{"id":830,"date":"2026-10-21T13:48:21","date_gmt":"2026-10-21T13:48:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/?p=830"},"modified":"2026-10-21T13:48:21","modified_gmt":"2026-10-21T13:48:21","slug":"a-woman-waking-up-with-a-104-degree-fever-should-have-been-surrounded-by-panic-but-emily-whitmore-opened-her-eyes-to-find-a-stranger-calmly-sitting-beside-her-bed","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/?p=830","title":{"rendered":"A woman waking up with a 104-degree fever should have been surrounded by panic, but Emily Whitmore opened her eyes to find a stranger calmly sitting beside her bed"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/figure>\n
\n

A woman waking up with a 104-degree fever should have been surrounded by panic, but Emily Whitmore opened her eyes to find a stranger calmly sitting beside her be<\/h1>\n
\n

Chapter 1<\/h2>\n
\n

A woman waking up with a 104-degree fever should have been surrounded by panic, but Emily Whitmore opened her eyes to find a stranger calmly sitting beside her bed. The man she had never met before was the only person in the room who looked truly afraid of losing her, and that terrified her more than the illness itself.<\/p>\n

For several seconds, I thought I was trapped inside a dream.<\/p>\n

The ceiling of my childhood bedroom outside Boston floated above me like pale water, rain tapping against the windows while every joint in my body screamed in pain.<\/p>\n

It felt as if someone had taken me apart during the night and put me back together incorrectly.<\/p>\n

Then the man beside my bed leaned forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cEasy,\u201d he said softly. \u201cDon\u2019t sit up too fast.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice was low, calm, and strangely gentle.<\/p>\n

I blinked until my vision cleared.<\/p>\n

He looked to be in his early thirties, tall even while seated, with broad shoulders beneath a charcoal sweater and an open winter coat.<\/p>\n

His brown hair looked like he had repeatedly pushed his fingers through it, and a faint shadow of stubble covered his jaw.<\/p>\n

But his eyes were what caught my attention first.<\/p>\n

Gray-blue.<\/p>\n

Concerned.<\/p>\n

Watching me as if nothing else in the world mattered except whether I could breathe comfortably.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

The stranger reached for the glass of water on my nightstand.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Daniel Mercer. I\u2019m a doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

He carefully placed one hand behind my shoulders and helped me drink.<\/p>\n

The water tasted better than anything I could remember.<\/p>\n

After only three swallows, exhaustion forced me back against the pillow.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you get into my bedroom?\u201d<\/p>\n

One corner of his mouth lifted.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother let me in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds slightly less criminal.\u201d<\/p>\n

His smile widened.<\/p>\n

Dimples.<\/p>\n

Of course he had dimples.<\/p>\n

Apparently, the universe had decided that if Emily Whitmore was going to wake up looking like death, she should at least do it in front of the kindest-looking man she had ever seen.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou collapsed during dinner,\u201d Daniel explained.<\/p>\n

The memories returned in fragments.<\/p>\n

My father\u2019s annual winter fundraising dinner.<\/p>\n

Thirty people gathered around the dining table.<\/p>\n

Champagne I barely touched.<\/p>\n

My father discussing the Whitmore Foundation\u2019s expansion.<\/p>\n

Someone asking when I would finally accept a permanent position inside the family organization.<\/p>\n

Then the chandelier becoming painfully bright, my mother\u2019s face turning into a blur, and nothing.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cHow bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou had a temperature of 104.1 when I arrived.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes opened.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat seems ambitious.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel laughed softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou joke when you\u2019re frightened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI joke when I\u2019m alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood habit.\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached toward my forehead, then stopped.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay I?\u201d<\/p>\n

The question surprised me.<\/p>\n

My entire life had been filled with people touching, moving, scheduling, and deciding things for me without asking.<\/p>\n

My mother chose my stylist.<\/p>\n

My father influenced my education.<\/p>\n

My first internship was arranged through his connections, and even my apartment belonged to a Whitmore family trust.<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

Daniel placed the back of his fingers against my forehead.<\/p>\n

The cool touch against my burning skin almost brought tears to my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cStill hot,\u201d he murmured. \u201cBut lower.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you here all night?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s three twenty in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t answer my question.\u201d<\/p>\n

He glanced toward the chair beside him.<\/p>\n

A cold mug of coffee sat beside a medical bag.<\/p>\n

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

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

The question seemed to surprise him.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you were sick.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

The answer was so simple it almost hurt.<\/p>\n

In my world, people rarely did things because someone needed them.<\/p>\n

There was always a reason, a favor, a debt, or something expected in return.<\/p>\n

Daniel noticed my expression.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour regular physician is attending a medical conference,\u201d he explained. \u201cMy father covers for him occasionally, but my father had emergency surgery tonight, so he sent me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou make house calls?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot usually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I\u2019m special?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me for a moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re extremely inconvenient.\u201d<\/p>\n

Despite everything, I smiled.<\/p>\n

Daniel checked the thermometer again.<\/p>\n

\u201c103.2.\u201d<\/p>\n

His expression changed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re still too warm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do I have?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

That frightened me more than a diagnosis would have.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think it\u2019s an infection,\u201d he continued. \u201cYour breathing is clear, your blood pressure is stable, and you\u2019re responsive. Those are good signs. But the fever came quickly, and your heart rate is higher than I\u2019d like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what happens?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it doesn\u2019t continue coming down, we go to the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sending you alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Something moved painfully inside my chest.<\/p>\n

Not romance.<\/p>\n

Not yet.<\/p>\n

Something simpler.<\/p>\n

The strange shock of being cared for.<\/p>\n

The bedroom door opened.<\/p>\n

My father stepped inside wearing pressed trousers and a dress shirt despite the hour.<\/p>\n

Richard Whitmore looked exactly the way he always did\u2014perfectly controlled, even when his only daughter had collapsed unconscious.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is she?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Daniel stood.<\/p>\n

\u201cStill febrile. I want to keep monitoring her.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father frowned.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a flight to Chicago at seven.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course he did.<\/p>\n

Daniel looked directly at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should cancel it.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

Nobody told Richard Whitmore what to do.<\/p>\n

Especially not inside his own house.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe meeting concerns a forty-million-dollar development partnership,\u201d my father said.<\/p>\n

Daniel didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour daughter has a fever over one hundred and three.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife will be here.\u201d<\/p>\n

From the doorway, my mother appeared wearing a silk robe, both hands wrapped tightly around herself.<\/p>\n

Margaret Whitmore looked frightened.<\/p>\n

Exhausted.<\/p>\n

Like she had been carrying fear for years.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll stay with her,\u201d she said quickly.<\/p>\n

But Daniel didn\u2019t look relieved.<\/p>\n

He looked at the thermometer in his hand, then at me.<\/p>\n

And for the first time all night, the doctor who had seemed completely calm looked genuinely worried.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n

My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n

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

He hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour fever is dropping too fast.\u201d<\/p>\n

And suddenly, the stranger who had entered my room to save me looked like the only person who understood that something far worse might already be happening.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going to Boston Memorial,\u201d Daniel said. \u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said it the way other people say the sky is blue.<\/p>\n

My father checked his watch.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that truly necessary? She\u2019s improving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s changing, Mr. Whitmore. That isn\u2019t the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

My father\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I thought he would argue.<\/p>\n

Instead, he adjusted his cufflink and said, \u201cCall me if anything develops.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he walked out.<\/p>\n

Not a hand on my shoulder.<\/p>\n

Not a glance back.<\/p>\n

Just the click of expensive shoes down the hallway, and somewhere below us, the front door closing.<\/p>\n

Daniel stared at the empty doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s on his way to the airport,\u201d I said, my voice thin and scratchy. \u201cHe isn\u2019t a monster. He just prefers problems that come with agendas.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you always defend him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince I was six.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

He simply slid one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can walk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can barely sit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not fair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s medically accurate.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before I could protest again, he lifted me from the bed as though I weighed nothing.<\/p>\n

My mother appeared at the door in a wool coat, clutching a leather purse against her chest with both hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d Daniel said.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t look at me.<\/p>\n

She looked at the floor, the doorframe, the carpet.<\/p>\n

Anywhere but my face.<\/p>\n

The drive to Boston Memorial took twenty-two minutes.<\/p>\n

Daniel sat in the back seat with me, my head against his shoulder, one hand pressed to the pulse at my wrist.<\/p>\n

My mother sat in front beside the driver, her back rigid.<\/p>\n

Rain streaked the windows in silver lines.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily, stay with me,\u201d Daniel said softly. \u201cTell me something.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAnything. What\u2019s your favorite book?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re testing my cognition.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m testing your taste.\u201d<\/p>\n

I almost laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cPersuasion,\u201d I whispered. \u201cAnne Elliot waits eight years and still says what she means.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood answer.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cBecause people who love that book tend to be very stubborn.\u201d His thumb moved gently across my wrist. \u201cStubborn is helpful right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyelids drooped.<\/p>\n

The world softened at the edges.<\/p>\n

Somewhere far away, I heard him murmur, \u201cPupils are sluggish. Pulse is wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWrong how?\u201d my mother asked sharply.<\/p>\n

\u201cToo fast for a fever this low. And the fever dropped nearly a full degree in twenty minutes without any medication.\u201d His voice tightened. \u201cThat isn\u2019t how infections behave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

But I heard something in his voice.<\/p>\n

A shape beneath the words.<\/p>\n

Like a man looking at a puzzle and already suspecting which piece was missing.<\/p>\n

At 4:15 a.m., the ambulance bay lights of Boston Memorial glowed through the rain.<\/p>\n

Two nurses rushed toward us with a gurney.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Mercer?\u201d one called.<\/p>\n

\u201cBed six,\u201d Daniel said. \u201cBlood cultures, full metabolic panel, and I want a toxicology screen. Broad. Everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother went white.<\/p>\n

\u201cToxicology?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s routine when the picture doesn\u2019t fit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Was it?<\/p>\n

I had been sick before.<\/p>\n

Nobody ordered toxicology for a fever.<\/p>\n

They wheeled me down a bright corridor that smelled of disinfectant and floor wax.<\/p>\n

A young resident took my blood.<\/p>\n

A nurse clipped a monitor to my finger.<\/p>\n

A tall woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses appeared beside my bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Dr. Shah,\u201d she said. \u201cToxicology and internal medicine. Dr. Mercer called me from the car.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou woke up early,\u201d I murmured.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m always awake early.\u201d Her mouth softened. \u201cTry to rest. We\u2019ll be quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t taken off his coat.<\/p>\n

I realized he hadn\u2019t sat down once since arriving at my house.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should get some sleep,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo should you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve been up all night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll sleep when your numbers make sense.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother stood in the corner, still clutching her purse.<\/p>\n

Her knuckles were white.<\/p>\n

\u201cMargaret,\u201d Daniel said gently. \u201cI need to ask you something.\u201d<\/p>\n

She flinched.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cHas Emily been taking any medication regularly? Prescription, over the counter, supplements, anything at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched my mother\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

I have spent twenty-nine years reading that face.<\/p>\n

I know when she\u2019s tired.<\/p>\n

I know when she\u2019s disappointed.<\/p>\n

I know exactly how she looks when she\u2019s hiding something.<\/p>\n

Her eyes darted toward the purse.<\/p>\n

Then toward me.<\/p>\n

Then toward the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel looked at her for a long, level moment.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t argue.<\/p>\n

He simply nodded, and turned toward the monitor.<\/p>\n

But I saw something flicker across his face.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t believe her.<\/p>\n

And for the first time, neither did I.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

At 6:40 a.m., Dr. Shah pulled the curtain around my bed.<\/p>\n

She held a folder against her chest.<\/p>\n

Daniel stood beside her.<\/p>\n

They both looked like people about to deliver news no one would enjoy hearing.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d Dr. Shah began. \u201cI\u2019m going to be direct with you. Is that all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour fever wasn\u2019t caused by an infection.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blinked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour bloodwork shows a compound that shouldn\u2019t be in your system. It\u2019s not something you\u2019d get from food, or a cold, or an ordinary prescription.\u201d She opened the folder. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not there in a single dose.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room felt very quiet.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cThe levels suggest repeated exposure over several weeks. Possibly months.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s more.\u201d She turned a page. \u201cThe concentration in your blood dropped sharply in the last few days. Which means the exposure changed. Something reduced it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReduced it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s likely why you crashed last night,\u201d Daniel said gently. \u201cYour body was adjusting to an irregular pattern. It wasn\u2019t a virus, Emily. It was a reaction.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to sit up.<\/p>\n

The room tilted.<\/p>\n

Daniel steadied me with one hand at my shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re telling me someone has been giving me this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m telling you it didn\u2019t get there by itself,\u201d Dr. Shah said.<\/p>\n

My stomach twisted.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho would do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Neither of them answered.<\/p>\n

I looked from one face to the other, and the answer I didn\u2019t want rose in my throat like something cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cHospital protocol requires me to notify the police,\u201d Dr. Shah said. \u201cA detective will be here within the hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPolice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily.\u201d Daniel crouched beside the bed so our eyes were level. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I know this is a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a lot. It\u2019s insane.\u201d My voice cracked. \u201cI\u2019ve lived in the same apartment for six years. I eat the same breakfast every morning. I don\u2019t take drugs. I don\u2019t even like ibuprofen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen how\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThink,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cAnything you take every day. Anything someone hands you. Anything you don\u2019t check.\u201d<\/p>\n

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

I thought of my morning routine.<\/p>\n

Coffee.<\/p>\n

Toast.<\/p>\n

A blueberry muffin from the corner bakery on Tuesdays.<\/p>\n

Then I thought of my evenings.<\/p>\n

The thing I never questioned.<\/p>\n

The small ritual I had carried through months of exhaustion without once wondering why.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother brings me a cup of chamomile tea every night.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daniel\u2019s expression didn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd vitamins,\u201d I whispered. \u201cSince the fall. She said I looked tired. She said the family doctor recommended a wellness protocol. She brings them to me with the tea. Every night. She watches me swallow them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho else handles the tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Doyle makes it. She\u2019s been with us for twenty years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the vitamins?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom keeps them in a leather pouch in her purse.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words hung in the air.<\/p>\n

Leather.<\/p>\n

Purse.<\/p>\n

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

Daniel was already looking toward the curtain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s your mother?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was right here.\u201d<\/p>\n

We both turned.<\/p>\n

The chair in the corner was empty.<\/p>\n

The curtain rustled.<\/p>\n

A nurse stepped through with a chart.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me. Is Mrs. Whitmore family?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cWhere is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

The nurse hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe left about twenty minutes ago. She said she needed to make a phone call.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she take her purse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think so.\u201d The nurse frowned. \u201cShe looked very upset.\u201d<\/p>\n

The blood drained from my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d Daniel said carefully. \u201cI know what you\u2019re thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I might.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m thinking my mother poisoned me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The word sounded absurd out loud.<\/p>\n

It felt like a stone dropped into a well.<\/p>\n

Daniel took my hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m thinking,\u201d he said, \u201cthat your mother has been terrified of something for a very long time. And whatever it is, she was carrying it with her when she walked out that door.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to breathe.<\/p>\n

I tried to think.<\/p>\n

But all I could see was my mother\u2019s white knuckles.<\/p>\n

Her eyes darting toward the purse.<\/p>\n

Her voice saying, Nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere would she go?\u201d Daniel asked.<\/p>\n

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

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I whispered. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen her leave a room without telling my father where she was going.\u201d<\/p>\n

And I realized I had never once seen her leave without permission.<\/p>\n

Until now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A woman waking up with a 104-degree fever should have been surrounded by panic, but Emily Whitmore opened her eyes to find a stranger calmly sitting beside her be Chapter… <\/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-830","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/830","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=830"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/830\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":831,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/830\/revisions\/831"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=830"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=830"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovenews.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=830"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}