One day, a father took his little daughter to new york to meet his wife.

One morning, on a transatlantic passenger ship, my father was peeling apples with a waist knife. Suddenly, the boat suddenly rocked and my father fell to the ground. The knife plunged into his father's chest. His lips suddenly trembled and his face turned pale. My daughter saw it and screamed and ran to help my father, but she didn't know the knife was gone. ...

The father smiled and pushed away his daughter's hand and told her, "Nothing, just a fall." Then, he gently picked up the knife, wiped the blood with his thumb and got up slowly. In this way, my father sang a lullaby to his daughter every night and tied her last bow in the morning to show her the blue of the sea. The night before he arrived, his father came to his daughter and told her: Father smiled, leaned down and carved a deep kiss on her forehead.

Arriving at new york Harbor, my daughter saw her mother in the crowd at a glance. She shouted, "mom, mom!" " "At this time, the nearby tourists exclaimed, and the daughter turned to look. Her father fell on his back and his chest was bleeding like a blowout-he was dead.

The autopsy results are very surprising. It was the knife that cut his heart muscle in half, but he lived three days longer. The hospital's only explanation was that the incision was too thin, and the two cardiac muscles were tightly stuck together, and the blood was lost for three days. At a medical consultation meeting, people wanted to give this miracle a name. Some people called it the Atlantic miracle, while others said it was named after his father. At this time, a senior doctor said, and then he said slowly: the name of this miracle is father.