{"id":18630,"date":"2026-08-09T15:38:38","date_gmt":"2026-08-09T15:38:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18630"},"modified":"2026-08-09T15:38:38","modified_gmt":"2026-08-09T15:38:38","slug":"my-parents-sold-my-lamborghini-to-pay-for-my-sisters-luxury-trip-to-europe-but-when-i-came-back-and-told-them-that-car-wasnt-mine-to-sell-their-smiles-turned-to-terror","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18630","title":{"rendered":"My parents sold my Lamborghini to pay for my sister\u2019s luxury trip to Europe. But when I came back and told them that car wasn\u2019t mine to sell, their smiles turned to terror."},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u201cYour apartment in Austin. And the application appears to be signed by you\u2026 even though on that date, you were in Singapore.\u201d<\/p>\n

For a second, I couldn\u2019t hear a thing. Not the air conditioning. Not my mother\u2019s fake sobbing. Not my father\u2019s heavy breathing.<\/p>\n

All I could see, like a photograph pinned to my mind, was the window of my apartment in Austin: the view looking out toward South Congress, the orange glow of the late afternoon lights, the desk where I had worked countless nights drafting contracts that my family never bothered to ask if they cost me sleep, health, or tears.<\/p>\n

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\u201cMy apartment?\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n

The investigator nodded. \u201cThe document was filed with the Travis County Clerk\u2019s office. It was flagged by a property fraud alert because you were registered to receive notifications whenever someone attempted to record documents against that deed.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother stopped crying for a split second. That completely gave her away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou knew about this?\u201d I asked her. She didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My father ran a hand over his face. \u201cAva, we can explain\u2026\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d I cut him off. \u201cExplain it to them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe was still on the screen, her influencer smile entirely vanished. Behind her, designer bags were piled on a white bed, framed by a window showing a rainy London sky. The trip of her dreams had just turned into a crime scene.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d she said, her voice trembling, \u201cdon\u2019t say anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

The investigator looked at the phone. \u201cMiss Chloe Coleman, I strongly advise you to preserve that device. Your conversation is being documented as part of an investigation into potential conspiracy, wire fraud, and the use of a forged document.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe froze completely. My mother clutched her hands over her mouth. \u201cShe didn\u2019t know anything!\u201d<\/p>\n

I let out a dry laugh. \u201cTen seconds ago, she asked for the second set of keys.\u201d<\/p>\n

The silence that followed was beautiful in a cruel way.<\/p>\n

My father sank into the armchair. The very same armchair where, as a little girl, he used to tell me to stop showing off my report cards because it made Chloe feel bad. The same one where my mother made me apologize when I won a scholarship and my sister cried because \u201ceverything always revolved around Ava.\u201d<\/p>\n

My entire life, I had been taught to make myself small so Chloe could shine. But the thing about making yourself small is that one day, you learn how to move without anyone ever seeing you. And I had been moving in silence for years.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe need to review documents,\u201d the second investigator stated. \u201cDeeds, keys, emails, sales receipts, and any power of attorney used in these transactions.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother lifted her chin, attempting to regain her demeanor as the queen of the household. \u201cThis is my house. You have no right to come in here and search anything without a warrant.\u201d<\/p>\n

The first investigator opened another folder. \u201cThe warrant is on its way. But considering that the corporate vehicle has an active international tracker, that the buyer filed a report in Miami, and that there is an attempted real estate transfer with your daughter currently out of the country, I strongly suggest you do not destroy or move anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

My lawyer, Martin Reyes, spoke through my cell phone speaker. \u201cAva, don\u2019t touch any documents. I\u2019m ten minutes away. The corporate compliance team is on their way as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother glared at me with pure hatred. \u201cYou called a corporation against your own family?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her the way you look at a door that has finally stopped looking like an exit. \u201cYou guys called buyers, dirty notaries, and travel agencies against me. I called lawyers.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe began to weep on the video call. \u201cAva, please. I\u2019m in London. I can\u2019t just be left stranded without money.\u201d \u201cThen sell your bags.\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t be so cruel!\u201d<\/p>\n

Right then, I felt something snap inside me. Not for her. For myself.<\/p>\n

Because for years, I had confused pity with love. Chloe could always cry, and everyone would run to her rescue. I could be bleeding out, and they would just ask me if I was going to stain the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cCruel was selling a car that didn\u2019t belong to you,\u201d I said. \u201cCruel was using my signature to steal my house. Cruel was spending money on champagne while I was eight thousand miles away working.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father muttered, \u201cWe didn\u2019t think it was that serious.\u201d \u201cBecause you never think when it comes to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Martin arrived wearing a dark blue suit, accompanied by two assistants and an emergency briefcase. Behind him walked a woman with short hair, a gray blazer, and a razor-sharp gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cAva,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m Rachel Dunn, from Corporate Compliance at Kestrel Global Logistics.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kestrel. The company that actually owned the Lamborghini.<\/p>\n

My mother blinked. \u201cCorporate what?\u201d<\/p>\n

Rachel ignored her entirely. \u201cThe Aventador SVJ was assigned to Ava Coleman as an executive vehicle for our premium mobility and high-value asset logistics project. It is insured under a corporate policy, equipped with GPS, backed by a custody contract, and bound by strict transfer restrictions. This unauthorized sale triggers asset recovery, a civil lawsuit, and criminal notification.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father turned even paler. \u201cBut the title was right there in the garage.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rachel looked at him for the first time. \u201cA certified copy is not a bill of sale. And a forged power of attorney doesn\u2019t turn grand larceny into a business transaction.\u201d<\/p>\n

The blow landed cleanly. My mother sat down.<\/p>\n

Chloe shrieked from the phone, \u201cDad, tell her to reactivate my card!\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone turned to look at the screen. \u201cYour card?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

My father closed his eyes. Martin handed me another document.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe card used in London doesn\u2019t belong to your parents, Ava. It\u2019s an extension of a corporate commercial line requested using your financial information. Approved three weeks ago. Charges so far: a hotel in Mayfair, high-end boutiques, fine dining, domestic flights, and a deposit for a private tour to Paris.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nausea hit me. They didn\u2019t just sell the car. They didn\u2019t just try to transfer my apartment. They also opened a line of credit using my identity.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho signed for it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

My mother wept louder. My father said nothing. On the screen, Chloe stopped posing. \u201cI only used what Dad gave me.\u201d \u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cYou only ever use what someone else hands to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Martin provided the investigators with copies of everything: my Singapore travel itineraries, immigration records, passport entry stamps, work emails, meeting logs, the Travis County alert, the buyer\u2019s report from Miami, the GPS tracking showing the Lamborghini pulling into a warehouse near Doral, and the deed transfer application for the apartment.<\/p>\n

The car buyer, a collector in Miami, was innocent in this. He had paid cash believing he was getting a clean title. But when his broker ran the VIN and detected discrepancies with the corporate registry data, he called the insurance company. In Florida, a title obtained through fraudulent information doesn\u2019t magically become valid just because you paid top dollar for it. It becomes evidence.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe vehicle is already impounded,\u201d Rachel said. \u201cIt won\u2019t be leaving that warehouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father whispered, \u201cHow much is this going to cost us?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at him. That was his very first real question. Not \u201cwhat have we done?\u201d Not \u201chow badly did we hurt you?\u201d How much.<\/p>\n

\u201cMore than Chloe spent in Europe,\u201d Martin answered. \u201cAnd if the company pursues a full claim, we\u2019re looking at asset recovery costs, civil damages, legal fees, identity forgery, wire fraud, and potential money laundering charges if the funds passed through third-party accounts.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother let out a sharp gasp. \u201cWe aren\u2019t criminals!\u201d<\/p>\n

Rachel snapped her folder shut. \u201cCriminals say that too when they get caught.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t sleep in my old bedroom that night. It wasn\u2019t my old room. It was never mine to begin with. It was just a room they lent me whenever I came back home to fix their problems. The broken appliances. The debts. Chloe\u2019s emergencies. My parents\u2019 pride.<\/p>\n

I checked into a hotel. Before I walked out the front door, my mother grabbed my arm. \u201cAva, we\u2019re your parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at her hand until she let go. \u201cNot when you signed my name.\u201d<\/p>\n

The following morning, the earthquake truly began.<\/p>\n

Martin filed an emergency injunction to block any transfer of the Austin apartment. A formal title dispute was logged in Travis County, requesting a temporary restraining order to freeze the deed. My property insurance company, which I had secured alongside a comprehensive title insurance policy, opened a forensic file. The forged power of attorney was sent to handwriting experts.<\/p>\n

The signature was a complete caricature of mine. The \u2018A\u2019 in Ava looked like it had been drawn by someone who despised the alphabet.<\/p>\n

The notary public listed on the document was real, but he signed an affidavit denying he had ever met me. His seal had been copied from an old, public document. The return mailing address led straight to a P.O. Box used by a shady \u201cexpediting service\u201d that Chloe had discovered online.<\/p>\n

Chloe. My golden sister. The girl who could never even fill out a basic scholarship application on her own, yet somehow knew exactly how to mail a forged signature to transfer a nine-hundred-thousand-dollar apartment out from under me.<\/p>\n

On Monday morning, while I was on a briefing call with Kestrel, another piece of data dropped. The Lamborghini hadn\u2019t even been sold for what it was actually worth. They had liquidated it fast.<\/p>\n

A midnight blue Aventador SVJ\u2014limited edition, low mileage, with a flawless service record\u2014had been sold for nearly half its market value because my parents needed immediate cash to sustain Chloe\u2019s European fantasy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey did it in a rush,\u201d Rachel remarked. \u201cAnd a rush leaves tracks.\u201d<\/p>\n

And it left plenty. Wire transfers moving from the buyer to my father\u2019s checking account. Then from that account straight to Chloe. Hotel payments. Boutique charges. A wire transfer to a luxury concierge service in Paris. Another payment to a consultant promising to \u201cwash titles.\u201d All within seventy-two hours.<\/p>\n

My mother tried to call me thirty-two times. I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

My father texted: \u201cYour mother is physically sick because of you.\u201d Then: \u201cIf we get arrested, you are going to destroy this family.\u201d Then: \u201cChloe can\u2019t even get home if her card is frozen.\u201d<\/p>\n

I replied exactly once: \u201cThe family was destroyed the moment you decided that robbing me was easier than respecting me.\u201d<\/p>\n

On Tuesday, Chloe attempted to flee London for Barcelona using a new card. The transaction was declined. Kestrel had already flagged the corporate fraud network. The commercial line was completely frozen. Her hotel demanded an alternative guarantee. Her designer bags\u2014the ones that had been splashed across her social media stories set to French music and champagne toasts\u2014were held by management when the travel agency received the active investigation notice.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t arrest her at Heathrow Airport like she imagined in her dramatic head. It was far worse for her. They stripped away her stage.<\/p>\n

She had to call me sobbing from the hotel lobby, her makeup smeared, with a receptionist standing over her demanding a valid form of payment.<\/p>\n

\u201cAva,\u201d she wept when I finally accepted the call with Martin present. \u201cI\u2019m completely alone.\u201d \u201cI was alone many times too, Chloe.\u201d \u201cBut you always know how to fix things.\u201d \u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean I was born to fix you.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m your sister!\u201d<\/p>\n

The word didn\u2019t move me at all anymore. \u201cThen start acting like one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Martin intervened. \u201cChloe, all further communication must be made in writing through legal counsel. If you return voluntarily and surrender your digital devices, it may mitigate your situation. If you attempt to liquidate assets or delete correspondence, it will only worsen.\u201d<\/p>\n

She glared at the camera with sheer bitterness. \u201cAva, you are ruining my life.\u201d \u201cNo, Chloe. I just stopped financing it.\u201d I hung up.<\/p>\n

My mother never forgave me for that. She sent horrific text messages. She claimed I was cold, envious, completely incapable of understanding that Chloe was \u201cmore sensitive.\u201d She said a car and an apartment weren\u2019t worth losing a sister over. She said my corporate success had dried up my heart.<\/p>\n

I simply sent her a screenshot of the Travis County title transfer application. \u201cMy heart didn\u2019t sign this. You did.\u201d She never replied.<\/p>\n

The deeper investigation revealed an even darker layer. The forged power of attorney wasn\u2019t just meant for the car and the apartment. They had also used it to try and alter the beneficiaries on my corporate life insurance policy and a private investment portfolio I had established years ago. If anything happened to me, Chloe was listed as the primary beneficiary \u201cfor family equity distribution.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Martin broke the news to me, a chill settled deep in my bones. \u201cDo you think they\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head slowly. \u201cI won\u2019t suggest anything that isn\u2019t legally proven, Ava. But I am going to act as though these people are a direct threat to your security.\u201d<\/p>\n

That very afternoon, I hired private security, changed every single security credential, updated my estate planning, revoked every historical authorization, and moved my Austin apartment into a protected trust requiring biometric validation and in-person signature verification for any future sale. I also structured it so that if I died, absolutely nothing would pass to my parents or Chloe.<\/p>\n

The sole beneficiary would be a foundation providing technology scholarships for young underprivileged women.<\/p>\n

When my mother found out through the legal notifications, she completely lost her mind. \u201cYou would rather give your money to complete strangers than your own flesh and blood!\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at her on the legal video conference screen. \u201cStrangers didn\u2019t try to sell my home.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father kept his eyes on the floor.<\/p>\n

Chloe returned from Europe two weeks later, stripped of her bags and her aura. The airline didn\u2019t detain her, but a stack of legal subpoenas did. She was also facing a massive debt with the concierge agency that she could no longer hide behind Instagram filters.<\/p>\n

We met at a law office in Dallas, because Martin wanted neutral ground. My parents arrived together, looking as though they had aged ten years overnight. Chloe sat with oversized sunglasses and tightly pressed lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can pay you back,\u201d my father stated. Martin looked up from his notes. \u201cWith what?\u201d Silence. \u201cWith the house,\u201d my mother whispered.<\/p>\n

That was the ultimate irony. The family home\u2014the one they always insisted would go to Chloe because \u201cAva doesn\u2019t need anything\u201d\u2014already had three hidden mortgages taken out against it.<\/p>\n

My father had refinanced it multiple times to pay off my sister\u2019s credit cards, tuition for programs she abandoned, businesses she never opened, and a supposed fashion startup that turned out to be nothing but a personal shopping account.<\/p>\n

There was no family estate. Only a facade.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t take the Lamborghini to give Chloe a dream,\u201d I said. \u201cYou sold it because you had already mortgaged everything else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe yanked her sunglasses off. \u201cYou have no idea what it\u2019s like to live in your shadow.\u201d I stared back at her. \u201cMy shadow? Chloe, I spent years dimming my own light just so you wouldn\u2019t feel insecure.\u201d \u201cYou were always the smart one, the successful one, the one everyone admired!\u201d My mother squeezed her hand. \u201cBecause you were more fragile, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was. The rotten root of our dynamic. I was strong, so they could take from me. Chloe was fragile, so they could forgive her for anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not strong because it doesn\u2019t hurt,\u201d I said. \u201cI am strong because none of you ever showed up when it did.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father began to weep. I didn\u2019t believe his tears anymore. Maybe he was crying for me. Maybe for the prospect of prison. Maybe for the loss of his house. I didn\u2019t care to guess anymore.<\/p>\n

The civil settlement didn\u2019t shield them from everything. Kestrel recovered the Lamborghini, but they filed suit for corporate recovery costs, damages, and document fraud. The collector in Miami received a partial reimbursement through insurance and initiated separate legal action against my parents and their title intermediary. The attempted transfer of my apartment was completely nullified.<\/p>\n

The forged power of attorney remained an active criminal inquiry, and the bank accounts used to route the cash were frozen by federal order.<\/p>\n

My parents had to liquidate the family home to cover a portion of the liability. They weren\u2019t left homeless. But they were left entirely without a stage.<\/p>\n

They moved into a tiny apartment in Plano, far away from the neighbors to whom they used to brag about Chloe being \u201cthe creative artist of the family\u201d and me being \u201cthe rigid one who works too much.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chloe had to get a real job. Not as an influencer. Not as a creative consultant. A front-desk receptionist at a dental clinic, fully supervised, with an active wage garnishment to cover her outstanding commercial credit card liability.<\/p>\n

My mother claimed it was humiliating. I told her, \u201cStealing is humiliating. Working is not.\u201d<\/p>\n

The criminal process moved slower, like everything that actually matters. Charges were eventually reduced in exchange for full restitution, complete cooperation, and the surrender of all digital records. My father admitted to signing off on the vehicle sale. My mother admitted to providing copies of my identification. Chloe attempted to shift the blame to both of them until her own text messages were introduced into the record:<\/p>\n

\u201cDo it fast before Ava gets back.\u201d \u201cOnce Austin is under my name, we won\u2019t have to depend on her anymore.\u201d \u201cShe won\u2019t even find out, she\u2019s always working.\u201d<\/p>\n

A prosecutor read them aloud in open court. Chloe wept. I didn\u2019t. I had already mourned that sister many times over without realizing it.<\/p>\n

The final turn came six months later. Rachel called me from Kestrel\u2019s headquarters. \u201cThe car is back.\u201d<\/p>\n

I drove down to the secure corporate facility in Houston where they had brought it following the recovery. There it was\u2014the midnight blue Aventador SVJ, covered by a gray protective shroud. When they pulled the cover back, the paint gleamed under the facility\u2019s white lights like a wounded but living beast.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe board decided to reassign the vehicle asset,\u201d Rachel said. \u201cIt will no longer be under individual custody.\u201d I nodded. It hurt much less than I thought it would. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled. \u201cI\u2019m not finished. The executive board reviewed your performance through this entire crisis. You detected the fraud, preserved the digital evidence, protected corporate assets, and fully cooperated with international law enforcement. Kestrel wants to promote you to Regional Director of Asset Security and Financial Compliance. It comes with a new executive vehicle, yes, but this time, it\u2019s chosen entirely by you. And it includes a significant equity stake.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was left completely speechless. Rachel handed me a sealed envelope. \u201cWe also reviewed who originally recommended that the SVJ be placed under your custody.\u201d<\/p>\n

Inside was a letter from my former mentor, Samuel, who had passed away the previous year. He was the one who had opened the corporate doors for me when nobody wanted to hire a young woman without elite connections.<\/p>\n

\u201cAva,\u201d it read, \u201cthat car isn\u2019t a trophy. It\u2019s a test. I want to see who approaches you because of the shine, and who respects the fact that it is under your responsibility. People always reveal their true character around things they believe they can take from you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat down on a equipment crate in the garage. Samuel knew. Not the specific details. But he knew that my family confused love with unlimited access.<\/p>\n

I cried right there in front of that recovered Lamborghini, not because I had lost it, but because I finally understood that it was never the car I was defending. It was my signature. My name. My fundamental right to ensure that what I earned wasn\u2019t considered a family reserve fund.<\/p>\n

A year has passed now. I split my time between Austin and Mexico City for corporate operations. My apartment remains strictly in my name, heavily secured, with all active alerts monitored. The Lamborghini was legally auctioned off by Kestrel at a high-profile corporate gala; the proceeds funded a national identity fraud prevention program and established an endowment for young women studying cybersecurity and logistics.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t try to buy it back. I no longer needed a blue machine to prove to myself that I had made it.<\/p>\n

My parents write to me on Christmas. Chloe sent me a letter from a court-mandated legal and financial responsibility program. She wrote that she is learning how to live her life without expecting to be rescued. I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s true. But for the first time in my life, it\u2019s not my job to verify it.<\/p>\n

Sometimes people ask me if I wasn\u2019t far too harsh over \u201cjust a car.\u201d I always smile. Because it was never about a car.<\/p>\n

It was a Lamborghini, yes. But it was also a forged power of attorney. A home almost stolen. A line of credit opened in my name. An altered insurance policy. An entire family utterly convinced that my labor was common property and my boundaries were an insult.<\/p>\n

They sold something that didn\u2019t belong to them to buy Chloe a European fantasy. And in doing so, they tripped security protocols, title insurance alerts, county records, lawyers, financial investigators, and every single alarm I had learned to install because trust, in my family, always required a password.<\/p>\n

My mother said once that Chloe deserved something beautiful. She was right. She deserved a life where she finally had to face consequences.<\/p>\n

My father deserved to discover that signing his daughter\u2019s name didn\u2019t make him the owner of her life. And I deserved something that neither London, nor Paris, nor a million-dollar car could ever buy: The freedom to close my own door without asking for permission.<\/p>\n

The very last time I saw the Aventador before the auction, I placed my hand over the cool hood and thought back to their triumphant smiles when they first told me they had sold it. Smiles of victory. The smiles of people who genuinely believed they had taken away my favorite toy.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t understand that they had pulled the wrong thread. And when that thread finally snapped, it wasn\u2019t a car that came crashing down. It was the entire lie that held my family together.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cYour apartment in Austin. And the application appears to be signed by you\u2026 even though on that date, you were in Singapore.\u201d For a second, I couldn\u2019t hear a thing. … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":18247,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14,15,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18630","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\/18630","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=18630"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18630\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18631,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18630\/revisions\/18631"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/18247"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=18630"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=18630"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=18630"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}