{"id":5701,"date":"2026-06-03T11:58:22","date_gmt":"2026-06-03T04:58:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rungbeg.com\/?p=5701"},"modified":"2026-06-03T11:58:22","modified_gmt":"2026-06-03T04:58:22","slug":"he-gave-his-wifes-custom-necklace-to-his-mistress-shoved-his-pregnant-wife-to-the-floor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/?p=5701","title":{"rendered":"He Gave His Wife\u2019s Custom Necklace to His Mistress, Shoved His Pregnant Wife to the Floor,"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

He Gave His Wife\u2019s Custom Necklace to His Mistress, Shoved His Pregnant Wife to the Floor, and Checked the Hallway for Witnesses. He Should Have Checked for Cameras \u2014 and He Should Have Known Who Her Father Was.<\/strong><\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Part 1: The Necklace<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The necklace was not expensive in the way rich people mean expensive. It was not covered in diamonds, it did not come from Cartier, and it did not sit in a velvet case under bright boutique lights. But to me, it was worth more than anything my husband had ever bought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a custom gold necklace with three tiny charms: a crescent moon, a baby shoe, and the letter \u201cE.\u201d The moon was for my mother, who used to call me her moonlight before she passed away. The baby shoe was for the daughter growing inside me, and the \u201cE\u201d was for the name I had already chosen for her: Evelyn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father had designed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the part my husband, Ryan, should have remembered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My dad, Thomas Grayson, owned a small jewelry repair and design shop in Savannah, Georgia, two blocks from Forsyth Park. He was not famous, but every old family in town seemed to know him. He could fix a broken clasp, reset a grandmother\u2019s ring, and tell if a stone was fake before the customer finished lying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He made the necklace for me when I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant. He said every mother deserved something that reminded her she was still a woman, not just a body carrying everyone else\u2019s expectations. When he gave it to me, he placed it in my palm and said, \u201cThis is not for Ryan. This is not for the baby. This is for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cried so hard he pretended to check the coffee maker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was my father\u2019s way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan used to be charming about things like that. When we first married, he would stand in my dad\u2019s shop and pretend to understand jewelry tools, asking questions about soldering and stones while my father watched him with polite suspicion. Dad was never rude to Ryan, but he never fully trusted him either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can love a man,\u201d he told me once, \u201cand still watch how he acts when nobody important is in the room.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the time, I thought he was being overprotective.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I understand now that fathers sometimes see the small cracks before daughters are ready to admit the wall is leaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan and I lived in Atlanta, in a two-bedroom apartment near Midtown. He worked as a project manager for a commercial construction company, the kind of job that made him sound more important than he was and kept him late often enough that questions became inconvenient. I taught third grade until my doctor told me to slow down because my blood pressure had been creeping up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By my third trimester, everything felt heavier. My ankles swelled by noon, my back ached constantly, and Evelyn liked to press against my ribs whenever I sat down for longer than ten minutes. Ryan called me \u201cdramatic\u201d when I asked him to carry the laundry basket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That should have told me something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first time I noticed the necklace missing, I thought I had misplaced it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pregnancy brain, people called it, as if becoming forgetful while growing a human being was cute instead of terrifying. I checked my jewelry dish, the bathroom counter, my nightstand drawer, the little ceramic bowl near the front door, and the pocket of every cardigan I owned. Nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you seen my necklace?\u201d I asked Ryan that evening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was standing in the kitchen scrolling through his phone, still wearing his work boots inside even though I had asked him a hundred times not to track dust across the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat necklace?\u201d he said without looking up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cMy necklace. The one Dad made me. The one I wear almost every day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shrugged. \u201cProbably lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something in his tone bothered me. Not the words, exactly, but the ease of them. He sounded less like a husband concerned that his pregnant wife had lost something precious, and more like a man annoyed she had noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t lose it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He finally looked up. \u201cThen where is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you have ever lived with someone who lies well, you know that question can be a weapon. It sounds logical. It makes you feel foolish for not having evidence yet. It pushes the burden back onto you before you even understand there is something to prove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen maybe don\u2019t accuse me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t accuse you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His jaw tightened. \u201cYou didn\u2019t have to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was Ryan\u2019s gift. He could turn suspicion into injury before I even formed the sentence. By the end of most conversations, I was the one apologizing for the way his behavior made me feel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, I cried in the shower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not loudly. Not the dramatic kind of crying people imagine. Just quiet tears mixed with warm water while Evelyn moved inside me and I pressed one hand to my stomach like I could shield her from sadness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three days later, I found the necklace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not in my apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not in my jewelry dish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not in any place it should have been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw it around another woman\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her name was Madison Cole, and she worked in Ryan\u2019s office. I had met her twice at company events. She was twenty-nine, pretty in a polished way, with honey-blond hair, perfect white nails, and the kind of smile that looked kind until it had an audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw the picture on Instagram.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had posted a mirror selfie in a downtown Atlanta hotel bathroom. She wore a black satin dress, one hand on her hip, and my necklace resting against her collarbone like it belonged there. The caption said, \u201cWhen he knows exactly what you deserve.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a moment, I could not breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I zoomed in until the screen blurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There it was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crescent moon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The baby shoe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The letter E.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father\u2019s necklace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My daughter\u2019s initial.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Around my husband\u2019s mistress\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not scream. I did not throw my phone. I did not comment under the picture, though my hands shook with the need to type something that would burn all three of us to the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, I took screenshots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The full post.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Her username.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The necklace close-up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I sent them to myself by email and saved them in a folder labeled Ryan<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At first, I thought the affair was the worst part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The worst part was the necklace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because affairs can be hidden behind excuses: loneliness, weakness, stress, bad judgment, \u201cit didn\u2019t mean anything.\u201d But taking something custom-made for your pregnant wife by her father and giving it to another woman is not weakness. It is contempt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, Ryan came home at 9:40 p.m.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smelled like cologne and cold air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was sitting at the kitchen table with the screenshot open on my phone and a glass of water I had not touched. Evelyn had been restless all evening, and every movement inside me felt like a reminder that I had to be careful. I could not afford to become the kind of angry that forgets consequences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan walked in and stopped when he saw my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned the phone toward him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The color drained from his cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For three seconds, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he said, \u201cThat\u2019s not what you think.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

There should be a national registry for men who use that sentence. It should come with automatic legal consequences and a mandatory class on how insulting it sounds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s wearing my necklace,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glanced toward the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not at my stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

That was the first thing I noticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan was not checking whether I was okay. He was checking whether anyone had heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Part 2: The Hallway<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLower your voice,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had not raised it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That made my pulse pound harder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe is wearing my necklace,\u201d I repeated, carefully. \u201cThe one my father made for me. The one with our daughter\u2019s initial on it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan tossed his keys onto the counter too hard. \u201cYou\u2019re being emotional.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m seven months pregnant and my husband gave my necklace to another woman. Emotional seems reasonable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stepped closer. \u201cMadison borrowed it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the lie he chose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Borrowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if my father\u2019s custom necklace had gone out for a quick visit and accidentally ended up in a hotel bathroom selfie with a caption about what she deserved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe borrowed a necklace you told me you hadn\u2019t seen?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His mouth tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time, I saw panic behind his anger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had not expected me to find out this way. Men like Ryan prepare for certain kinds of discovery. A suspicious wife checking a phone. A receipt in a pocket. A strange number calling at midnight. They do not prepare for the mistress posting the evidence herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe liked it,\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t think it was a big deal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

That was when something inside me changed from hurt to clarity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t think giving another woman a necklace made for your pregnant wife was a big deal?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked toward the hallway again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our apartment opened into a shared corridor on the fifth floor. A neighbor lived across from us, a retired nurse named Mrs. Alvarez who always asked about the baby. Down the hall lived a young couple with a toddler and a doorbell camera they installed after packages went missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan knew that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He lowered his voice. \u201cStop trying to make me look like a monster.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not making you look like anything,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m asking why Madison is wearing my necklace.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His expression hardened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the moment I should have stepped back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But betrayal makes you forget that some people become most dangerous when truth blocks the exits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood slowly, one hand on the table, the other under my belly. \u201cI want it back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He laughed once, sharp and ugly. \u201cOf course you do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRyan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou always have to make everything about you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The words landed strangely in the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at my stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m carrying your child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He rolled his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I will never forget that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not the affair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not the necklace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not even what happened next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The eye roll.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if my pregnancy was an inconvenience I kept mentioning to win arguments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I moved toward the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTo get some air.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, you\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

For the first time that night, I felt afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not dramatic afraid. Not movie-scene afraid. The quiet kind. The kind that arrives in the body before the mind admits it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI need space,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou need to stop acting crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crazy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The word men use when they cannot defend what they did but still want to make your reaction the problem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I reached for the door handle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan grabbed my wrist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not hard enough to bruise immediately, but hard enough to stop me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet go,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked toward the hallway again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he opened the door himself, half an inch, and glanced out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That detail stayed with me forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He checked for witnesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because he was worried about me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because he was worried about being seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hallway was empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned back to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow listen,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pulled my wrist from his hand and stepped into the hallway anyway. I did not have a plan. I just knew I needed to be somewhere with walls that did not belong to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That is my name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emily Grayson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept walking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our apartment door was still open behind me. The hallway lights buzzed overhead. Mrs. Alvarez\u2019s door was closed, and the elevator was at the far end of the corridor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I made it three steps before Ryan came after me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t walk away from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned. \u201cThen give me back my necklace and tell me the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His face changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mask slipped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For one second, I saw not the man I married, but the man my father had been watching for years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan put both hands on my shoulders and shoved me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I fell backward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not down a staircase. Not into a wall. Just onto the hallway floor, hard enough that the breath left my body and pain shot through my hip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I was pregnant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That changed everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My first thought was not pain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

I curled one arm around my belly and gasped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Then, unbelievably, he looked down the hallway again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Checking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still checking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEmily,\u201d he said, voice suddenly softer. \u201cGet up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could not speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The baby moved once, then went still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was when terror swallowed everything else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Alvarez opened her door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had curlers in her hair and a bathrobe tied around her waist. Her eyes went from me on the floor to Ryan standing over me, then to my hand wrapped protectively around my belly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t move,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan lifted both hands. \u201cShe slipped.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Alvarez\u2019s face became cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was a labor and delivery nurse for thirty-six years,\u201d she said. \u201cDo not insult me in my own hallway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then she called 911.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan tried to crouch beside me, but I flinched away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

So did Mrs. Alvarez.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Within minutes, the hallway filled with people. The young couple from down the hall. A security guard from the lobby. Paramedics. Police. Too many faces, too many voices, too much bright light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan kept saying I slipped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept saying nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was listening for Evelyn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the hospital, they monitored me for hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evelyn\u2019s heartbeat was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the nurse found it, I cried so hard she squeezed my hand and said, \u201cThere she is, mama.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan was not allowed in the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had asked for that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The police officer took my statement after the doctor said I was stable. I told the truth in pieces because shock makes everything sound distant. Necklace. Instagram. Argument. Hallway. Shove. Floor. Witnesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the officer asked a question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you know if there are cameras in the hallway?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

The young couple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doorbell camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan had checked for witnesses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He should have checked for cameras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Part 3: My Father Arrives<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

My father arrived at Northside Hospital at 2:13 a.m.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Savannah to Atlanta is nearly four hours if you drive like a normal person. My father made it in under three. He walked into the hospital room wearing jeans, a gray sweater, and the calm face he used when something inside him had gone very, very still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBaby girl,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Not because I wanted to be a child again, but because for a few minutes, I needed to be someone\u2019s daughter more than someone\u2019s wife. Dad held me carefully, one hand on the back of my head, the other hovering near my belly like he was afraid to touch the fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEvelyn is okay,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father was not a violent man. People assumed he might be because he had big hands, a quiet voice, and that old Southern stillness that made anger feel heavier than shouting. But he believed in laws, records, and making sure a man\u2019s consequences wore a suit and came with signatures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the third thing Ryan should have known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad did not threaten Ryan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He did not call him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He did not go looking for him in the parking lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sat beside my hospital bed and asked for facts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

I told him about Madison\u2019s post.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened in the hallway?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I finished, Dad stood and walked to the window. Atlanta was dark beyond the glass, the hospital lights reflecting against his face. For a long moment, he said nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he asked, \u201cDo you still have the screenshot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cAnd the necklace is still with her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That nod scared me more than yelling would have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, Dad called an attorney before he called breakfast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her name was Patricia Coleman, a family law attorney in Atlanta who handled domestic violence-related custody issues, protective orders, and high-conflict divorces. She arrived at the hospital before noon in a navy suit and sensible heels. She spoke to me gently but directly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFirst,\u201d she said, \u201cyou and the baby are safe right now. That matters most. Second, we document everything. Third, we ask for protection through legal channels, not personal confrontation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

She explained temporary protective orders, emergency housing rights, medical documentation, police reports, witness statements, and how pregnancy could affect how urgently the court viewed contact restrictions. She told me not to engage with Ryan or Madison online. She told me not to delete messages. She told me to let the cameras, records, and witnesses do the talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That became my rule.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let the evidence speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By noon, the police had obtained hallway footage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The young couple\u2019s camera had captured enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not everything, but enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It showed me stepping into the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan following.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His hands on my shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

My fall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His pause afterward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His head turning down the hallway before he bent toward me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That pause mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia said it quietly when she watched the footage with my father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe checked for witnesses before he checked on his pregnant wife.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad did not move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His jaw flexed once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan texted me thirty-seven times that day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t mean for you to fall.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know I would never hurt the baby.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t let your dad get involved.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is a misunderstanding.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re destroying my life.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That last one made me stare at the phone for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Destroying his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if I had shoved him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if I had stolen from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if I had given his custom-made keepsake to another person and then blamed him for noticing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia told me not to respond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Madison, however, did something stupid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She posted another Instagram story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a close-up of the necklace, with the caption: \u201cSome gifts are worth the drama.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost dropped my phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father saw my face and held out his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave him the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at the picture for exactly five seconds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he said, \u201cThat is my work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His voice was calm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Too calm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad had records for every custom piece he made. Sketches, invoices, measurements, materials, photographs before delivery. He had the original design file for my necklace, the receipt showing it was made as a gift to me, and photos of himself placing it around my neck in his shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sent everything to Patricia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By evening, the necklace was no longer just a sentimental object.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was documented property.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A custom piece made for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gifted to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taken without my permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Possibly transferred to someone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That changed the conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan had thought giving my necklace to Madison was romantic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It became evidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two days later, I was discharged from the hospital and went home with my father, not to the apartment. He took me back to Savannah for a week because Patricia said distance was wise while the protective order was being processed. I slept in my old bedroom under the quilt my mother made and woke at night with one hand on my belly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evelyn kept moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every kick felt like mercy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan was served with temporary protective paperwork three days after the incident. He was ordered not to contact me directly and not to come near me. The apartment access would be handled through attorneys and law enforcement arrangements so I could retrieve my belongings safely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His attorney called it an overreaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia called it \u201ca documented response to documented conduct.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I liked Patricia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next week, Ryan lost his job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because I called his employer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The police report became known after he missed work and tried to explain the situation badly. Then someone in the office found Madison\u2019s posts. Then HR learned the necklace came from his pregnant wife and the incident involved police and hospital documentation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Companies do not like scandal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Construction companies especially do not like project managers with legal problems involving violence, theft allegations, and workplace affairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan texted my father once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cSir, please tell Emily I need to talk to her. This has gone too far.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad forwarded the message to Patricia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he blocked him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Part 4: Cameras Don\u2019t Care Who You Pretend To Be<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The first hearing was held in Fulton County.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wore a loose black dress and low shoes because my feet were too swollen for anything else. My father sat behind me, one hand resting on his knee, still as stone. Patricia sat beside me with a folder thick enough to make Ryan\u2019s attorney nervous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan looked smaller in court.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That surprised me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At home, anger had made him seem huge. In the hallway, standing over me, he had seemed powerful. But in front of a judge, under fluorescent lights, with video evidence and medical records, he looked like a man whose charm had expired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Madison was not there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the necklace was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia had printed screenshots of her posts. She presented the original design records from my father\u2019s shop, proof that the necklace was made for me, and the timeline showing when I reported it missing. She did not call Madison names. She did not need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The facts were humiliating enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then came the hallway footage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could not watch it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at my hands while the courtroom went silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I heard the judge ask to see one part again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Ryan checking the hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That silence in the courtroom told me the footage had done what words never could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan\u2019s attorney argued that emotions were high, that it was a marital dispute, that I had lost my balance, that Ryan had not intended harm. Patricia stood and calmly reminded the court that intent did not erase impact, especially when a pregnant woman ended up on the floor and required hospital monitoring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judge granted the protective order.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan was not allowed to contact me directly. He had to stay away from my residence, my father\u2019s shop, and my medical appointments. Retrieval of property would happen through a scheduled civil standby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the judge finished speaking, I felt something loosen in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not happiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not victory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Safety.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Those are different things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Outside the courtroom, Ryan tried to look at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father stepped slightly into his line of sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not threatening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Ryan looked away first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon, Patricia helped me file for divorce.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not want a dramatic war. I did not want to destroy anyone. I wanted safety, the return of my property, a fair division of assets, and legal boundaries before Evelyn was born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan\u2019s response was predictable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He claimed I exaggerated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He claimed Madison did not know the necklace was mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He claimed I was being influenced by my father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He claimed the shove was accidental.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He claimed he loved me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That word had become useless in his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The apartment retrieval happened two weeks later. I returned with my father, Patricia\u2019s assistant, and two officers present. I packed maternity clothes, medical documents, family photos, baby items, and the box of my mother\u2019s recipes from the pantry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan was not there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Madison\u2019s perfume was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That hurt more than I expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because I still wanted him, but because disrespect has a smell when it enters your home and settles into the curtains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The nursery corner was half-finished. A white crib stood against the wall, still in plastic wrapping. On the dresser sat the ultrasound photo Ryan had once taped there, back when he pretended to be excited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took the photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I left the crib.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father walked through the apartment without comment until he reached my jewelry dish. It was empty except for a pair of pearl studs and a tarnished silver ring I bought in college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Then he said, \u201cWe\u2019ll make another one someday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I shook my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want another one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some things cannot be replaced just because they can be remade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A month before Evelyn was due, Madison mailed the necklace back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To my father\u2019s shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Just the necklace wrapped in tissue paper and placed inside a padded envelope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The baby shoe charm was scratched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The clasp was bent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father called me before he opened the shop that morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat down slowly. \u201cIs it okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt can be repaired.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was not what I had asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He knew that too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I saw it later, I did not cry. I thought I would. Instead, I felt strangely distant from it, like it belonged to a version of me who had vanished in that hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad repaired the clasp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Polished the charms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Removed the scratch as much as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he placed it in a small box and handed it back to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to wear it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened the box and looked at the moon, the shoe, and the E.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr you can wear it when you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

\u201cMaybe after she\u2019s born.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The week before my due date, Ryan sent a letter through his attorney.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He apologized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sort of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wrote that he had made \u201cterrible choices,\u201d that Madison \u201cmeant nothing,\u201d that he wanted to be present for Evelyn\u2019s birth, and that he hoped I would not \u201cpunish him forever for one bad night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One bad night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I read that phrase three times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I handed the letter to Patricia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She asked if I wanted to respond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My response was short.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe birth plan will be determined by medical advice and legal safety considerations. You may receive updates through counsel. This is not punishment. This is protection.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Ryan did not come to the hospital when Evelyn was born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because I was cruel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because the protective order was still active, and because my doctor agreed that stress was not safe for me. My father was in the room instead, standing near my shoulder, crying openly when my daughter came into the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evelyn Grace Grayson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six pounds, nine ounces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Furious lungs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perfect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the nurse placed her on my chest, I felt the world rearrange itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not around Ryan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not around the marriage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Around her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father leaned down and whispered, \u201cHello, moonlight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And for the first time in months, I felt something inside me begin to heal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Part 5: Who Her Father Was<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

People say divorce is the end of a family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That is not always true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes divorce is the first honest line drawn around one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My divorce from Ryan took eleven months. There were hearings, mediation sessions, property disputes, parenting evaluations, financial disclosures, and more paperwork than any human heart should have to sign while caring for a newborn. I learned to nurse with one hand and answer attorney emails with the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan wanted unsupervised visits immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Patricia objected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The court ordered a gradual plan, with safeguards. Parenting classes. Counseling. Supervised visitation first. No direct contact with me outside approved communication channels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan called it unfair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judge called it appropriate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I called it breathing room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Madison disappeared from social media for a while. Then she returned with a new haircut, vague captions about \u201clessons,\u201d and no necklace. I never contacted her. I never posted about her. I never needed strangers to punish her for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The internet moves fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Court records move slower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And slower things often last longer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan eventually admitted, through his attorney, that he had given Madison the necklace. He claimed he thought it was \u201cjust jewelry\u201d and planned to replace it before I noticed. That sentence told me everything I needed to know about the man I had married.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He thought meaning could be replaced if the object looked similar enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He never understood that love lives in the meaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father came to Atlanta every other weekend after Evelyn was born. He fixed things in my rental house that did not need fixing. A loose cabinet handle. A squeaky door. A porch light that worked perfectly until he decided it needed \u201cchecking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was his way of staying useful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One afternoon, when Evelyn was three months old, I found him in the kitchen holding the necklace box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have an idea,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was tired, wearing leggings with spit-up on the knee, and too emotionally worn out for surprises. \u201cDad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust listen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened the box and took out the necklace. It looked beautiful again, but I still could not wear it. Every time I saw it, I remembered Madison\u2019s selfie and Ryan\u2019s hands on my shoulders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad placed it on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can melt it down,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My throat tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cInto what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA bracelet for Evelyn. Or earrings for you. Or nothing. We can let it become something else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

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

The baby shoe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

For months, I had thought healing meant reclaiming it exactly as it was. Wearing it again. Proving Ryan and Madison had not ruined it. But maybe healing was not always restoration. Maybe sometimes healing was transformation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan you keep the E?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

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

\u201cThe baby shoe?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I touched the chain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen make something for her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two weeks later, Dad brought me a tiny gold bracelet with the three charms attached. It was too large for Evelyn then, something she would grow into. On the inside of the clasp, he had engraved four words:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Never someone else\u2019s gift.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cried when I saw it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not because of Ryan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because of my father.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because he had taken something used to humiliate me and turned it into something my daughter could inherit without shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A year after the hallway incident, I returned to Savannah for Evelyn\u2019s first birthday. We held the party in my father\u2019s backyard under string lights, with pink cupcakes, lemonade, and a banner that said ONEderful Evelyn<\/strong> because my aunt insisted puns were required at children\u2019s birthdays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evelyn wore a yellow dress and frosting on her cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father carried her around like she was visiting royalty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At one point, I stepped inside to get napkins and saw the old necklace photos pinned above Dad\u2019s workbench. The original sketch. The finished piece. A new photo of Evelyn\u2019s bracelet beside them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Under the photos, he had written in pencil:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some things return stronger in another form.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan came to Evelyn\u2019s birthday for one hour under the terms of our parenting plan. He arrived with his sister, who supervised his time. He looked thinner, quieter, and less certain of himself than he had before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He brought a stuffed rabbit and a card.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He did not look at my father for more than half a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was wise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Dad did not threaten him. He did not glare dramatically or make a scene. He simply held Evelyn until it was time for Ryan\u2019s visit, kissed her forehead, and handed her over with the calm dignity of a man who trusted the law because he had helped make sure it was watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan looked at me once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad she\u2019s okay,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at our daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe was always stronger than you understood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He nodded, eyes wet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was wrong,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not answer immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There had been a time when those words would have fed some starving part of me. I would have wanted details. Regret. Explanation. Maybe even a confession grand enough to balance the humiliation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But now I had a daughter pulling frosting from her own dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had a father washing cupcake trays in the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had a life that no longer required Ryan to understand it in order for it to be real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said finally. \u201cYou were.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He accepted it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe because the court had taught him what my words never could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that night, after everyone left and Evelyn fell asleep against my shoulder, Dad and I sat on the porch. Savannah air was warm and thick with the smell of grass and summer rain. Fireflies blinked over the yard like tiny signals from another life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad handed me a glass of sweet tea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen I told you to watch how a man acts when nobody important is in the room, I was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

He looked out at the yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were important. He just didn\u2019t understand that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I swallowed hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a long time, I had replayed the hallway in my mind. Ryan checking left and right. Looking for neighbors. Looking for witnesses. Looking everywhere except at me on the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He thought nobody important was watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evelyn was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The camera was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And whether he liked it or not, the truth was there too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ryan should have checked for cameras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He should have known who my father was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But most of all, he should have known who I was before I had to become someone he feared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was not the woman who would scream in the hallway and then forgive him because he cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was not the wife who would accept a stolen necklace back and pretend the chain had never touched another woman\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was not the pregnant woman he could shove, silence, and manage with a few careful lies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was Emily Grayson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daughter of a man who taught me that precious things are not valuable because men claim them, but because they are made with care, protected with truth, and never handed to someone who treats them cheaply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mother of a little girl who would one day wear a bracelet made from the necklace her father tried to turn into shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a woman who learned, on the hardest floor of her life, that getting back up is not always loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes it sounds like a nurse saying the baby\u2019s heartbeat is strong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes it sounds like a judge granting protection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes it sounds like a father\u2019s tools reshaping gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And sometimes it sounds like silence in a courtroom while a camera shows the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

He Gave His Wife\u2019s Custom Necklace to His Mistress, Shoved His Pregnant Wife to the Floor, … He Gave His Wife\u2019s Custom Necklace to His Mistress, Shoved His Pregnant Wife to the Floor,<\/span>Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":5702,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6,66,67],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5701","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family-stories","category-heart-to-heart","category-us-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5701","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5701"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5701\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5702"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5701"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5701"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.rungbeg.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5701"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}