{"id":404,"date":"2026-04-06T12:52:22","date_gmt":"2026-04-06T12:52:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/?p=404"},"modified":"2026-04-06T12:52:22","modified_gmt":"2026-04-06T12:52:22","slug":"my-little-neighbor-didnt-let-anyone-into-his-home-until-a-police-officer-arrived-and-stepped-inside","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/?p=404","title":{"rendered":"My Little Neighbor Didn’t Let Anyone Into His Home Until a Police Officer Arrived and Stepped Inside"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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I’m 91 and had basically accepted that my life was going to end in silence\u2014no visitors, no calls, just me and the ticking clock\u2014until a skinny 12-year-old with a skateboard moved in next door, and one night I heard him crying alone on his porch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I’m 91, and for a long time I felt like I’d already died, I just hadn’t had the decency to lie down yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My husband’s been gone for decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

Birthdays consisted of me, a cupcake, and the TV.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My kids moved away, started families, and slowly drifted off. At first, there were visits. Then calls. Then texts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Birthdays consisted of me, a cupcake, and the TV. Holidays were frozen dinners and reruns. Most days it was just the hallway clock ticking and the house creaking like it was trying to talk to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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That’s the kind of lonely that makes you feel see-through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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No one ever called for Jack.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Then Jack moved in next door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was 12. Too big for his age in that lanky way, hat always backward, skateboard glued to his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’d see him out front in the evenings. Up and down the sidewalk. Practicing tricks. Falling. Getting back up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Other kids would get called in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Dinner!” Or “Homework!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

His house stayed dark most nights.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Doors opened. Porches lit up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No one ever called for Jack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His house stayed dark most nights. No car in the driveway. No lights in the windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At first, I told myself I wasn’t being nosy. Just observant. That lie worked until the night I heard him cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was late. I woke up to this soft sound. Not TV. Not the pipes. Not a baby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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There it was again. Muffled, broken sobs.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I held my breath and listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There it was again. Muffled, broken sobs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I got up, pulled on my robe and slippers, and shuffled to the front window. I moved the curtain just enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack was sitting on his porch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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His shoulders were shaking.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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He was in a T-shirt, even though it was cold. Knees pulled to his chest. Arms wrapped around them. His cap lay on the step beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His shoulders were shaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No porch light. No glow from inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened my door and stepped outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Jack?” I called softly. “Honey, are you okay?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Are you cold? Is your mom home?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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He jerked his head up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His face was streaked with tears. He looked terrified, like I’d caught him doing something illegal instead of crying his heart out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m fine,” he blurted. His voice cracked. “I’m fine.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Are you cold? Is your mom home?” I took one small step closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stared at me for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I didn’t sleep much after that.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Then he grabbed his hat, ran inside, and slammed the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The sound echoed all the way down the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there, old and useless in my robe, and then shuffled back inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn’t sleep much after that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next day, I watched his house like it was my job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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By seven, my stomach felt like a clenched fist.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Usually, after school, he’d come out with his skateboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That day, nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Four o’clock. Five. Six.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Porch dark. Curtains unmoved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By seven, my stomach felt like a clenched fist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Just say something so I know you’re okay.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

I baked a pie to give my hands something to do. Apple. The one thing I still know how to do without a recipe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When it cooled, I carried it next door and knocked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Jack?” I called. “It’s Mrs. Doyle. I brought pie.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knocked again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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By morning, I’d made up my mind.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to open,” I said. “Just say something so I know you’re okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No footsteps. No TV. No “go away.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just a closed door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went home, set the pie on my table, and stared at it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I called a taxi and went to the police station.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

By morning, I’d made up my mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I called a taxi and went to the police station because I don’t drive anymore, and frankly, at ninety-one, I shouldn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The officer at the front desk looked about 12 himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Ma’am, can I help you?” he asked, standing up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I hope so,” I said. “I’m worried about a boy on my street. I might be wrong. I’d like to be wrong. But if I’m right and say nothing\u2026”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“I don’t see any adults there much.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He nodded and grabbed a clipboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What’s your name?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Helen. I live on Maple.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“And the boy?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Jack. He’s 12. Lives next door. I don’t see any adults there much.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You did the right thing coming in.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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I told him about the crying on the porch. The dark house. The unanswered door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn’t laugh or tell me I was overreacting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You did the right thing coming in,” he said. His badge said LEWIS. “Let me get Officer Murray. He handles welfare checks.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few minutes later, another officer came out. Older. Calm. The kind of man who makes you feel like things might work out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shook my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“If something happens to that boy and I sat on my hands\u2026”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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“Helen? I’m Murray,” he said. “Tell me about Jack.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I did. Again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He listened. Jotted notes. Didn’t interrupt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I finished, I twisted my hands in my lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I know I’m just the old lady next door,” I said. “But if something happens to that boy and I sat on my hands\u2026”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“I’ll stop by this afternoon.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said. “You’re someone who noticed. That matters. I’ll stop by this afternoon. Would you like to be there?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Yes,” I said, without thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Alright then,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon, his cruiser pulled onto our street. He came to my door first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You ready?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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After a moment, the door opened a crack.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Not even a little,” I said. “But let’s go.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walked to Jack’s together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Murray knocked. Firm, not aggressive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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After a moment, the door opened a crack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw one eye, a slice of his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Is your mom home?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Jack?” Murray said. “Hi. I’m Officer Murray. Your neighbor was worried.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack’s gaze jumped to me, then back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Is your mom home?” Murray asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“She’s working,” Jack said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Okay,” Murray said. “Mind if I step in and talk for a minute? You’re not in trouble. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Do you have a warrant?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Jack narrowed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Do you have a warrant?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost snorted. Twelve going on 40.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Murray’s mouth twitched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No warrant,” he said. “I’m not here to search. Just to check you’re alright.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“The house is old.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Jack hesitated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, from somewhere deeper inside the house, we heard a loud crack. Like something heavy had snapped or fallen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I jumped. Murray stiffened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What was that?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“The house is old,” Jack said quickly. “It does that.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The place felt wrong.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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“Jack,” Murray said, calm but firmer now, “step back, please.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack’s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We walked inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The place felt wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Anyone home?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

There was one ancient couch. A wobbly table. A couple of boxes. No pictures. No lamps. No sign of grown-up life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Police!” Murray called. “Anyone home?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The kitchen sink was full of dishes. Trash overflowing. A pot on the stove with something burned solid in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He checked the short hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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One mattress on the floor.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Bathroom. Empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bedroom. One mattress on the floor. Thin blanket. Pillow. A backpack and a skateboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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That was about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Murray came back and faced Jack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“How long has your mom been gone?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You’ve been here alone that long?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Jack stared at the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“A while,” he mumbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“How long is ‘a while’?” Murray pressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack shifted, tugging at his sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“A week,” he said. Then, in a rush, “Or nine days.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Mom sends money when she can.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

My hand flew to my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Alone?” I said. “You’ve been here alone that long?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack’s back went stiff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m fine,” he said. “I go to school. I make food. Mom sends money when she can. She had to help my grandparents. There wasn’t room for me to go. She said I’d be okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You shouldn’t be handling this by yourself.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He sounded like he was repeating something, not believing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’m almost 13,” he added, like that turned him into an adult.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Murray’s voice softened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’re still a kid,” he said. “You shouldn’t be handling this by yourself.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack’s eyes filled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Please don’t take me away.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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“Please don’t take me away,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go live with strangers. I’m doing fine. Just\u2026 don’t get my mom in trouble. Please.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned to me like I had any power.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Tell him,” he begged. “Tell him I’m okay, Mrs. Doyle.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked closer, knees complaining.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You’re not okay.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“I think you’re brave,” I said. “But no, sweetheart. You’re not okay. You’re scared and alone and pretending you’re not. That isn’t okay.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Murray looked between us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Mrs. Doyle,” he said quietly, “you live alone?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said. “Just me. For a long time.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“If we get his mom’s permission and clear it with CPS,” he said, “would you be willing to have Jack stay with you for now?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You’d want me there?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Absolutely.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack blinked fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You’d want me there?” he asked. “I’m loud. And I fall a lot. And I forget stuff.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I’ve had too much quiet and not enough falling,” I said. “I think we’ll manage.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

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“Jack, nobody’s dragging you out tonight.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Alright,” he said. “Jack, nobody’s dragging you out tonight. I’m going to make some calls, talk to your mom, and do this the right way. Fair?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jack nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The next week was paperwork and calls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Child Protective Services came out. They inspected my house. They talked to Jack’s school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“I thought it would be three days.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

They called his mom in Alabama, where she’d gone to take care of her sick parents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She cried on speakerphone so hard I could hear her breath catching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I thought it would be three days,” she kept saying. “Then Dad got worse. Then Mom fell again. I kept thinking, ‘Tomorrow I’ll go back.’ I know I messed up. I just didn’t know what else to do.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In the end, they agreed: Jack could stay with me, as long as his mom stayed in contact and didn’t vanish again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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He moved into my guest room with his backpack.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He moved into my guest room with his backpack, his game console, and the skateboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood in the doorway, awkward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“So, um\u2026 what do I call you?” he asked. “Helen? Or\u2026”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You can call me whatever feels right,” I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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He stared at his shoes, then looked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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We settled into a routine.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

“Is\u2026 Grandma Helen weird?” he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt something unclench inside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It’s perfect,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We settled into a routine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I made breakfast. He pretended to hate oatmeal and then scraped the bowl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Did you have this kind of math?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He went to school. I watched for him out the window like some clich\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He came home, flung his backpack on a chair, and raided my fridge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We did homework at the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Did you have this kind of math?” he groaned once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“No,” I said. “We just traded goats.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The house stopped sounding like a tomb.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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He nearly choked laughing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We watched movies. He showed me superheroes. I showed him black-and-white films where people actually talked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I taught him pie crust. He showed me how to use his tablet without breaking it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The house stopped sounding like a tomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few weeks later, his mom came back in person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You can’t disappear like that again.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

She knocked on my door, eyes swollen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Jack flew at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You can’t disappear like that again,” he said into her shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I know,” she cried. “I’m so sorry, baby. I thought I was doing what I had to. I was wrong.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat at the table and talked. About her parents. About money. About being alone with too many people depending on you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I understood how desperation can warp judgment.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

We didn’t excuse what she’d done. But I understood how desperation can warp judgment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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After that, things weren’t perfect, but they were\u2026 better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes Jack slept at her place, sometimes at mine. Most afternoons he ended up at my table, anyway, complaining about homework and asking what was for dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His mom started saying, “Go ask Grandma Helen,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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He started carrying my groceries and scolding me for climbing stools.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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

He grew taller. His hat didn’t look as silly. His voice dropped. He started carrying my groceries and scolding me for climbing stools.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“Sit down, Grandma,” he’d say. “You’re gonna break yourself.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’d swat his arm and sit down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile, my body gave me new complaints.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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I went home and pulled out my will.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Then came the word: cancer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“At your age,” the doctor said gently, “we focus on comfort, not cure.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went home, sat at my old desk, and pulled out my will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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It still had my children’s names on it. Children who hadn’t walked through my door in years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

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“You don’t have to do that.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Then I picked up a pen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I was done, everything I had\u2014small savings, jewelry, and this little house\u2014was left to Jack and his mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The people who’d shown up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told his mom first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You don’t have to do that,” she said, crying. “Your family\u2014”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

“But why us?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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“My family is whoever knocks on my door. That’s you two.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Later, I told Jack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went very still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Why?” he asked. “I mean\u2026 thank you. But why us?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Because when I was alone and ready to disappear,” I said, “you sat on my couch, ate my bad oatmeal, and let me be your grandma. You gave me a reason to wake up.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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“You’re stuck with me.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

He hugged me so tight my ribs popped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You’re stuck with me,” he said. “Even when you’re bossy.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Good,” I said. “Somebody has to be.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t know how much time I’ve got left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I know this:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I won’t leave this world as a ghost in an empty house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\n

This house will stay full of life long after I’m gone.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

When I go, there’ll be a boy\u2014almost a man\u2014who remembers that an old woman next door stepped out on a cold night and asked if he was okay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There’ll be a woman who knows this house is hers now, not just on paper but in memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There’ll be skateboard marks on the steps and pencil lines on the wall where we measured how tall Jack got.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And this house, which once only echoed with a ticking clock, will stay full of life long after I’m gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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All because one night, I heard a kid crying and decided not to look away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did this story remind you of something from your own life? Feel free to share it in the Facebook comments.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I’m 91 and had basically accepted that my life was going to end in silence\u2014no visitors, no calls, just me and the ticking clock\u2014until a skinny 12-year-old… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":405,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-404","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=404"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":406,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/404\/revisions\/406"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/405"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=404"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=404"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chomeo.top\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=404"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}