{"id":9834,"date":"2026-05-24T13:05:32","date_gmt":"2026-05-24T13:05:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/?p=9834"},"modified":"2026-05-24T13:05:33","modified_gmt":"2026-05-24T13:05:33","slug":"grieving-widows-world-shatters-when-her-dead-husbands-secret-mistress-calls-his-phone-one-month-after-his-funeral-luring-her-to-a-hotel-room-filled-with-hidden-messages-romantic-li","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/?p=9834","title":{"rendered":"Grieving Widow\u2019s World Shatters When Her Dead Husband\u2019s Secret Mistress Calls His Phone One Month After His Funeral, Luring Her To A Hotel Room Filled With Hidden Messages, Romantic Lies, And Evidence Of A Double Life That Destroyed Everything She Thought Their Twenty-Year Marriage Had Been"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The first time the phone rang after David died, I almost ignored it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For thirty-one days, his cellphone had sat untouched on the kitchen counter beside the coffee maker, exactly where he left it the morning he collapsed from a heart attack in our driveway. I kept charging it for reasons I could not explain. Maybe because hearing the occasional vibration made the silence in the house feel less unbearable. Maybe because turning it off felt too final.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grief makes people irrational.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At forty-six years old, I still woke every morning expecting to hear him humming while shaving in the upstairs bathroom. Sometimes I swore I could smell his aftershave drifting through the hallway before reality hit me again like cold water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Twenty years of marriage reduced to ashes in an urn sitting on our living room bookshelf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone buzzed again while I stood at the sink washing dishes. Unknown number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at the screen for several seconds before answering quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A woman laughed softly on the other end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a nervous laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An intimate one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey love,\u201d she whispered warmly. \u201cAre you almost here? I already checked into the room, and honestly, I don\u2019t think I can wait another minute to finally have you to myself again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My entire body froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For one terrifying second, I genuinely thought I stopped breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman continued speaking, completely unaware someone else had answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI bought that wine you like,\u201d she said playfully. \u201cAnd before you ask, yes, I\u2019m wearing the red lingerie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The plate slipped from my hands and shattered inside the sink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence filled the line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then confusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I ended the call immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The kitchen suddenly felt unfamiliar. Wrong somehow. Like I had walked into a stranger\u2019s house wearing my own skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at David\u2019s cellphone while panic spread slowly through my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, there had to be another explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wrong number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Scam call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some insane misunderstanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But deep down, beneath the denial clawing through my thoughts, something ugly had already begun unfolding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because women always know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe not immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe not consciously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But somewhere deep inside themselves, they know when love has started hiding secrets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The phone buzzed again almost instantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This time it was a text message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where are you? I\u2019m in room 214. Missed you so much these last few weeks. I know things have been difficult with your wife getting suspicious before everything happened, but now we can finally stop hiding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt physically sick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My knees buckled hard enough that I had to grab the counter for support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suspicious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before everything happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The words repeated viciously through my mind while twenty years of marriage suddenly rearranged themselves into something unrecognizable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I should have ignored it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Any sane woman would have blocked the number, thrown the phone away, and protected herself from whatever truth waited on the other side of that message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, thirty minutes later, I was driving toward the hotel address attached to the reservation confirmation that appeared in David\u2019s email.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The entire drive felt surreal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Traffic lights blurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rain streaked across the windshield while memories crashed violently through my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David teaching our son to ride a bicycle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David holding my hand during my mother\u2019s funeral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David crying when our daughter left for college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David kissing me goodbye every morning for two decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had all of it been fake?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or worse\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

had it been real while something else existed alongside it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That possibility hurt more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because if he stopped loving me completely, at least the betrayal would make sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But if he loved me while also loving someone else?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What does that make a marriage?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I pulled into the hotel parking lot, my chest hurt so badly I thought I might faint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The building looked painfully ordinary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Warm lobby lights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Business travelers dragging luggage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A couple laughing beside the entrance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile my entire life was collapsing silently inside my ribcage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat in the car gripping the steering wheel while rain hammered the roof above me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the phone rang again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Same number.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This time, I answered without thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid?\u201d the woman asked immediately, sounding worried now. \u201cAre you okay? You\u2019re scaring me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cMy husband is dead,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence exploded across the line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then a sharp intake of breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh my God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice sounded genuinely horrified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2014I didn\u2019t know\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Longer this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, softly:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy name is Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The simplicity of it almost destroyed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not some mysterious fantasy woman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a faceless affair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A real person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A woman with a name and a voice and apparently memories involving my husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow long?\u201d I asked quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She started crying immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That answered enough already.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, I drove upstairs to room 214 anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do not remember walking down the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I only remember standing outside the door while my heartbeat thundered so loudly I thought the entire hotel could hear it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the door opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire looked younger than me by maybe eight or ten years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pretty in a quiet way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dark hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oversized sweater.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bare feet against the carpet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her face was pale with shock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re his wife,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For several seconds neither of us moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then unexpectedly, she stepped aside silently and let me enter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The room smelled faintly of David\u2019s cologne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That nearly broke me instantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the small table beside the window sat two wine glasses and a bottle already opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A suitcase rested beside the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And there, folded carefully across a chair, was David\u2019s navy sweater.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The one I bought him three Christmases ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at it while nausea twisted violently through my stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe left it here last time,\u201d she said softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Last time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As though there had been many.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow long?\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She wrapped both arms around herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThree years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The room tilted sideways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a mistake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not one drunken night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three years of lies layered carefully beneath our marriage while I cooked dinners, celebrated anniversaries, and slept beside a man living another life in secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat down slowly because my legs no longer trusted themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire remained standing near the window looking terrified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know he was dead,\u201d she whispered again. \u201cI swear to God, I didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen did you last see him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo weeks before\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She couldn\u2019t finish the sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before he died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before my children carried their father\u2019s coffin through a church while this woman somewhere else grieved a completely different version of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked around the room numbly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow did it start?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire laughed bitterly through tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe most clich\u00e9 way possible,\u201d she admitted. \u201cWork conference. Too much wine. One conversation that turned into another.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe said he felt invisible at home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That sentence hit like a slap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Invisible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After twenty years of supporting him through promotions, layoffs, surgeries, panic attacks, and family disasters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Invisible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire quickly added, \u201cHe didn\u2019t hate you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost laughed at the absurdity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow comforting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe talked about you constantly,\u201d she continued quietly. \u201cYour kids. Your house. Your vacations together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen why continue?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire looked genuinely miserable now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause every time he tried ending things, he came back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The honesty in her voice hurt more than excuses would have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was no villainous satisfaction in her expression.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Complicated, ugly grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly I realized something horrifying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She lost him too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not in the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not with the same legitimacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But still\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the man we both loved was dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now two women sat inside a cheap hotel room trying to understand how one person managed to fracture himself into separate lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire eventually handed me her phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou should see this,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost refused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then curiosity overpowered dignity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thousands of messages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Photos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Videos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conversations stretching back years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David smiling beside hotel pools during \u201cbusiness trips.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David sending her voice notes late at night while I slept beside him unaware.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David writing things like:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I miss you already.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You make me feel alive again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wish things were simpler.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One message shattered me completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire: Do you still love your wife?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David: Yes. But differently now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Differently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at that word until tears blurred the screen completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because suddenly I understood the cruelest truth of all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David had not stopped loving me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He simply divided himself between two lives until neither received his full honesty anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And somehow, impossibly, that hurt worse than total rejection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I left the hotel an hour later unable to feel my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Outside, rain poured harder across the parking lot while headlights blurred through tears I no longer bothered wiping away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At home, the silence inside the house felt monstrous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every object carried new questions now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His office desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His suitcase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The leather jacket hanging beside the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had he kissed me goodbye before meeting her?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had he texted her while sitting beside me during family dinners?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had our entire marriage become performance near the end?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I barely slept that night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I searched through financial statements, emails, and old calendars until sunrise painted weak gray light across the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And slowly, painfully, patterns emerged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Business trips extended unnecessarily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hotel charges hidden beneath corporate reimbursements.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Late-night \u201cconference calls.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tiny inconsistencies I ignored because trust trains people not to investigate too closely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By morning, I felt emotionally flayed open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My daughter called around noon checking on me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nearly told her everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I lied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Mothers become experts at bleeding silently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The following weeks passed inside a strange emotional fog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I attended grief counseling while secretly carrying a second grief nobody else understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not just widowhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Betrayal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Those are different kinds of mourning entirely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One night, unable to stop myself, I called Claire again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She answered immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t expect to hear from you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So we talked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not as enemies exactly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More like survivors trying to reconstruct a disaster from separate pieces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire told me David often cried after leaving her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That he talked constantly about guilt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That he once nearly confessed everything during our nineteenth anniversary trip before panicking and backing out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe loved your family,\u201d she said quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cApparently not enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She went silent after that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually I asked the question poisoning me most deeply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid he ever plan to leave me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claire hesitated too long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she admitted softly. \u201cSometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even his betrayal lacked consistency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

According to Claire, he moved back and forth emotionally for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One month determined to end our marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next overwhelmed by guilt and nostalgia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe said you were the best person he\u2019d ever known,\u201d Claire whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I laughed harshly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a terrible compliment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Months passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My children eventually learned the truth after discovering messages themselves while helping organize David\u2019s digital accounts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My son reacted with fury.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My daughter cried for days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Neither knew how to reconcile the father they adored with the man hiding hotel rooms and secret promises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Honestly?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Neither did I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Therapy helped slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because it erased pain, but because it forced me to confront uncomfortable truths about marriage itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Long relationships rarely collapse in dramatic explosions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Usually they erode quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tiny distances growing wider over years until people start seeking missing parts of themselves elsewhere instead of speaking honestly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That realization did not excuse David.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it humanized him in painful ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was not a monster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just weak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lonely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Afraid of aging.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Afraid of losing desire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Afraid of becoming ordinary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And instead of confronting those fears honestly, he built another life beside the first one until both became unsustainable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six months after the hotel discovery, Claire mailed me a small box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside sat photographs, letters, and David\u2019s navy sweater.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the bottom rested a handwritten note.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think he loved us both differently. I\u2019m sorry for my part in the pain. I hope someday you find peace neither of us could give him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cried for hours afterward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because forgiveness arrived magically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But because hatred exhausted me eventually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And underneath all the rage still existed twenty years of real memories impossible to erase completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The last dream I had about David came almost a year after his death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat together on our old porch swing watching rain fall across the backyard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, he looked at me with unbearable sadness and whispered, \u201cI never meant to become someone you couldn\u2019t recognize.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I woke up crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People always want betrayal stories to end cleanly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Villain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Victim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Closure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Real life rarely works that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes people love deeply and still destroy each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes grief and anger coexist so tightly they become impossible to separate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And sometimes the hardest part of losing someone is realizing they were both the person who comforted you and the person who broke you at the exact same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today, nearly three years later, I still think about that phone call occasionally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That single moment when one woman\u2019s affectionate whisper shattered the entire architecture of my marriage forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But strangely, it no longer feels like the moment my life ended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now it feels like the moment illusion died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And while illusions can feel beautiful, truth\u2014even painful truth\u2014eventually becomes easier to survive than lies lovingly protected for decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

The first time the phone rang after David died, I almost ignored it. For thirty-one days, his cellphone had sat untouched on the kitchen counter beside the… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":9835,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9834","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9834","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9834"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9834\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9837,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9834\/revisions\/9837"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9835"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9834"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9834"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dailyamerica.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9834"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}