![\"\"](\"https:\/\/kaylestore.b-cdn.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Tm_V_change_hair_style_and_clothes_color_for_two_women_arguing_5bb7a090-09ee-47c3-8a1f-f498511bf708-1.png\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
My sister-in-law threw my daughter out of her dance performance, saying, \u201cShe\u2019ll ruin my studio\u2019s reputation!\u201d But when the national competition results were posted, my daughter\u2019s name was listed first\u2014and my SIL could only stare at the screen in complete disbelief.<\/strong><\/p>\n When my sister-in-law, Vanessa Hart, asked my thirteen-year-old daughter Lily to come into Studio B, I assumed she was going to encourage her.<\/p>\n The spring showcase was only three days away. Lily had spent months rehearsing her solo, dancing in our garage until her feet blistered and bruises colored her knees. Vanessa ran Hartline Dance Studio in Columbus, Ohio, and for years she had treated that studio like a royal court where she sat on the throne.<\/p>\n Ten minutes later, Lily came back out holding her costume bag against her chest, her face drained of color.<\/p>\n \u201cMom,\u201d she whispered, \u201cAunt Vanessa said I\u2019m not dancing.\u201d<\/p>\n I rose so quickly my chair scraped across the lobby floor.<\/p>\n Vanessa stepped out behind her with folded arms, wearing the tight smile she always used when parents questioned tuition.<\/p>\n \u201cI made a professional decision,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cA professional decision?\u201d I repeated. \u201cThe showcase is Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe is not ready.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily flinched.<\/p>\n I looked at my daughter. Vanessa herself had placed her in the advanced group. Lily had won that solo after auditioning before three teachers. Her music had been edited, her costume fitted, and her name was already printed in the program.<\/p>\n Vanessa lowered her voice, though every person in the lobby could still hear her.<\/p>\n \u201cLily is stiff. She panics under pressure. And frankly, she\u2019ll ruin my studio\u2019s reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n The words struck harder than an open-handed slap.<\/p>\n My husband, Mark, Vanessa\u2019s younger brother, had always told me not to let her get to me. \u201cThat\u2019s just Vanessa,\u201d he would say. Driven. Severe. Competitive.<\/p>\n But this was not severity. This was cruelty.<\/p>\n Lily stared at the floor while tears rolled down her cheeks.<\/p>\n \u201cShe worked harder than anyone,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cHard work doesn\u2019t matter if the result embarrasses the studio,\u201d Vanessa replied. \u201cI have judges, scouts, and sponsors coming. I cannot risk one weak performance.\u201d<\/p>\n Then she said the sentence that made the entire lobby fall silent.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe Lily should try something less visible. Like recreational ballet. Or theater tech.\u201d<\/p>\n My daughter\u2019s hands tightened around the costume bag.<\/p>\n I wanted to yell. I wanted to say every bitter thing I had swallowed for a decade. Instead, I reached for Lily\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Vanessa lifted her chin. \u201cThe decision is final.\u201d<\/p>\n At home, Lily shut herself inside her bedroom. That night, there was no music. No tapping feet. No whispered counting beneath her breath.<\/p>\n At midnight, I found her sitting on the floor with her worn jazz shoes in her hands.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want to quit,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n So the next morning, I made a single phone call.<\/p>\n Not to Vanessa.<\/p>\n To the director of the National Young Performers Dance Competition.<\/p>\n The director was Rebecca Sloan, and she remembered Lily right away.<\/p>\n \u201cShe auditioned for our summer intensive last year, didn\u2019t she?\u201d Rebecca asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said, standing in my kitchen with the phone against my ear while Lily sat at the table, barely eating her cereal.<\/p>\n Rebecca paused. \u201cShe was lovely. Clean lines, strong musicality. Why are you calling?\u201d<\/p>\n I told her everything. I kept my tone even, even though my hands were trembling. Vanessa had pulled Lily from the showcase at the last possible moment, claiming she would hurt the studio\u2019s image. Lily still had a finished solo, a costume, and the registration video we had recorded weeks earlier for another event.<\/p>\n Rebecca listened without cutting in.<\/p>\n When I finished, she said, \u201cOur regional deadline closed two days ago.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily\u2019s shoulders sank.<\/p>\n Then Rebecca added, \u201cBut one junior soloist withdrew yesterday due to an ankle injury. If Lily can submit her paperwork and music by noon, I can place her in the independent dancer category.\u201d<\/p>\n I covered the phone and looked at Lily.<\/p>\n \u201cYou want to do this?\u201d<\/p>\n Her eyes were red, but her voice was steady.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n For the next two days, our home turned into a dance studio. Mark pushed the couch into the garage. I taped marley flooring over the concrete. Lily\u2019s older brother, Ethan, held a Bluetooth speaker and restarted the track every time she missed a turn.<\/p>\n She stumbled. She cried once. She flung one shoe across the garage.<\/p>\n Then she picked it up, slipped it back on, and danced again.<\/p>\n On Saturday morning, while Vanessa\u2019s showcase filled her studio with flowers and applause, we drove two hours to Indianapolis for the regional round of the National Young Performers Dance Competition.<\/p>\n Lily wore a simple navy lyrical costume with one mesh sleeve and tiny silver stones across the bodice. It was not expensive. It had not been custom-made in New York like the costumes Vanessa\u2019s favorite students wore. But when Lily put it on, something shifted in the way she carried herself.<\/p>\n She no longer looked like a girl who had been rejected.<\/p>\n She looked like someone entering a space she had earned.<\/p>\n Backstage, I watched dancers from elite academies stretching in matching jackets. Coaches fixed hairpieces and whispered last-minute corrections. Lily stood next to me, breathing slowly.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to prove anything to your aunt,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n She looked toward the stage curtain.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not dancing for her.\u201d<\/p>\n Her number was thirty-seven.<\/p>\n When they called her name, my stomach tightened until I could hardly breathe.<\/p>\n The music began quietly, just piano at first. Lily moved with careful control, her arms opening like she was sharing a secret. Then the beat lifted, and she leapt.<\/p>\n Not flawlessly.<\/p>\n Not like a machine.<\/p>\n But honestly.<\/p>\n Every turn carried emotion. Every pause had meaning. When she reached the final sequence, the one she always used to rush, she slowed down and held the balance for one full breath longer than she ever had before.<\/p>\n The audience became quiet.<\/p>\n Then the applause rose.<\/p>\n I saw Rebecca Sloan near the judges\u2019 table, arms folded, watching with a small smile.<\/p>\n The awards were posted online the next evening. We were home, eating takeout noodles at the kitchen island, when Ethan shouted from the living room.<\/p>\n \u201cMom! Lily! Results are up!\u201d<\/p>\n Lily froze.<\/p>\n With shaking fingers, I opened the website.<\/p>\n Junior Independent Solo, Lyrical Division.<\/p>\n First place: Lily Carter.<\/p>\n Overall Junior Soloist: Lily Carter.<\/p>\n National Finals Invitation: Lily Carter.<\/p>\n For a moment, none of us spoke.<\/p>\n Then Lily started crying.<\/p>\n Across town, Vanessa Hart was at her studio, sharing showcase photos on social media.<\/p>\n Five minutes later, the competition results went public.<\/p>\n And beneath the post, dozens of parents from Hartline Dance Studio began tagging her.<\/p>\n By Monday morning, Vanessa had seen the results.<\/p>\n I knew because Mark\u2019s phone began buzzing before seven.<\/p>\n He was making coffee, still wearing pajama pants, when he looked at the screen and sighed.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Vanessa.\u201d<\/p>\n I stood at the sink, washing Lily\u2019s water bottle for school. Lily was upstairs, probably staring at the medal she had left on her dresser instead of getting ready.<\/p>\n \u201cAnswer it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Mark hesitated. \u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cBut answer it anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n He put the call on speaker.<\/p>\n Vanessa\u2019s voice filled the kitchen, sharp and short of breath.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t anyone tell me Lily entered Nationals?\u201d<\/p>\n Mark leaned back against the counter. \u201cBecause you kicked her out of your show.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI removed her from one performance for professional reasons.\u201d<\/p>\n I laughed once, though nothing about it was funny.<\/p>\n Vanessa ignored me. \u201cYou made this look intentional. Parents are asking why a dancer good enough to win overall junior soloist wasn\u2019t allowed to perform at my showcase.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood question,\u201d Mark said.<\/p>\n A brief silence followed.<\/p>\n Then Vanessa\u2019s voice shifted. Softer. Calculating.<\/p>\n \u201cListen. The finals are in July, right? Hartline Dance Studio should be listed as her studio affiliation. She trained here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s registered independent,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s ridiculous. She has danced at Hartline for six years.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd three days before her showcase, you told her she would ruin your reputation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe is a child,\u201d Vanessa snapped. \u201cChildren misunderstand things.\u201d<\/p>\n Mark\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n \u201cShe understood perfectly,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Vanessa exhaled loudly. \u201cFine. I was under pressure. The showcase mattered. I had sponsors attending. I had enrollment tours. I needed everything polished.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Lily was disposable,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat is not what I said.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt is what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n For the first time since I had known her, Vanessa had nothing ready to say.<\/p>\n Then she said, \u201cI can help her prepare for finals.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re making this personal.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt became personal when you humiliated my daughter in front of your lobby.\u201d<\/p>\n Vanessa\u2019s voice turned hard again. \u201cYou have no idea how competitive Nationals are. Regionals are nothing. Finals are full of dancers from elite studios. Lily needs real coaching.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019ll get it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cFrom whom?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at the flyer Rebecca Sloan had emailed us the previous night. The competition had provided a list of approved independent coaches, including former professional dancers and college faculty. One name was already circled.<\/p>\n \u201cNot from you.\u201d<\/p>\n Mark ended the call.<\/p>\n For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the dripping faucet.<\/p>\n Then Lily appeared in the doorway, her backpack hanging from one shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cShe wants her name on my win?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n Mark looked guilty. \u201cYou heard?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMost of it.\u201d<\/p>\n I crossed the room and touched her shoulder. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to carry adult problems.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily nodded slightly, but her face looked older than it had the week before.<\/p>\n At school, the news spread faster than we expected. A teacher mentioned it during morning announcements. Her friends made a paper crown from notebook paper and wrote \u201cOVERALL SOLOIST\u201d across the front in purple marker. Lily came home smiling, embarrassed, and a little overwhelmed.<\/p>\n But at Hartline Dance Studio, things felt very different.<\/p>\n Parents started asking questions.<\/p>\n One mother, Dana Whitlock, messaged me privately.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it true Vanessa cut Lily from the showcase before she won regionals?\u201d<\/p>\n I stared at the message for a long time before answering.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n Dana replied almost instantly.<\/p>\n \u201cMy daughter said Lily cried in the dressing room that night. Vanessa told the girls she was \u2018protecting the level of the show.\u2019 I didn\u2019t want to believe it.\u201d<\/p>\n More messages came after that.<\/p>\n Some parents were furious. Some were careful. Some wanted details. I did not add anything dramatic. I did not need to. The truth was enough.<\/p>\n By Wednesday, three students had withdrawn from Hartline\u2019s summer intensive.<\/p>\n By Friday, one assistant teacher had resigned.<\/p>\n Vanessa posted a statement on the studio\u2019s Facebook page.<\/p>\n \u201cAt Hartline Dance, we make difficult artistic decisions in the best interest of our students and our brand. We congratulate all young performers in our community and remain committed to excellence.\u201d<\/p>\n It went badly.<\/p>\n Parents left questions she would not answer.<\/p>\n Why was Lily removed after receiving a solo?<\/p>\n Why was her name still printed in the program?<\/p>\n Why did Vanessa tell students she was protecting the show\u2019s level?<\/p>\n Why was a thirteen-year-old child embarrassed publicly instead of coached privately?<\/p>\n The post was gone by evening.<\/p>\n Meanwhile, Lily began training with Coach Marisol Vega, a retired principal dancer who now worked with independent competitors. Marisol had silver-streaked hair, a soft voice, and eyes that missed nothing.<\/p>\n During their first session, Lily performed her solo once.<\/p>\n When she finished, she waited for criticism, her shoulders tight.<\/p>\n Marisol walked to the center of the studio and said, \u201cYou dance like you are apologizing for taking up space.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily looked down.<\/p>\n Marisol continued, \u201cThat ends today.\u201d<\/p>\n She did not flatter Lily. She corrected her feet, her breathing, her transitions, and her focus. She made Lily repeat one turn sequence fourteen times. She adjusted one arm line and cut four counts from the ending. She told Lily that emotion was not the same as collapsing into sadness.<\/p>\n After the session, Lily was sweaty, exhausted, and glowing.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s tough,\u201d Lily said in the car.<\/p>\n \u201cToo tough?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d She leaned her head against the window. \u201cFair.\u201d<\/p>\n That became the difference.<\/p>\n Vanessa had used toughness as a weapon. Marisol used it as a tool.<\/p>\n Through June, Lily trained three days a week. She still had difficult rehearsals. She still got frustrated. Some nights she came home quiet and ate dinner without saying much. But she never said she wanted to stop.<\/p>\n One night, two weeks before finals, I found her in the garage again. The tape on the floor was peeling at the corners. Her medal hung from a nail near the speaker. She was practicing the final section over and over, stopping herself each time her landing wobbled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need sleep,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cOne more.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou said that six one-mores ago.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled faintly. \u201cThis is the real last one.\u201d<\/p>\n I stayed near the door and watched.<\/p>\n Her movement had changed. The old Lily danced carefully, trying not to make errors. This Lily moved with purpose. She still had softness, but now there was steel beneath it.<\/p>\n When she finished, she did not look to me for approval.<\/p>\n She looked at her reflection in the dark garage window.<\/p>\n Then she nodded to herself.<\/p>\n The National Finals took place in Chicago.<\/p>\n The venue was massive compared to regionals, with banners hanging from the ceiling and vendors selling rhinestone earrings, warm-up boots, protein bars, and competition jackets. Dancers moved everywhere in clouds of hairspray and nervous energy.<\/p>\n Lily checked in as an independent.<\/p>\n No studio name beneath hers.<\/p>\n Just: Lily Carter, Columbus, Ohio.<\/p>\n As we crossed the lobby, I saw a familiar black-and-gold jacket.<\/p>\n Hartline Dance Studio.<\/p>\n Then another.<\/p>\n Then Vanessa.<\/p>\n She stood near the registration desk with three students and two mothers, her hair pulled into a smooth bun, her lipstick flawless. When she saw us, her face froze for one second before she smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cLily,\u201d she said warmly, as though the previous two months had never happened. \u201cYou look beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily stopped beside me.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n Vanessa glanced at the badge hanging around Lily\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n \u201cIndependent,\u201d she said lightly. \u201cThat still looks strange.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt looks right,\u201d Lily replied.<\/p>\n One of Vanessa\u2019s students, a girl named Madison, looked between them with wide eyes. Madison had always been kind to Lily. She stepped forward and whispered, \u201cGood luck.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily smiled. \u201cYou too.\u201d<\/p>\n Vanessa\u2019s smile tightened.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re very busy,\u201d she said. \u201cLots of numbers today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo are we,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n We walked away.<\/p>\n Backstage before the final round, Lily was quieter than usual. Not exactly afraid. Focused. Marisol knelt in front of her and fixed one ribbon on her costume.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is the first thing you do when the music starts?\u201d Marisol asked.<\/p>\n \u201cBreathe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd the second?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTell the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n Marisol smiled. \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n When Lily\u2019s name was called, golden stage lights washed over everything.<\/p>\n She stepped into the center.<\/p>\n I held Mark\u2019s hand. Ethan sat beside us, gripping the program like it owed him something.<\/p>\n The piano began.<\/p>\n Lily breathed.<\/p>\n And then she danced.<\/p>\n This time, there was no apology left in her movement. She did not dance toward the judges, or toward Vanessa, or toward the audience. She moved through the space as if she finally understood the stage was not something she needed permission to claim.<\/p>\n Her turns were clean. Her leaps were high. Her control was sharper than it had been at regionals. But the strongest part was her face. Not a forced competition smile. Not panic. Not pleading.<\/p>\n Presence.<\/p>\n Halfway through, I heard someone behind me whisper, \u201cWho is she?\u201d<\/p>\n At the final balance, she held still so long the music seemed to pause with her. Then she folded to the floor on the last note, one hand pressed over her heart.<\/p>\n The audience burst into applause.<\/p>\n Mark wiped his eyes. Ethan shouted, \u201cThat\u2019s my sister!\u201d so loudly that two people turned around laughing.<\/p>\n I looked across the auditorium and saw Vanessa standing in the side aisle.<\/p>\n She stared at Lily like she had misunderstood a contract and lost everything hidden in the fine print.<\/p>\n Awards took place that evening.<\/p>\n The junior soloists crowded the stage in sparkling costumes, holding hands, bouncing on their toes, trying to seem calm. Lily stood near the end of the line with her number pinned to her jacket.<\/p>\n They announced category placements first.<\/p>\n Lily won first in Junior Lyrical.<\/p>\n Then came special awards.<\/p>\n \u201cOutstanding Musical Interpretation,\u201d the announcer said, \u201cgoes to Lily Carter.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily covered her mouth.<\/p>\n Then came the overall awards.<\/p>\n Tenth place. Ninth. Eighth.<\/p>\n Each name brought cheers from different parts of the room.<\/p>\n Fifth place.<\/p>\n Fourth.<\/p>\n Third.<\/p>\n My heart was pounding so hard I felt it in my throat.<\/p>\n \u201cSecond overall junior soloist\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Not Lily.<\/p>\n Mark whispered, \u201cOh my God.\u201d<\/p>\n The announcer opened the final card.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd your National Junior Solo Champion is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n The pause seemed endless.<\/p>\n \u201cLily Carter, independent dancer from Columbus, Ohio!\u201d<\/p>\n For one second, Lily stood frozen.<\/p>\n Then the girl beside her screamed and gently pushed her forward.<\/p>\n The room exploded.<\/p>\n Lily walked to the front of the stage with tears streaming down her cheeks. They placed a crystal trophy in her hands, nearly too large for her to hold. Cameras flashed. The announcer asked her to pose. She tried, then laughed through her tears.<\/p>\n I cried without trying to hide it. Mark hugged Ethan. Marisol clapped once, slowly and proudly, her eyes shining.<\/p>\n Across the room, Vanessa stood completely motionless.<\/p>\n Her own students had done well. Madison had placed third in her category. Hartline had not failed. But Vanessa had lost the thing she cared about most.<\/p>\n Control of the story.<\/p>\n The following morning, the competition posted the winners online.<\/p>\n The caption read:<\/p>\n \u201cCongratulations to Lily Carter, independent dancer and 2026 National Junior Solo Champion.\u201d<\/p>\n Independent dancer.<\/p>\n Those two words traveled farther than anything I could have argued.<\/p>\n Local news picked it up because Lily was from Ohio. The headline was simple:<\/p>\n \u201cColumbus Teen Wins National Dance Title After Entering as Independent Competitor.\u201d<\/p>\n They interviewed Lily in our living room. She wore jeans, a pale blue sweater, and her hair in a loose ponytail. The reporter asked why she had competed independently.<\/p>\n Lily looked at me, then at Mark, then back at the camera.<\/p>\n \u201cI wanted to keep dancing,\u201d she said. \u201cSome people told me I wasn\u2019t good enough for the stage. But my family helped me find another one.\u201d<\/p>\n She never said Vanessa\u2019s name.<\/p>\n She did not need to.<\/p>\n Hartline\u2019s enrollment dropped that fall. Not enough to shut the studio down, but enough that people noticed. Vanessa lost two competitive teams to another academy. Months later, she sent Mark an email saying she hoped \u201cfamily could move forward.\u201d<\/p>\n Mark answered with one sentence.<\/p>\n \u201cWe can move forward, but we are not moving backward.\u201d<\/p>\n Lily never went back to Hartline.<\/p>\n She continued training with Marisol. The next year, she joined a performing arts school. She studied contemporary, ballet, jazz, choreography, and how to accept correction without hearing cruelty in it.<\/p>\n Sometimes failure still frightened her. Sometimes one harsh comment could still make her quiet. Healing was not dramatic. It was slow, ordinary, and built through repeated proof that one person\u2019s rejection was not the same as the truth.<\/p>\n A year later, Lily danced at another national event.<\/p>\n This time, she did not take first.<\/p>\n She placed fourth.<\/p>\n When she came offstage, sweaty and breathless, I prepared myself for disappointment.<\/p>\n Instead, she smiled widely.<\/p>\n \u201cI know exactly what I need to fix.\u201d<\/p>\n That was when I understood that Vanessa had not only underestimated Lily\u2019s talent.<\/p>\n She had completely misunderstood her.<\/p>\n Lily was never weak because she cried.<\/p>\n She was strong because she kept dancing after someone tried to make her stop.<\/p>\n And Vanessa, who once said my daughter would ruin her studio\u2019s reputation, had to watch that same girl create a reputation of her own.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My sister-in-law threw my daughter out of her dance performance, saying, \u201cShe\u2019ll ruin my studio\u2019s reputation!\u201d But when the national competition results were posted, my daughter\u2019s name was listed first\u2014and … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10735,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10734","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-new-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10734","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10734"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10734\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10736,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10734\/revisions\/10736"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10735"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10734"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10734"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/reallifedaily.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10734"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}<\/div>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\nPart 2<\/strong><\/h1>\n
PART 3<\/strong><\/h1>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n