{"id":16808,"date":"2026-06-30T03:49:31","date_gmt":"2026-06-30T03:49:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=16808"},"modified":"2026-06-30T03:49:31","modified_gmt":"2026-06-30T03:49:31","slug":"my-husband-hit-me-for-asking-where-he-had-been-all-night-the-next-morning-i-made-his-favorite-southern-breakfast-and-served-it-with-a-smile-he-called-me-a-proper-wife-then-the-k","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=16808","title":{"rendered":"My Husband Hi:t Me for Asking Where He Had Been All Night. The Next Morning, I Made His Favorite Southern Breakfast and Served It With a Smile. He Called Me a \u201cProper Wife.\u201d Then the Kitchen Door Swung Open\u2014and Every Bit of Color Left His Face. Everything changed because of one simple question."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
<\/div>\n<\/header>\n
Reading Time:\u00a0<\/span>9<\/span>\u00a0minutes<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Everything changed because of one simple question. \u201cWhere did you spend last night?<\/mark>\u201d That was all I asked. I did not scream. I did not throw his phone.\u00a0I did not accuse him of anything.<\/mark><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I stood in the kitchen before sunrise,\u00a0wearing my robe,<\/mark>\u00a0with rain sliding down the windows and coffee dripping into the pot behind me. My husband, Ethan Blackwood, had just walked in after being gone all night.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

His white<\/strong>\u00a0dress shirt was wrinkled.<\/p>\n

His collar smelled faintly of perfume that was not mine.<\/p>\n

There was a red lipstick stain near the cuff of\u00a0his sleeve.<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Still, I asked quietly.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you spend last night?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ethan replied with the back of his hand.<\/p>\n

The blow pushed my lip into my teeth.<\/p>\n

In an instant, I tasted blood.<\/p>\n

For a few seconds, the kitchen went perfectly still except for the rain tapping against the glass and the soft crackle of grease cooling on the stove.<\/p>\n

Ethan stood above me, calm as Sunday prayer.<\/p>\n

His wedding ring shone beneath the kitchen lights.<\/p>\n

His cufflinks were gold.<\/p>\n

His face showed\u00a0no regret.<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cDo not question me in my own home,\u201d he said coldly.<\/strong><\/p>\n

His own home.<\/p>\n

The house my father helped us buy.<\/p>\n

The house I decorated.<\/p>\n

The house where I had smiled through dinners with his mother, hosted business partners, polished silver, and pretended bruises came from clumsiness.<\/p>\n

I looked up at him from the floor.<\/p>\n

A smile slowly came back to his face when he understood I would not fight back.<\/p>\n

That had always been the part he enjoyed most.<\/p>\n

The quiet.<\/p>\n

He confused it with fear.<\/p>\n

With obedience.<\/p>\n

With weakness.<\/p>\n

In Ethan\u2019s mind, I was only a well-mannered Southern wife who would never resist.<\/p>\n

What he forgot was that I had been raised in the house of a respected judge.<\/p>\n

What he never valued was that before I became Mrs. Blackwood, I had spent years examining financial wrongdoing for private firms and state investigators.<\/p>\n

And what he did not know was that every suspicious conversation, every missing dollar, and every lie he had told during the past six months had been carefully recorded.<\/p>\n

Saved.<\/p>\n

Copied.<\/p>\n

Protected.<\/p>\n

Ethan straightened his cufflinks as if nothing had happened.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother is coming by this morning,\u201d he said. \u201cMake breakfast. And try not to shame me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pressed a napkin to my bleeding lip.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n

That pleased him.<\/p>\n

He believed the subject was finished.<\/p>\n

He walked upstairs to shower.<\/p>\n

I remained on the kitchen floor for a moment, listening to the water run above me.<\/p>\n

Then I stood.<\/p>\n

My knees shook.<\/p>\n

Not from fear.<\/p>\n

From the effort of holding myself together until the right moment.<\/p>\n

I went to the pantry, pulled out the small drive hidden inside an empty flour tin, and slid it into my robe pocket.<\/p>\n

Then I called my father.<\/p>\n

Judge Robert Hale had retired three years earlier.<\/p>\n

But in our county, people still lowered their voices when they said his name.<\/p>\n

Not because he was cruel.<\/p>\n

Because he was exact.<\/p>\n

He believed in facts, order, and consequences.<\/p>\n

He had taught me that justice was not anger in a suit.<\/p>\n

Justice was preparation.<\/p>\n

When he answered, his voice was rough with sleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cCaroline?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had not called him that early since my mother died.<\/p>\n

\u201cDaddy,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

One word.<\/p>\n

That was all it took.<\/p>\n

His voice changed immediately.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAt home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs he there?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAre you hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n

I touched my lip.<\/p>\n

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

A silence followed.<\/p>\n

Not empty silence.<\/p>\n

Controlled silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen carefully,\u201d he said. \u201cDo not confront him. Do not warn him. Send me everything you have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI already have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

My breath caught.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think I didn\u2019t notice my daughter disappearing piece by piece?\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t want you to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. That\u2019s why I waited for you to tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time that morning, I nearly broke.<\/p>\n

But I swallowed it down.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have the files. The shell accounts. The forged vendor payments. The recorded calls. The threats.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d he said. \u201cNow make breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost laughed.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cMake breakfast. Keep him calm. I\u2019ll handle the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

By morning light, the whole house smelled of comfort and old Southern tradition.<\/p>\n

Warm biscuits.<\/p>\n

Peppered gravy.<\/p>\n

Fried chicken.<\/p>\n

Candied yams.<\/p>\n

Buttered vegetables.<\/p>\n

Sweet preserves.<\/p>\n

Fresh coffee.<\/p>\n

I shined the family silver until it reflected the pale winter sun.<\/p>\n

I placed crystal glasses beside folded linen napkins.<\/p>\n

I set magnolias and white roses in the middle of the table.<\/p>\n

Everything appeared perfect.<\/p>\n

Exactly how Ethan preferred it.<\/p>\n

He liked perfection because it made lies look elegant.<\/p>\n

His mother, Margaret Blackwood, arrived at nine-thirty sharp.<\/p>\n

Graceful pearls.<\/p>\n

Costly perfume.<\/p>\n

A permanent look of judgment.<\/p>\n

She swept into the dining room like she owned the air itself.<\/p>\n

Her eyes landed on my injured lip.<\/p>\n

For half a second, she paused.<\/p>\n

Then she smiled.<\/p>\n

Not with concern.<\/p>\n

With satisfaction.<\/p>\n

\u201cA wife ought to know when to stop speaking,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Ethan laughed from the head of the table.<\/p>\n

The head of my table.<\/p>\n

I only poured their coffee.<\/p>\n

Margaret sat to his right.<\/p>\n

Her posture was straight.<\/p>\n

Her nails were perfect.<\/p>\n

Her gaze traveled over the silver, the flowers, the food.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d she said, \u201cat least you can still set a decent table.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ethan looked pleased.<\/p>\n

Before long, they sat like honored guests, admiring the breakfast, praising the arrangement, certain they were still in control.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a good wife,\u201d Ethan said proudly, reaching for a biscuit.<\/p>\n

Margaret lifted her cup.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou trained her better than I expected.\u201d<\/p>\n

I kept my face calm.<\/p>\n

Southern women learn early that a smile can be a curtain.<\/p>\n

Behind mine was a storm.<\/p>\n

I set one last covered dish in front of Ethan.<\/p>\n

Then I stepped backward.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least open this one yourself,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Ethan smirked.<\/p>\n

\u201cTrying to be dramatic?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cTrying to be precise.\u201d<\/p>\n

At that exact second, the kitchen door opened.<\/p>\n

The entire room went silent.<\/p>\n

Ethan turned toward the doorway.<\/p>\n

The certainty disappeared from his face.<\/p>\n

The coffee cup shifted slightly in his hand.<\/p>\n

And for the first time that morning, he looked frightened.<\/p>\n

Because the man stepping through the kitchen door was my father.<\/p>\n

Judge Robert Hale.<\/p>\n

Retired, but still feared by every corrupt businessman in three counties.<\/p>\n

He wore a dark suit and carried no smile.<\/p>\n

Behind him came two investigators, a sheriff\u2019s deputy, and my attorney, Rebecca Miles.<\/p>\n

Ethan stood so fast his chair scraped the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n

My father did not look at the breakfast.<\/p>\n

He looked at my swollen lip.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cis the morning you answer for everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret\u2019s pearls trembled against her throat.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert,\u201d she said, forcing a laugh, \u201csurely this is a misunderstanding.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father turned his eyes to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cMargaret, I have heard you excuse men for forty years. I do not recommend you start with me today.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mouth closed.<\/p>\n

Rebecca stepped forward and placed a thick folder beside Ethan\u2019s plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cSix months of bank transfers, forged signatures, shell accounts, insurance fraud, and recorded threats.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ethan\u2019s face drained of color.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s confidential business.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Rebecca said. \u201cThat\u2019s evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sheriff\u2019s deputy moved slightly closer to the doorway.<\/p>\n

One investigator opened a tablet.<\/p>\n

The other began recording the room.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cYou did this?\u201d<\/p>\n

I lifted the silver cover from the last dish.<\/p>\n

Under it was not food.<\/p>\n

It was a small recorder, a flash drive, and a copy of an emergency protection order.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said I was a proper wife,\u201d I told him softly. \u201cSo I prepared everything perfectly.\u201d<\/p>\n

For one second, nobody moved.<\/p>\n

Then Ethan lunged toward the flash drive.<\/p>\n

My father stepped between him and the table.<\/p>\n

He did not touch Ethan.<\/p>\n

He did not need to.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t make your situation worse,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Ethan froze.<\/p>\n

Margaret stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is outrageous. Caroline, you are embarrassing this family.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cNo, Margaret. I\u2019m exposing it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She blinked.<\/p>\n

I had never spoken to her that way.<\/p>\n

Ethan\u2019s voice dropped.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t understand what you\u2019re doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand exactly what I\u2019m doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose accounts support my company.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose accounts launder stolen insurance payments through fake vendors.\u201d<\/p>\n

His jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is a wild accusation.\u201d<\/p>\n

The investigator tapped the tablet.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is a documented accusation.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rebecca opened the folder.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour wife found seven shell companies connected to your signature. She found false invoices tied to storm damage claims. She found payments routed through accounts associated with your mother\u2019s trust.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret went pale.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy trust has nothing to do with this.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father looked at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not what the records show.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room changed then.<\/p>\n

For months, Ethan had acted like the center of power.<\/p>\n

The man everyone should fear.<\/p>\n

But power built on lies is fragile.<\/p>\n

One folder can break it.<\/p>\n

One flash drive can end it.<\/p>\n

One woman deciding to stop protecting her abuser can bring down a whole empire.<\/p>\n

Ethan turned to me again.<\/p>\n

His voice softened.<\/p>\n

\u201cCaroline. Baby. You\u2019re upset.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost smiled.<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

The velvet voice.<\/p>\n

The one he used after every cruel word.<\/p>\n

Every slammed door.<\/p>\n

Every apology that somehow became my fault.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hit me this morning,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He glanced at the deputy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI barely touched you.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father took one step forward.<\/p>\n

The room cooled.<\/p>\n

Rebecca raised her hand slightly.<\/p>\n

\u201cJudge Hale.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father stopped.<\/p>\n

Not because he was afraid.<\/p>\n

Because he had not come to give Ethan the satisfaction of a scene.<\/p>\n

He had come to end one.<\/p>\n

The deputy stepped forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Blackwood, we need you to come with us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ethan looked at the untouched breakfast.<\/p>\n

The biscuits.<\/p>\n

The gravy.<\/p>\n

The fried chicken.<\/p>\n

The coffee cooling in porcelain cups.<\/p>\n

The perfect Southern table he thought proved my obedience.<\/p>\n

Then he looked at the recorder beneath the silver cover.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you record?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

I met his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n

The deputy escorted him out through the kitchen door.<\/p>\n

Ethan did not shout.<\/p>\n

That surprised me.<\/p>\n

He had shouted so many times when we were alone.<\/p>\n

But in front of people who could hold him accountable, his rage shrank into silence.<\/p>\n

Margaret tried to follow him, but Rebecca stopped her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should stay available for questions.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margaret stared at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have destroyed your marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI survived it.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father held out his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome here, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n

I walked past Ethan\u2019s chair.<\/p>\n

Past Margaret\u2019s perfume.<\/p>\n

Past the breakfast I had cooked with a swollen lip.<\/p>\n

When I reached my father, he wrapped his arms around me so carefully I finally let myself shake.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

His voice broke.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, baby. Never for this.\u201d<\/p>\n

The rest of that day became a blur.<\/p>\n

Statements.<\/p>\n

Photographs of my injury.<\/p>\n

Copies of evidence.<\/p>\n

Emergency orders.<\/p>\n

Calls from investigators.<\/p>\n

Ethan\u2019s company offices were searched within forty-eight hours.<\/p>\n

By the end of the week, the story was in three newspapers.<\/p>\n

Not the part about my lip.<\/p>\n

I kept that private as much as I could.<\/p>\n

But the financial fraud became impossible to hide.<\/p>\n

Ethan Blackwood, once praised as a rising businessman, was now under investigation for insurance fraud, forged documents, and money laundering.<\/p>\n

His mother\u2019s trust accounts were frozen pending review.<\/p>\n

Margaret called me twenty-seven times.<\/p>\n

I did not answer.<\/p>\n

Then she sent a message.<\/p>\n

You will regret humiliating my son.<\/p>\n

I forwarded it to Rebecca.<\/p>\n

Rebecca responded with one sentence.<\/p>\n

She is very generous with evidence.<\/p>\n

That made me laugh for the first time in days.<\/p>\n

I moved into my father\u2019s guesthouse while the emergency order was active.<\/p>\n

It was small, warm, and smelled faintly of cedar and old books.<\/p>\n

The first night, I slept twelve hours.<\/p>\n

When I woke, my father had left coffee outside the door and a note.<\/p>\n

No rush. Healing is work.<\/p>\n

I sat on the edge of the bed and cried into my hands.<\/p>\n

Not because I missed Ethan.<\/p>\n

Because I had forgotten what peace felt like.<\/p>\n

Divorce papers followed.<\/p>\n

Ethan fought everything.<\/p>\n

He claimed I had fabricated the evidence.<\/p>\n

Then he claimed I had misunderstood the evidence.<\/p>\n

Then he claimed I had helped him create it.<\/p>\n

Unfortunately for him, the files were timestamped, backed up, and verified.<\/p>\n

He had married a woman he thought was decorative.<\/p>\n

He had forgotten I knew how to read numbers better than he knew how to hide them.<\/p>\n

At the first hearing, Ethan looked at me across the courtroom.<\/p>\n

He wore a gray suit.<\/p>\n

No wedding ring.<\/p>\n

His face was hard.<\/p>\n

When Rebecca played one of his recorded threats, his confidence slipped.<\/p>\n

His voice filled the courtroom.<\/p>\n

If you ever question me again, I\u2019ll make sure you have nothing left.<\/p>\n

My father sat behind me.<\/p>\n

He did not move.<\/p>\n

The judge issued orders that day.<\/p>\n

Financial protections.<\/p>\n

Continued no-contact restrictions.<\/p>\n

Temporary possession of the house to me.<\/p>\n

Ethan\u2019s lawyer asked for more time.<\/p>\n

The judge said, \u201cYour client has had plenty of time to create this mess.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rebecca wrote that sentence down because she liked it.<\/p>\n

Months passed.<\/p>\n

The criminal cases moved slowly, as they always do.<\/p>\n

But Ethan\u2019s world kept shrinking.<\/p>\n

Clients left.<\/p>\n

Partners cooperated with investigators.<\/p>\n

Margaret sold jewelry to pay legal fees.<\/p>\n

The Blackwood name, once polished and feared, became a warning whispered at charity luncheons.<\/p>\n

As for me, I rebuilt quietly.<\/p>\n

I went back to consulting work, this time under my maiden name.<\/p>\n

Caroline Hale.<\/p>\n

I reopened old contacts.<\/p>\n

Accepted small cases.<\/p>\n

Then larger ones.<\/p>\n

Women began reaching out too.<\/p>\n

Not just for financial help.<\/p>\n

For courage.<\/p>\n

One woman said, \u201cI heard you served evidence under a breakfast dome.\u201d<\/p>\n

I told her, \u201cUse whatever dish works.\u201d<\/p>\n

A year later, I cooked breakfast again.<\/p>\n

Not for Ethan.<\/p>\n

Not for Margaret.<\/p>\n

For my father.<\/p>\n

It was a Sunday morning.<\/p>\n

The same menu.<\/p>\n

Biscuits.<\/p>\n

Gravy.<\/p>\n

Fried chicken.<\/p>\n

Candied yams.<\/p>\n

Fresh coffee.<\/p>\n

But this time, the table felt different.<\/p>\n

No fear beneath the silver.<\/p>\n

No tension behind the flowers.<\/p>\n

No man waiting to punish a question.<\/p>\n

Dad sat at the head of the table because I asked him to.<\/p>\n

He looked at the food and smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother would be proud.\u201d<\/p>\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf the biscuits?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat across from him.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I thought about the woman I had been that rainy morning.<\/p>\n

Standing in the kitchen with a bleeding lip.<\/p>\n

Answering \u201cof course\u201d because timing mattered.<\/p>\n

Cooking breakfast while carrying a storm inside her.<\/p>\n

I wanted to reach back through time and hold her hand.<\/p>\n

Tell her she was not weak.<\/p>\n

She was gathering proof.<\/p>\n

She was surviving long enough to strike with truth.<\/p>\n

Ethan had believed a proper wife was silent.<\/p>\n

He had believed a proper wife obeyed.<\/p>\n

He had believed a proper wife protected a man\u2019s reputation at the cost of her own body, money, and soul.<\/p>\n

He was wrong.<\/p>\n

A proper wife can also be a woman who knows when to document.<\/p>\n

When to wait.<\/p>\n

When to call her father.<\/p>\n

When to lift the silver cover and reveal the truth.<\/p>\n

I poured my father coffee and smiled.<\/p>\n

Outside, the rain had stopped.<\/p>\n

Sunlight moved across the table, catching on the crystal glasses.<\/p>\n

For the first time in years, my house did not feel like a stage set for someone else\u2019s power.<\/p>\n

It felt like mine.<\/p>\n

And the breakfast?<\/p>\n

It was perfect.<\/p>\n

Not because Ethan approved.<\/p>\n

But because he was no longer there to taste it.<\/p>\n

THE END! THANKS FOR READING!<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Reading Time:\u00a09\u00a0minutes Everything changed because of one simple question. \u201cWhere did you spend last night?\u201d That was all I asked. I did not scream. I did not throw his phone.\u00a0I … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16740,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14,15,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16808","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-inspiration","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16808","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16808"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16808\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16809,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16808\/revisions\/16809"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/16740"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16808"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16808"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16808"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}