{"id":9779,"date":"2026-10-02T18:26:07","date_gmt":"2026-10-02T18:26:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/?p=9779"},"modified":"2026-10-02T18:26:07","modified_gmt":"2026-10-02T18:26:07","slug":"the-urn-had-never-been-opened-my-husband-hid-the-truth-about-my-mothers-ashes-and-what-i-found-out-changed-everything","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/?p=9779","title":{"rendered":"The Urn Had Never Been Opened: My Husband Hid the Truth About My Mother\u2019s Ashes, and What I Found Out Changed Everything"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

He told me he had taken my mother\u2019s ashes to her favorite hiking trail and scattered them near the waterfall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He described the moment so gently that, for a few seconds, I wanted to believe every word. He said the wind carried her ashes across the trees and toward the falls, just as she would have wanted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that wasn’t what happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He never took my mother to the mountains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, he drove to a gas station near I-84 and left the urn behind a Chevron.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the most shocking part?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The urn was still sealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mother died suddenly in February. She suffered a stroke while sleeping. There was no warning, no final conversation, and no opportunity for any of us to say goodbye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day she was part of my life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next, everything felt unfamiliar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We hadn’t even decided on a headstone when my husband, Harun, began suggesting cremation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt’s what she would have wanted,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom had mentioned cremation once or twice many years earlier, but I wasn’t ready to make such a permanent decision. I was still trying to understand that she was really gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I needed time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

About three weeks later, I came home from work and immediately noticed something was missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The urn was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

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

Nothing explaining where it had been taken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even Mom’s framed photograph on the mantel had been knocked slightly sideways, as if someone had hurried past it and never bothered to straighten it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there staring at that photograph before calling Harun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I asked where the urn was, he actually smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI took care of everything,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he told me he had taken Mom to her favorite place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI set her free,\u201d he explained. \u201cShe’s part of the earth now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said the ashes had been scattered near the falls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something about his answer immediately made me uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I asked which trail he had used.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His answer didn’t make sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few minutes later, he described a different route.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I asked him about the overlook, he became irritated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, he snapped at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy are you questioning me about this? She’s gone. You need to move forward.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I couldn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something wasn’t right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister, Ghada, had noticed the inconsistencies too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without telling me at first, she checked the joint credit-card records. If Harun had really driven to the hiking area, there should have been some evidence of the trip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There wasn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No gas purchase matching the journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

No restaurant or convenience-store charge near the trail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was only one strange transaction from a place called QuickPump #9 in Pendleton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, I drove there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t tell Harun where I was going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I simply got into my car and followed the highway, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I tried to convince myself there had to be another explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I arrived at the gas station, I asked an employee whether she remembered a man who matched Harun’s description.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hesitated before answering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then she said yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A man had stopped there a few nights earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She remembered him because he seemed nervous and had asked where the dumpsters were located.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She pointed toward the back of the property.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe put something in one of the bins before leaving,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t want to believe her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept searching for another possibility.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe Harun had thrown away an unrelated box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe the purchase had nothing to do with Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe grief had made me suspicious of things that didn’t actually matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I lifted the dumpster lid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And saw it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mother’s urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was still sealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crematorium label was still attached.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her name was still clearly printed on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I simply stared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was sitting between old food containers, a crushed drink cup, and other trash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hadn’t taken her to the mountains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hadn’t scattered her ashes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had driven to a gas station and left her sealed urn in a dumpster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn’t understand how someone could do something like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took the urn home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cleaned it carefully and placed it on my bedroom dresser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn’t bring myself to open it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everything felt too overwhelming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, my phone vibrated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was Harun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His entire message contained only one sentence:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou weren’t supposed to find that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before I could even process what he meant, I heard someone knocking at my front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The knock came again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This time it was quieter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there wondering whether Harun had followed me home or somehow knew that I had discovered the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t open the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I called out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you want, Harun?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI just want to explain,\u201d he said. \u201cPlease let me talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened the door only slightly, keeping the chain secured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked exhausted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes were red, and for the first time since I’d known him, he appeared genuinely afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him that I had found the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him I knew what he had done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes immediately dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI panicked,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI didn’t know how to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me what?\u201d I asked. \u201cThat you left my mother’s urn in a dumpster?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood silently for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he said, \u201cI didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I just couldn’t deal with everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That sentence told me more than any explanation could have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hadn’t been thinking about what Mom deserved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He hadn’t been thinking about what I needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had been trying to escape his own discomfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I closed the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that night, he sent me a long email.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He explained that work had been overwhelming him. He said my grief had made things difficult at home and that he couldn’t stand watching me cry over the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

According to him, he thought removing it would somehow help me move forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said he had driven around for nearly an hour before stopping at the gas station because he didn’t know what else to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But none of that changed what he had done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He could have talked to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He could have asked what I needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He could have stayed beside me while I grieved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, he made a decision about my mother’s remains without asking me and then lied about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sent his email to Ghada.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She called almost immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was furious\u2014not with me, but with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She told me that if I chose to stay with Harun, she would have difficulty continuing our relationship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis wasn’t one careless mistake,\u201d she said. \u201cHe made a series of decisions. He took the urn. He drove there. He left it behind. Then he came home and lied to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew she was right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, ending a marriage wasn’t simple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harun and I had been together for six years and married for four.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We shared a mortgage, two cats, a home, furniture we had picked together, photographs from trips, holiday decorations, old receipts, private jokes, and countless ordinary memories.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly, I didn’t know how to separate the good memories from everything that had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But something inside me had changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My trust was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My respect was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I no longer knew what remained of the love I once felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every time I looked at the urn, I remembered the lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had looked directly at me and told me a beautiful story while knowing exactly where Mom’s remains were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was almost harder to accept than the original act.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

About a week later, I moved into Ghada’s townhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was small and had noisy floors. She also had a very opinionated cat named Mahfouz.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But to me, the place felt peaceful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She gave me the spare bedroom, made coffee for me, and never pressured me to pretend everything was fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first several nights, I barely slept.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whenever I closed my eyes, I pictured the dumpster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes I woke up remembering the smell of gasoline and old food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ghada never told me to stop talking about Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I wanted to cry, she let me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I wanted silence, she respected that too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One morning, while we were drinking tea, she asked me something that stayed with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you want to talk about why he really did it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think I already know,\u201d I answered. \u201cHe didn’t care.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ghada shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe cared about himself. He couldn’t tolerate watching you suffer, so instead of supporting you, he removed the thing that made him uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about those words for days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The more I reflected on them, the more I realized there had been signs before the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harun hadn’t suddenly become dismissive of my grief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had been doing it gradually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered how he once suggested I smile more during Mom’s memorial because other people were noticing how upset I looked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered him becoming frustrated when I canceled dinner plans only a few weeks after Mom’s death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered finding an old voicemail from Mom and crying alone in the bathroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harun had stood outside the door and asked, \u201cAre we really doing this again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the time, I apologized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought I was making things easier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now those moments looked completely different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They weren’t isolated incidents anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were part of a pattern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I realized that Harun hadn’t simply mishandled my mother’s ashes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had repeatedly treated my grief as something inconvenient that needed to disappear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, I decided to separate from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A mutual friend named Maika helped me find a lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During that process, she told me something else I hadn’t known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Apparently, Harun had made jokes about the urn during a poker night. He reportedly told the people there that it made him uncomfortable and that he was glad it was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hearing that was devastating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted to confront him publicly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted to tell everyone what he had done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I decided against it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t want revenge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted a clean separation and the chance to rebuild my life without constant conflict.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During mediation, Harun tried to describe the situation as one terrible mistake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said he had been under emotional pressure and didn’t know how to help me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He even suggested that I had left the marriage because I was punishing him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I listened without arguing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To me, the issue was much larger than the urn itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It represented how little consideration he had shown toward my mother, my grief, and my feelings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It represented the lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The decision.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The excuses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And all the smaller moments I had previously ignored.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I asked to keep the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harun disagreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, we reached an agreement where he would buy out my share.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The negotiations took longer than I expected, but eventually the paperwork was completed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I signed the final documents, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Relief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the day I returned to collect the rest of my belongings, Harun tried one more time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you sure this is what you want?\u201d he asked. \u201cWe could still fix things. We were happy once, weren’t we?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI just didn’t understand that at the time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I packed the last of my things, I found a box marked \u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had never seen it before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was hidden behind some winter clothes in the closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My hands began to shake as I pulled it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside were several photographs, the necklace Mom had given me when I graduated, and something I never knew existed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A birthday card.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was dated only two weeks before her stroke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I immediately recognized Mom’s handwriting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The message was simple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She reminded me that no matter how old I became, I would always be her daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the bottom was the little crooked heart she always used instead of signing her name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat on the floor and cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

I wasn’t crying because someone told me to move on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wasn’t crying because someone was uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was crying because I loved my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because I missed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because I had been her daughter long before I had ever become a wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ghada helped me organize a small ceremony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only a few people attended\u2014Ghada, her husband Rami, and my cousin Safiyah.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We returned to Cascade Ridge, the place Mom had genuinely loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walked the trail together and carried the urn with us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The morning was quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wind moved gently through the trees, and sunlight passed between the branches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When we reached the overlook, I stopped for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought about Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then we opened the urn and finally released her ashes there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment felt peaceful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time since her death, I felt that I had been able to say goodbye properly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Afterward, I kept returning to something Ghada had said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harun had cared more about avoiding discomfort than being present for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That realization also made me look at my own life differently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I realized that I sometimes avoided difficult conversations too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had stayed quiet at work when I should have spoken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had ignored problems with friends because confrontation felt uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had sometimes chosen silence simply because it seemed easier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had called it keeping the peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe sometimes it was just fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I decided I didn’t want to live that way anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I started making small changes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I returned phone calls instead of avoiding them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I began saying no when I genuinely meant no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thanked people instead of pretending their kindness didn’t matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I reached out to relatives I had lost contact with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Slowly, those little changes began making a difference.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, I joined a local support group for women dealing with grief and loss.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the first meeting, I barely spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat quietly and listened to everyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But at the second meeting, I finally told my story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I talked about Harun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dumpster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The message that said, \u201cYou weren’t supposed to find that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I expected people to look at me differently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, one woman began crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another approached me afterward and said she understood exactly what I meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had lost her father the year before and said her family had pressured her to stop talking about him because they believed she needed to move on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She told me that hearing my story helped her realize that grief didn’t have a deadline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time, I understood that I wasn’t alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Several months later, the support group invited me to speak at a local women’s wellness event.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My first instinct was to decline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Speaking in front of strangers wasn’t something I had ever imagined doing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But then I thought about Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remembered how she always encouraged me to use my voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I accepted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood in front of dozens of people and told them what I had learned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t tell the story because I wanted people to hate Harun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told it because I wanted others to understand how small acts of dismissal can become deeply damaging when they happen repeatedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I talked about grief, silence, boundaries, and the importance of respecting someone’s pain even when you don’t understand it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I finished speaking, an older woman approached me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She told me that her daughter-in-law had thrown away some of her late husband’s letters, and she had spent months wondering whether she was overreacting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said my story reminded her that her feelings mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

What happened to me wasn’t only about the urn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn’t only about Harun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was also about what I decided to do with the pain afterward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could have allowed the betrayal to make me bitter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could have decided that trusting people was always dangerous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could have convinced myself that showing grief made me weak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I chose to listen to the part of myself that had been telling me the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grief can change you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It can leave you feeling broken open and uncertain about what comes next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But what you choose to build afterward matters too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you’re grieving and someone makes you feel as though your emotions are an inconvenience, remember that your pain doesn’t need someone else’s permission to be real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You don’t have to rush your healing simply because someone else is uncomfortable with your sadness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And you don’t have to apologize for remembering someone you loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mother is finally resting in the place she loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And after everything that happened, I finally feel like I am finding my own place too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

He told me he had taken my mother\u2019s ashes to her favorite hiking trail and scattered them near the waterfall. He described the moment so gently that,… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9779","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9779","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9779"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9779\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9781,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9779\/revisions\/9781"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9779"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9779"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newstoday365.today\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9779"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}