My voice was hoarse and my throat hurt as if I had swallowed a needle.
Today was my daughter Skylar's seventh birthday. While I was in the kitchen making a cake, she had snuck out.
I searched for her everywhere frantically, without even wearing my shoes.
During this period, I called Michael more than ten times, but he didn't answer any of them.
Until the hospital called me and said Skylar had been in a car accident.
When I rushed to the hospital, I saw my daughter covered in blood, barely alive.
The doctor told me her spleen, lungs, and liver were ruptured, and her legs crushed, needing immediate surgery.
I signed the consent form with trembling hands, overwhelmed by the doctor's words.
Before being taken to the emergency room, Skylar weakly asked, "Mommy, where's Daddy?"
"Skylar, Daddy is coming soon. You’ll be okay. Hold on for Daddy, promise me, will you?"
Outside the emergency room, I repeatedly dialed Michael's number until he finally answered.
"Michael, Skylar was in a car accident. She wants to see you. Please, please come to the hospital."
I thought, as a father, Michael would rush to the hospital upon hearing this.
However, he yelled angrily on the phone.