days before he went into the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at the computer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn’t he give it to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe planned to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe got too sick.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around the studio.<\/p>\n

At the photographs.<\/p>\n

The guitars.<\/p>\n

The mixing desk.<\/p>\n

The old leather vest.<\/p>\n

The wooden box.<\/p>\n

The sixty envelopes.<\/p>\n

Everything suddenly felt different.<\/p>\n

This wasn’t a studio Dad had left behind.<\/p>\n

It was a conversation he had been trying to have with me for years.<\/p>\n

And now I finally understood.<\/p>\n

But then Frank said something that changed everything.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is one more thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached into the paper bag he’d brought.<\/p>\n

He pulled out a thick folder.<\/p>\n

He placed it on the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the reason your father wanted you to have the studio.\u201d<\/p>\n

I opened it.<\/p>\n

Inside were legal documents.<\/p>\n

Property papers.<\/p>\n

Bank statements.<\/p>\n

Business records.<\/p>\n

And a contract.<\/p>\n

I scanned the first page.<\/p>\n

My heart began racing.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn’t just a recording studio.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the numbers.<\/p>\n

Then at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much is this place worth?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank didn’t answer.<\/p>\n

I turned the page.<\/p>\n

And saw the number.<\/p>\n

My hands went numb.<\/p>\n

The studio was worth far more than I had imagined.<\/p>\n

But that wasn’t the part that shocked me.<\/p>\n

At the bottom of the document was another name.<\/p>\n

Not my father’s.<\/p>\n

Not Frank’s.<\/p>\n

Not Daniel’s.<\/p>\n

My mother’s.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I looked up slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy is Mom’s name on the ownership documents?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank’s face went pale.<\/p>\n

He sat down.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause, son\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

He swallowed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother never gave up her share.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat share?\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank looked toward the old photograph of my parents.<\/p>\n

Then he whispered:<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father wasn’t the only one who had a secret.\u201d<\/p>\n

And suddenly, the studio no longer felt like a gift.<\/p>\n

It felt like the beginning of a mystery my parents had taken to their graves.<\/p>\n

A mystery that had apparently been waiting for me to find it.<\/p>\n

And somewhere inside those documents was the answer to one question I had never thought to ask:<\/p>\n

What really happened to my mother’s dream?<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Click Here to continuous Read\u200b\u200b\u200b\u200b Full Ending Story\ud83d\udc49<\/span>PART(4): – “A Father Started Charging His 18-Year-Old Son $250 a Month for His Room \u2013 Five Years Later, the Young Man Received a Box That Turned His Life Upside Down”<\/a><\/h3>\n

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PART 3 For several minutes, I stayed in that chair without moving. The computer screen had gone black, but Dad\u2019s face was still there in my mind. I love you, … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2978,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6701","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\/6701","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=6701"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6701\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6719,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6701\/revisions\/6719"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2978"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6701"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6701"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nexttaleus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6701"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}