My mother was SEPARATED from her TWIN SISTER after their parents died \u2014 70 years later, I FOUND her accidentally on Facebook.<\/p>\n
Mom spent my entire life talking about the twin sister she LOST when they were little girls.<\/p>\n
Her name was Miranda.<\/p>\n
Their parents died when they were young girls, and relatives separated them.<\/p>\n
My mother, Mary, stayed in America.<\/p>\n
Miranda was taken to the United Kingdom.<\/p>\n
Then a bitter family feud made sure they stayed apart.<\/p>\n
No visits.<\/p>\n
No calls.<\/p>\n
Eventually, no one even knew where Miranda was.<\/p>\n
More than 70 YEARS passed.<\/p>\n
My mother built an entire life without knowing what had happened to the girl who once had the same face as hers.<\/p>\n
She married.<\/p>\n
Had children.<\/p>\n
Became a grandmother.<\/p>\n
And somewhere across the ocean, Miranda was doing exactly the same.<\/p>\n
Then one night, I was on Facebook when I saw a woman’s photo and stopped cold.<\/p>\n
I actually called my mom over to look at my screen.<\/p>\n
“Mom\u2026<\/p>\n
who does this woman look like to you?”<\/p>\n
She stared at the photo for several seconds.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered one name.<\/p>\n
“Miranda.”<\/p>\n
I thought it was impossible.<\/p>\n
But I couldn’t let it go.<\/p>\n
So I messaged the woman.<\/p>\n
I asked about her childhood.<\/p>\n
Her parents.<\/p>\n
America.<\/p>\n
Whether she had ever had a sister named Mary.<\/p>\n
Then her reply came.<\/p>\n
She was Miranda.<\/p>\n
My mother’s twin sister was alive.<\/p>\n
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound my mother made when I told her.<\/p>\n
After more than 70 years of wondering, they finally spoke.<\/p>\n
Two elderly women stared at each other through a screen, comparing their faces, their children, their lives \u2014 trying to fit SEVEN DECADES into one conversation.<\/p>\n
We started making plans almost immediately.<\/p>\n
My mother had already waited most of her life.<\/p>\n
There was NO reason to wait anymore.<\/p>\n
Or so we thought\u2026<\/p>\n
A few days later, Miranda sent me a MESSAGE \u2014 “Please don’t tell your mother.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Miranda is hiding something after 70 years of silence.<\/p>\n
Comment **”NEXT”** if you want Part 2 \u2014 what she’s keeping secret will break your heart.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
PART 2<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
I stared at those five words for a long time.<\/p>\n
*”Please don’t tell your mother.”*<\/p>\n
My hands were shaking.<\/p>\n
My mother was in the next room, already talking about flights to England.<\/p>\n
I typed back: “Miranda\u2026<\/p>\n
what’s wrong?<\/p>\n
Are you okay?”<\/p>\n
Her reply took two hours.<\/p>\n
“I’m not well.<\/p>\n
I didn’t want Mary to find out like this.<\/p>\n
I didn’t want her to come all this way and then\u2026”<\/p>\n
She didn’t finish the sentence.<\/p>\n
I sat there reading those words over and over.<\/p>\n
*And then what?*<\/p>\n
I called my cousin, who lives in the UK.<\/p>\n
I asked her to quietly find out what she could about Miranda’s situation.<\/p>\n
She called me back the next morning.<\/p>\n
Her voice was different.<\/p>\n
“She’s sick,” my cousin said.<\/p>\n
“She has been for a while.<\/p>\n
Her family didn’t want to say anything because they weren’t sure how much time she had left.”<\/p>\n
I couldn’t speak.<\/p>\n
My mother had waited 70 years to find her sister.<\/p>\n
And Miranda had waited until now to be found \u2014 because she was running out of time.<\/p>\n
I didn’t know what to tell Mom.<\/p>\n
I didn’t know whether the truth would destroy her or whether keeping it from her would be worse.<\/p>\n
Then my phone lit up again.<\/p>\n
It was Miranda.<\/p>\n
“There’s something else,” she wrote.<\/p>\n
“Something I’ve been carrying for 70 years.<\/p>\n
Something Mary doesn’t know.<\/p>\n
And I need to tell her before I can’t anymore.”<\/p>\n
What Miranda had been hiding all this time is in the full story.<\/p>\n
Click the link below to read everything \u2014 and have tissues ready.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
PART 3<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
I didn’t sleep that night.<\/p>\n
I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, my phone on my chest, Miranda’s message still open on the screen.<\/p>\n
*Something Mary doesn’t know.*<\/p>\n
What could she possibly mean?<\/p>\n
Their parents were gone.<\/p>\n
The relatives who separated them were gone.<\/p>\n
Seventy years of silence had buried everything.<\/p>\n
My mother knocked on my bedroom door at seven in the morning.<\/p>\n
“Are you up?<\/p>\n
I found a direct flight.<\/p>\n
Chicago to Manchester.<\/p>\n
I was thinking we could go in three weeks \u2014 give Miranda time to prepare.”<\/p>\n
I sat up.<\/p>\n
“Mom, come in.<\/p>\n
Sit down.”<\/p>\n
She pushed the door open.<\/p>\n
She was already dressed, her reading glasses pushed up on her head, a notepad in her hand with flight times written on it.<\/p>\n
She looked at my face and the notepad lowered.<\/p>\n
“What happened?”<\/p>\n
“Miranda messaged me again last night.”<\/p>\n
“And?”<\/p>\n
I chose every word carefully.<\/p>\n
“She’s not well, Mom.<\/p>\n
She’s been sick for some time.<\/p>\n
Her family didn’t say anything because they weren’t sure\u2014” I stopped.<\/p>\n
“Because they weren’t sure how long she has.” My mother said it for me.<\/p>\n
Her voice was completely flat.<\/p>\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n
She sat down on the edge of the bed.<\/p>\n
She set the notepad on her knee.<\/p>\n
She looked at the flight times she had written down and then she looked at the window.<\/p>\n
“How long?”<\/p>\n
“I don’t know exactly.<\/p>\n
I’m trying to find out more.”<\/p>\n
“Is she well enough to have visitors?”<\/p>\n
“I think so.<\/p>\n
I think that’s why she reached out when she did.”<\/p>\n
My mother nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
She didn’t cry.<\/p>\n
She just sat very still, the way people do when they’ve already spent a lifetime learning how to absorb hard news.<\/p>\n
“Then we go sooner,” she said.<\/p>\n
“Not in three weeks.<\/p>\n
As soon as we can.”<\/p>\n
“Mom\u2014”<\/p>\n
“I have waited seventy years.” She stood up.<\/p>\n
“I am not waiting another day I don’t have to.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
I messaged Miranda that morning and told her my mother knew she was unwell and that we wanted to come soon.<\/p>\n
I didn’t mention the second part of her message.<\/p>\n
The secret she said she was carrying.<\/p>\n
Miranda replied within the hour.<\/p>\n
“I’m glad she knows.<\/p>\n
I’m sorry I asked you to keep it from her.<\/p>\n
That wasn’t fair to you.”<\/p>\n
“It’s okay,” I typed.<\/p>\n
“But Miranda \u2014 what is it you need to tell her?<\/p>\n
What have you been carrying?”<\/p>\n
The reply took a long time.<\/p>\n
Long enough that I put the phone down and made coffee and came back.<\/p>\n
When it finally came, it was longer than anything she had sent before.<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Miranda wrote that when their parents died, she and Mary were not simply separated by circumstance.<\/p>\n
Someone made a choice.<\/p>\n
Their mother’s sister \u2014 a woman named Aunt Ruth \u2014 had taken both girls in at first.<\/p>\n
She had every intention of keeping them together.<\/p>\n
But within a few months, a letter arrived from a family in England.<\/p>\n
Distant relatives on their father’s side.<\/p>\n
They wanted a child.<\/p>\n
They could offer stability, a good home, an education.<\/p>\n
Aunt Ruth was struggling.<\/p>\n
She was a widow with three children of her own.<\/p>\n
She couldn’t say no.<\/p>\n
But the family in England would only take one girl.<\/p>\n
Aunt Ruth chose Miranda.<\/p>\n
She chose her because Miranda was the quieter one, the more obedient one, the one she thought would adapt more easily to a new country and new people.<\/p>\n
She chose her because she thought Mary, the louder and fiercer of the two, would be harder to place and easier to keep.<\/p>\n
She planned to tell them both when they were older.<\/p>\n
She never did.<\/p>\n
Miranda only found out the truth when Aunt Ruth was dying, forty years ago.<\/p>\n
Ruth called her to her bedside and told her everything.<\/p>\n
She said she had written to Mary once, years earlier, trying to explain.<\/p>\n
But the letter came back unopened.<\/p>\n
The family feud had already poisoned everything by then.<\/p>\n
Miranda had carried that letter for forty years.<\/p>\n
She still had it.<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
I read Miranda’s message three times.<\/p>\n
Then I called my mother into the kitchen and read it to her out loud.<\/p>\n
My mother sat across from me at the table.<\/p>\n
She didn’t move while I read.<\/p>\n
When I finished, the kitchen was very quiet.<\/p>\n
“Ruth chose,” she said finally.<\/p>\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n
“She chose which one of us to send away.”<\/p>\n
“Yes.”<\/p>\n
My mother looked down at her hands.<\/p>\n
They were folded on the table in front of her, very still.<\/p>\n
“I always thought it was an accident,” she said.<\/p>\n
“That we were just\u2026<\/p>\n
separated in the confusion.<\/p>\n
That nobody planned it.”<\/p>\n
“I know.”<\/p>\n
“Ruth told me she had no choice.<\/p>\n
When I was old enough to ask, that’s what she said.<\/p>\n
She had no choice, the family was split up, it was the war, it was the money, it was everything at once.” She paused.<\/p>\n
“She never told me she picked.”<\/p>\n
I didn’t say anything.<\/p>\n
“And Miranda has known for forty years.”<\/p>\n
“She didn’t know how to tell you.<\/p>\n
She was afraid it would hurt you more than the silence.”<\/p>\n
My mother was quiet for a long time.<\/p>\n
Then she looked up.<\/p>\n
“Does Miranda blame herself?<\/p>\n
For being the one who was chosen?”<\/p>\n
The question stopped me.<\/p>\n
I hadn’t thought of it that way.<\/p>\n
“I don’t know,” I said.<\/p>\n
“Ask her.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
I asked her.<\/p>\n
Miranda’s reply came that evening, and when I read it I had to set the phone down on the counter and stand at the kitchen window for a moment before I could go back to it.<\/p>\n
“Every single day,” she had written.<\/p>\n
“For forty years.<\/p>\n
Every single day.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
We flew to Manchester twelve days later.<\/p>\n
My mother sat by the window the entire flight.<\/p>\n
She didn’t watch the movie.<\/p>\n
She didn’t read.<\/p>\n
She looked out at the dark over the Atlantic and I watched her from the seat beside her and didn’t say much, because there wasn’t much to say.<\/p>\n
At one point she reached over and put her hand on mine.<\/p>\n
“Whatever she needs to say to me,” my mother said, “I want her to say it.<\/p>\n
All of it.<\/p>\n
I don’t want her to go carrying any of it.”<\/p>\n
“Okay, Mom.”<\/p>\n
“And I want her to know I’m not angry at her.<\/p>\n
Not for any of it.<\/p>\n
She was a little girl.<\/p>\n
She didn’t choose anything.”<\/p>\n
“You can tell her that yourself.”<\/p>\n
My mother nodded and turned back to the window.<\/p>\n
“Yes,” she said quietly.<\/p>\n
“I will.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Miranda’s daughter, a woman named Helen, met us at the airport.<\/p>\n
She had her mother’s eyes.<\/p>\n
When she saw my mother walking toward her through the arrivals hall, she put her hand over her mouth.<\/p>\n
“You look exactly like her,” Helen said.<\/p>\n
“I knew you would, but \u2014 I wasn’t ready for it.”<\/p>\n
My mother smiled.<\/p>\n
“Neither was I, the first time I saw her photo.”<\/p>\n
Helen drove us to a village about forty minutes outside the city.<\/p>\n
A small stone house at the end of a lane, with a garden that had clearly been loved for decades \u2014 roses along the front wall, a wooden bench near the door, window boxes full of late-season color.<\/p>\n
“She’s been up since five,” Helen said quietly as we pulled in.<\/p>\n
“She wouldn’t let me help her get dressed.<\/p>\n
She wanted to do it herself.”<\/p>\n
My mother looked at the front door.<\/p>\n
“She always was stubborn,” she said.<\/p>\n
And her voice broke, just slightly, on the last word.<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Miranda was sitting in an armchair near the window when we came in.<\/p>\n
She was thin \u2014 thinner than her photos \u2014 and there was a blanket across her lap even though the room was warm.<\/p>\n
But she was dressed carefully, her white hair pinned back, a pale blue cardigan buttoned to the top.<\/p>\n
She looked up when my mother walked through the door.<\/p>\n
Neither of them spoke for a moment.<\/p>\n
They just looked at each other across the room.<\/p>\n
Two women in their eighties, with the same face, the same eyes, the same hands \u2014 strangers who had once shared everything, including the womb.<\/p>\n
My mother crossed the room and sat down in the chair beside her.<\/p>\n
Miranda reached out and took both of my mother’s hands in hers.<\/p>\n
“Mary,” she said.<\/p>\n
“Miranda.” My mother’s voice was barely above a whisper.<\/p>\n
“I’m sorry it took so long.”<\/p>\n
“So am I.”<\/p>\n
Miranda’s eyes filled.<\/p>\n
“I should have found a way.<\/p>\n
All those years \u2014 I should have found a way.”<\/p>\n
“We both should have.” My mother tightened her grip on Miranda’s hands.<\/p>\n
“But we’re here now.<\/p>\n
That’s what matters.<\/p>\n
We’re here now.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
They talked for four hours that first afternoon.<\/p>\n
Helen and I stayed close but gave them space \u2014 refilling tea, stepping out to the garden when the conversation turned private, which it did, often.<\/p>\n
At one point Helen came and stood beside me near the rose bushes.<\/p>\n
“Is your mum all right?” she asked.<\/p>\n
“She’s more than all right,” I said.<\/p>\n
Helen looked through the window at the two of them.<\/p>\n
Miranda was talking, her hands moving, my mother leaning forward listening with her whole body.<\/p>\n
“Mum has been so frightened,” Helen said quietly.<\/p>\n
“That Mary would be angry.<\/p>\n
That it would be too late.<\/p>\n
That she’d carry that guilt all the way to the end.”<\/p>\n
“My mother isn’t angry.”<\/p>\n
“I can see that.” Helen’s voice was unsteady.<\/p>\n
“I can see that now.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
The letter came out on the second day.<\/p>\n
Miranda had kept it in a tin box in her bedroom for forty years.<\/p>\n
It was Aunt Ruth’s handwriting \u2014 shaky and small, on two sheets of thin paper that had gone soft at the folds.<\/p>\n
Miranda handed it to my mother without saying anything.<\/p>\n
My mother read it slowly.<\/p>\n
I watched her face as she read.<\/p>\n
I watched her jaw tighten at certain lines, and then release.<\/p>\n
I watched her blink several times in a row.<\/p>\n
When she finished, she folded it carefully along the original creases and held it in her lap.<\/p>\n
“She was sorry,” my mother said.<\/p>\n
“Yes,” Miranda said.<\/p>\n
“She was sorry and she didn’t know how to say it, so she just \u2014 didn’t.”<\/p>\n
“That’s what I think too.”<\/p>\n
My mother looked at the letter in her hands.<\/p>\n
“I spent so many years being angry at the situation.<\/p>\n
At the feud, at the distance, at the silence.<\/p>\n
I never knew there was a specific moment.<\/p>\n
A specific choice.” She paused.<\/p>\n
“It’s strange.<\/p>\n
Knowing makes it hurt differently.<\/p>\n
But it doesn’t make it hurt more.”<\/p>\n
Miranda watched her carefully.<\/p>\n
“Are you angry at me?<\/p>\n
For knowing and not telling you sooner?”<\/p>\n
My mother looked up.<\/p>\n
“Miranda.<\/p>\n
You were protecting me.<\/p>\n
The same way I would have protected you.”<\/p>\n
Miranda closed her eyes.<\/p>\n
“I thought you’d hate me,” she said.<\/p>\n
“I thought if you knew that Ruth had chosen \u2014 that she had chosen to send me and keep you \u2014 you’d think I had something to do with it.<\/p>\n
That somehow I had\u2014”<\/p>\n
“You were six years old,” my mother said firmly.<\/p>\n
“You were a little girl.<\/p>\n
You had nothing to do with anything.”<\/p>\n
Miranda opened her eyes.<\/p>\n
They were wet.<\/p>\n
“I know that,” she said.<\/p>\n
“I know it here.” She touched her head.<\/p>\n
“But here\u2014” She touched her chest.<\/p>\n
“Here it has been harder.”<\/p>\n
My mother leaned forward and put her arms around her sister.<\/p>\n
Miranda’s hands came up slowly and held on.<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
We stayed for ten days.<\/p>\n
Every morning I would come downstairs and find them already together \u2014 Miranda in her chair, my mother in the one pulled close beside it, talking.<\/p>\n
Sometimes about the past.<\/p>\n
Sometimes about their children, their grandchildren, the ordinary texture of the lives they had built on opposite sides of the ocean.<\/p>\n
Sometimes I would hear them laughing.<\/p>\n
That sound \u2014 two old women with the same laugh, in a small stone house in England \u2014 is something I will carry for the rest of my life.<\/p>\n
Miranda tired easily.<\/p>\n
There were afternoons when she slept and my mother would sit quietly in the chair beside her, not reading, not on her phone.<\/p>\n
Just sitting.<\/p>\n
Present.<\/p>\n
As if making up for every hour they had lost by refusing to waste a single one now.<\/p>\n
One evening I found my mother alone in the garden on the wooden bench.<\/p>\n
“You okay?” I asked.<\/p>\n
She patted the seat beside her.<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
“I keep thinking about all the years,” she said.<\/p>\n
“All the years I didn’t know where she was.<\/p>\n
All the years she was right there, living her life, and I was living mine, and we were so close and so far at the same time.”<\/p>\n
“I know.”<\/p>\n
“But then I think \u2014 we had our lives.<\/p>\n
Both of us.<\/p>\n
Full lives.<\/p>\n
Children and grandchildren and love and ordinary Tuesday mornings.<\/p>\n
We didn’t lose everything.<\/p>\n
We just lost each other.” She was quiet for a moment.<\/p>\n
“And now we have this.”<\/p>\n
She looked back at the house.<\/p>\n
Through the window, Miranda’s lamp was on, warm and yellow in the evening light.<\/p>\n
“Ten days isn’t enough,” my mother said.<\/p>\n
“No.”<\/p>\n
“But it’s something.”<\/p>\n
“It’s a lot, Mom.”<\/p>\n
She nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
“It’s a lot.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
On our last morning, Miranda asked Helen to leave the room for a few minutes.<\/p>\n
She looked at me and then at my mother.<\/p>\n
“I want to say something to both of you,” she said.<\/p>\n
“And I want to say it properly.”<\/p>\n
My mother reached for her hand.<\/p>\n
“You found me,” Miranda said, looking at me.<\/p>\n
“You were the one who looked at a photograph on a screen and thought \u2014 what if.<\/p>\n
You didn’t have to do that.<\/p>\n
You could have scrolled past.<\/p>\n
But you didn’t.” Her voice was steady but her eyes were bright.<\/p>\n
“You gave your mother back her sister.<\/p>\n
And you gave me back mine.<\/p>\n
I don’t have the words for what that means.<\/p>\n
But I want you to know that I know what you did.”<\/p>\n
I couldn’t answer.<\/p>\n
I just shook my head.<\/p>\n
“And Mary.” Miranda turned to my mother.<\/p>\n
Her grip tightened.<\/p>\n
“I am sorry for every year.<\/p>\n
I am sorry for the silence and the distance and the letter I never sent and the calls I never made.<\/p>\n
I told myself there was never a right time.<\/p>\n
But the truth is I was afraid.<\/p>\n
I was afraid you wouldn’t want me.<\/p>\n
After everything.”<\/p>\n
“I always wanted you,” my mother said.<\/p>\n
“Every single year.<\/p>\n
I always wanted you.”<\/p>\n
Miranda nodded.<\/p>\n
A tear ran down the side of her face and she didn’t wipe it away.<\/p>\n
“I know that now,” she said.<\/p>\n
“I know it now.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
My mother held Miranda’s hand all the way to the front door.<\/p>\n
At the door, they stood facing each other.<\/p>\n
Helen was behind Miranda, and I was behind my mother, and for a moment none of us said anything.<\/p>\n
Then Miranda straightened slightly in the way people do when they are determined not to fall apart in front of others.<\/p>\n
“You’ll come back,” she said.<\/p>\n
It wasn’t quite a question.<\/p>\n
“As soon as I can,” my mother said.<\/p>\n
“And you’ll video call.<\/p>\n
Every week.”<\/p>\n
“Every week,” Miranda agreed.<\/p>\n
My mother put both hands on either side of her sister’s face, the way you might hold something you were afraid of dropping.<\/p>\n
“I found you,” she said.<\/p>\n
“I am not losing you again.”<\/p>\n
Miranda covered my mother’s hands with her own.<\/p>\n
“No,” she said softly.<\/p>\n
“You won’t.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
My mother was quiet on the drive back to Manchester.<\/p>\n
Quiet on the check-in, quiet through security, quiet until we were sitting at the gate with coffee going cold in front of us.<\/p>\n
Then she said, “I need to thank you properly.”<\/p>\n
“Mom, you don’t\u2014”<\/p>\n
“I do.” She looked at me.<\/p>\n
Her eyes were dry now, clear and steady.<\/p>\n
“You gave me something I had stopped believing I would ever have.<\/p>\n
I had made my peace with it.<\/p>\n
I had told myself it was too late, she was gone, that part of my life was closed.” She paused.<\/p>\n
“And then you sat down one night and scrolled through Facebook and refused to let it stay closed.”<\/p>\n
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.<\/p>\n
She picked up her coffee.<\/p>\n
“She’s going to be all right for a while yet, Helen thinks.<\/p>\n
The doctors are cautiously optimistic.<\/p>\n
That’s what Helen said.”<\/p>\n
“That’s good.”<\/p>\n
“It is.” My mother looked out at the runway.<\/p>\n
A plane was lifting off, climbing steeply into a grey English sky.<\/p>\n
“It’s enough time.<\/p>\n
Whatever time there is \u2014 it’s enough.<\/p>\n
Because we have it now.<\/p>\n
We’re not wasting it anymore.”<\/p>\n
She watched the plane until it disappeared into the clouds.<\/p>\n
“Seventy years,” she said quietly.<\/p>\n
“And it took a photograph on a phone.”<\/p>\n
She almost smiled.<\/p>\n
“Better late than never,” she said.<\/p>\n
“That’s what Miranda told me this morning.<\/p>\n
Better late than never.”<\/p>\n
—<\/p>\n
Some separations last so long that people stop believing they can ever be undone \u2014 but sometimes, one small moment of not scrolling past changes everything.<\/p>\n
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Have you ever reconnected with someone after years of silence, or do you know someone who has?<\/p>\n
Share your story in the comments \u2014 you never know who might need to read it today.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My mother was SEPARATED from her TWIN SISTER after their parents died \u2014 70 years later, I FOUND her accidentally…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2903,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2902","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2902","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2902"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2902\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2904,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2902\/revisions\/2904"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2903"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2902"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2902"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipesecrets.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2902"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}