Historias cortas y novelas de Doctor Family Emotions

My mother is hospitalized due to a terminal illness. She's in urgent need of a kidney transplant to save her life. I'm the only one who can perform the surgery, but I give the kidney to a stranger. My father and husband get on their knees before me on the day of the surgery. They beg me to save my mother. However, I shrug and say, "I can't do anything about this. A life is a life, regardless of who the person is. This is what she gets for coming late—death is waiting for her."

My mother is a forensic doctor. When she's at the market for some grocery shopping, she sees human flesh being sold at a butcher's stall. She calls the police before contacting my cousin to tell her to stay safe. Her friend reminds her to also pay attention to me, but my mother is scornful. "She can die out there for all I care. I never want to see her again!" She doesn't know that she's already seen me, though. She didn't recognize her daughter from the pile of flesh that's waiting for her examination.

The day I found out I was a match for my dad—stage four leukemia—I bailed. Mom tore the world apart looking for me, but yeah, she had to watch him go. After that, she drowned herself in research, built a name, even adopted this perfect little angel. We crossed paths again at some fancy leukemia conference she was hosting. I was on the demo table. She took one look and scoffed. "Charlotte Stein, not the time for your crap. Get up and go." The host blinked, stunned. "Dr. Cooper... you know this cadaver?" She actually laughed. "What, she paid you for this stunt?" The host turned ghost-white. "M-Miss Stein passed three days ago..."

My mother is a hospital director. To give my brother, an intern doctor, more hands-on experience, she assigns him as the lead surgeon for my brain tumor operation. I beg her to let someone else do it and tell her it's my only chance at survival. But she slaps me hard across the face and screams, "How did I raise such a selfish, ungrateful child? Your brother has just started his internship—can't you help him improve his skills? Is that too much to ask?" Later, the surgery fails. I die on the operating table. And my mother seems to have aged decades overnight.

My son, Tyler, never really had his dad around growing up. Because my husband, Ethan, was a top doctor, always working late. He pulled countless patients back from the brink of death, but he misdiagnosed his own son's pneumonia as a simple cold. All because he was on the phone with his first love, Isabella, while he was supposed to be listening to Tyler's chest. That night, when Tyler's life was on the line, Ethan claimed he was in a critical surgery and hung up on me ten times. I rushed our son to the hospital, only to find out my husband was at a birthday party for Isabella and her daughter. In the dead of night, Isabella posted a photo of the three of them on Instagram. At the same time, my son, Tyler, died in the very hospital where his father worked. The next day, I held a funeral for my son all alone. Three days later, I boarded a plane out of Seattle, clutching a photo of my son. It was only then that my husband, Ethan, found out Tyler was dead, started searching for me like a madman.

When the murderer tortures me to death, my criminal investigator dad and chief forensic pathologist mom are cheering at my brother's match. The criminal saws off my tongue. He answers my Dad's call with my finger. Just before the call ends, Dad's cold voice cuts through. "Playing dead, huh? We should never have brought him back." The murderer chuckles mockingly. "Looks like I grabbed the wrong kid. I thought they'd care more about their real son." When Mom and Dad arrive at the crime scene later, they stare at the mutilated body in shock and rage at the murderer's cruelty. But they never realize that the broken, bloodied body is their biological son.

While I was traveling overseas with my family, a sudden flood hit. My fiancé slung my sister Joan over his back because her legs were weak, and ran for safety. My parents didn't have time for me, but they still remembered to grab the parrot they had just bought for Joan. All of them flew home overnight and even posted in the family group chat about how lucky everyone was to survive. But… They forgot something. I was still trapped in the flood, alone and helpless. When I woke up, I called my mentor without hesitation. "Dr. Jackson, I've decided to go with you and join Doctors Without Borders. I'm never coming back."

Three years married to Victor, the Don, and as far as New York was concerned, we were untouchable. Until my own car was in the shop, so I took his daily driver from the garage. On the way, I activated the car's smart system and said, "Navigate home." But the screen pinpointed a place I had never seen before — a villa in the suburbs. Then, a sugary-sweet voice floated from the speakers: "Okay! Setting course for Victor and Mia's secret castle." My stomach dropped. Who was Mia? And what secret castle? Without a second thought, I dialed his number. "The home address is set to some strange place." He just laughed it off. "Oh, that. One of my guys' car broke down the other day. I let him use mine to drop someone off." "Okay, no problem," I said, smiling into the phone. I ended the call and pulled up the navigation history. That villa address was listed seventeen times, every single one on a day Victor was supposedly "out of town on business." I fired up the engine and drove.

I'm a privileged only child hailing from the wealthy coastal region. In fact, my family has just received three brand-new apartments from the government after they've bought up our old property for redevelopment. On Christmas Eve, my cousin, Patrick Snyder, brings his girlfriend, Kelsey Randall, back for dinner. She stares at me for a while before gasping in shock. "Hang on, you look really familiar! You must be 69goddess, right? I saw your videos on a porn site before! You really have an amazing figure!" The atmosphere at the dining table goes eerily silent at that moment. My relatives all shoot me disgusted looks simultaneously. Dad is so pissed that he tosses his newly-shelled crab away. Meanwhile, Mom can barely catch her breath after hearing the news. Patrick shields Kelsey from me while looking disdainful. "You bring nothing but shame to the family, Jillian! Don't go around telling others that you know me from now on!" I wipe my hands with a napkin slowly. Then, I shoot a wide smile at the pretentious Kelsey. "Have you forgotten that I'm the one performed the gender-affirming surgery on you, Kelsey?"

During a livestream of my brother, Douglas Wilcox's heart transplant surgery, I, the lead surgeon, turn tail and flee with my tail between my legs halfway through the surgery. Because of that, Douglas ends up dying on the operating table, and I become a murderer. My mom kneels on the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. She questions me, "You're the only one capable of performing this surgery in the entire country! Why did you run away? "We've been waiting for 20 long years for a suitable heart that can save Douglas' life! You're the one who killed him!" In the face of the growing public outlash and the pressure exerted by the health department, the police built a case on this incident and decided to investigate me. On the day I'm whisked away by the police, the enraged onlookers and the reporters have me surrounded. "Dr. Wilcox, although you're just an adopted daughter, the Wilcox family still loves and pampers you to no end. Why did you do this? "People without medical ethics like you are murderers! You deserve to get skinned alive!" I just look at the camera with a stony expression. "Someone else is the actual murderer here. The truth and the proof that all of you badly want are already revealed in the livestream."

In the third year of my wolf decay, I was dying. It was a rare condition. I wanted to donate my body to research. I called my mother, three years since I'd last seen her, and asked her to sign the donation consent form. Without her signature, there'd be no one to handle my remains. She was busy with work. "Are you really making up something like this just to get attention?" she snapped. But I begged, and she gave a cold laugh and agreed. "What a miserable thing to deal with. You better actually be dying." Later, my wolf heart ended up on her dissection table. And that woman, who had nothing but contempt for me, actually killed three people for me.

In my last life, the Fosters acknowledged me as their real son. But my own sister framed me for causing their adopted son's relapse. My biological parents believed her and threw me out. Not long after, I died sick and alone on the street. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the Fosters came to take me home. Gracie Foster stood in front of our parents, pointed at me, and said, "Mom, Dad, he's not my brother!" They looked at me in disappointment, then turned and left. I stood there without taking out the locket that could prove who I was, then quietly walked back into the orphanage. Twenty years later, I became one of the country's leading cardiologist. The woman sitting across from me handed over a medical file, her voice trembling. "Doctor, please. Save my brother." When I saw the name, I stopped. My gaze shifted to her worn, haggard face. I stared at her for a long time before finally saying, "I won't take this patient."

Jerry Griffin, my younger twin brother, shoves aside the top reconstructive surgeon that Simone Murphy, the most illustrious heiress in Dressington, invited over just for him. "This scar is a part of me now. If you care about me, you'll leave it alone!" Jerry declares. Even though the scar on his arm looks rather gruesome, he maintains a look of pride in his eyes. "If you think it's an eyesore, Simone, then just stay away from me!" Standing on the side, I stroke the half of my face that is covered in a nasty burn scar. The very thing Jerry scorns is what I've been dreaming of all along. I grab the sleeve of the doctor, Phoebe Harris, and beg her to check on my face. Jerry eyes me in contempt. "What happened to your pride, Isaac? Are you really going to stoop to anything for something as frivolous as your looks?" Simone sends an icy look in my direction as well. "Why does Jerry have a loser like you for a brother?" Nevertheless, she agrees to help me find someone who can treat my scar—on one condition. I, a coding genius, have to work for her, free of charge, for three years. One night, we get drunk and end up in bed. From then on, she starts treating me slightly differently. But one day, I overhear her conversation with her friend. "Someone like Isaac Griffin is just a plaything to me. I'm only toying with him to pass the time."

The night before my wedding, a car hit me and put me in the hospital. Not one person in my family would pick up. Neither would my fiance. With nowhere else to turn, I posted a single message in our family group chat. "I was in a car accident. Can anyone come see me?" My oldest brother, a senior government official, called back with the smooth official impatience he used at work. "Rosalie, you've had a heart condition since you were a child. Jocelyn has spent five years being the daughter to Mom and Dad that you couldn't be. Show a little gratitude, and stop using an ugly lie like this to wreck the birthday party we planned for her." Then my second brother—an internationally renowned designer—spoke from beside him, his voice laced with impatience. "Stop calling us, and stop calling Miles. The wedding's tomorrow. Can't you keep quiet for one day? You really think the whole world has to revolve around you?" I hung up without a word, and the tears slid from the corners of my eyes. Then the door opened, and my third brother, who was also my cardiac surgeon, came to stand beside the bed with something complicated in his face. "Rosie, the donor heart that was supposed to go to you went to Jocelyn's cousin instead. Be reasonable about this. Our family owes her. Go into the group and apologize, say you lied, and let her have her birthday. "Don't worry. She's already found a broker. He can get you another heart in about a month, and you can wait that long. I'm here. Everything's going to be fine." It was like going through the ice on a lake. I pulled up a smile that wouldn't hold. "Nathaniel, how long has it been since you looked at my reports? I think I've got about two weeks left."

A highway pursuit of a fugitive ended in a crash. I was rushed to the hospital alongside a death-row convict. "The patient's left chest cavity has been pierced by rebar. He needs emergency surgery immediately. Get his family on the line!" I did not want my mother, who was thousands of miles away, to worry. I forced myself to stay conscious and prepared to sign the consent form on my own. Yet the deputy chief of the military hospital snatched the form out of my hands. He ordered the staff to wheel me out of the operating room by force, all so they could treat the barely scratched convict instead. "Save him first. He has a clotting disorder. If the bleeding isn't stopped now, it'll be fatal!" The staff stared at him in disbelief. "But this patient is a police academy cadet. His condition's clearly more critical." The man spared me a single indifferent glance. "Trust my judgment. He won't die. Save the fugitive first." I bit back the pain and reached for the hem of his coat with trembling hands, but he shook me off without a second thought. He spoke again without looking at me. "I'm his father. I'll sign the liability waiver."

Wyatt Clark, my fiance; Wanda Stone, my adopted sister; and I get into a car crash on the way to register our marriage. Wanda and I are both taken to the hospital. Mom, a renowned surgeon, glances at my back, which is covered in blood, then urgently gathers the doctors and nurses to treat Wanda's two-inch cut. "Wanda's injury is in a visible spot. If we don't treat it immediately, it will leave a scar. "I'm your biological mother, after all. If I were to treat you first, people might accuse me of favoritism. I'll treat your injuries once I'm done with Wanda." I have no choice but to grab Wyatt, who has just changed into his white coat. "S-Save me—" Wyatt coldly pulls away from me before I can even finish speaking. "You were in the back seat—the safest spot. Wanda, on the other hand, was in the passenger seat. How could your injuries be worse than hers? Do you really have to compete with Wanda for attention every single time, Gloria?" He doesn't even look back at me before he rushes into the ER. He seems to have forgotten that when the accident happened, he swerved to protect Wanda in the passenger seat, leaving me in the back to take the full force of the impact. Mom seems to have forgotten the orange wristband on me, which indicates that I am in critical condition. I gradually start losing consciousness, knowing that the glass shard lodged inside me is about to take my life.