I frantically asked for help, but the zoo staff said that the door could not be opened without Alexander's order.
I suppressed my grief and called Alexander desperately, but he hung up.
Seeing my daughter's increasingly weak breathing, I lost my mind and banged my body against the glass door. I don't know how long it took before it finally cracked.
In an instant, all the glass shards scratched my skin, but I didn't care about the pain, picked up my daughter's body and rushed out.
She seemed to sense my approach and spoke intermittently, with blood flowing out.
"Mom, it hurts..."
"This... this is for... for dad..."
I looked down at the painting in my daughter's hand that had been pinched to the point of being deformed. There was a clear portrait of a man on it.
My heart ached so much that it almost exploded. I bit my lips hard to barely calm myself down.
I hugged her weak body tightly, wiped away my tears, and said softly:
"Emily, don't be afraid, mommy will take you to the hospital now!"
After saying that, I rushed to the hospital, stopped a car and rushed to the hospital.
But when I ran to the emergency room for help, the doctor looked at the child's wound and shook his head at me: