Doctor Short Stories & Novels

Everyone in Logan Bradshaw's social circle knows he dotes on me endlessly. He turns down the marriage his family has arranged for him for my sake. His love for me remains unchanged for three years. However, things change during his bachelor party before our wedding. His true love asks, "Will you leave with me if I crash your wedding?" He says seriously, "I will." I hold back my tears and text my wealthy best friend. "Can you take me away from here in the shortest time possible?" She arrives seven minutes later. Her car's tires are practically on fire because of how fast she drove. "I told you you should've married a rich guy and enjoyed the good life! "You totally deserve it, with your looks and personality! My brother is as handsome as they come, and my father still has it going. Pick one!"

I'm diagnosed with late-stage cancer after undergoing a pre-employment medical checkup. My husband says the medication for my condition is expensive. He also says it can only relieve my pain, not treat the cause. I only have a year to live. Upon my husband's pleading, I agree to do an IVF. I endure the pain and put myself through torture to leave him with a child. However, I overhear him saying the child growing inside me isn't mine—it's his and his lover's. He's the one who wants me dead!

My mother-in-law's illness relapsed again, and only my husband, Xavier Grey could save her. However, Xavier, known as "The Healer", refused to leave the grave of his first love, Eve Parker. When I begged him, pleading desperately for help, he responded coldly, "What's this new trick of yours? Stay out of my sight!" In the end, my mother-in-law passed away in the emergency room. Yet, at the same time, his beloved first love returned from the dead. Now, standing before my mother-in-law's brand-new gravestone, Xavier finally went mad.

I miscarry after happening upon my husband, Xavier Leeson, being intimate with someone else. He kneels before me and explains that his loyalty toward me has never swayed. I look at the man who's loved me for nine years and waited for me for five years. Ultimately, I still choose to believe him. After an arduous process of trying to conceive another child, I finally get pregnant again. That's when I accidentally overhear him complaining to his colleagues. "The thought of her being with her ex for five years makes me think that even the children she has are dirty." It shall be as he wishes, then. When he performs his next abortion, he's abhorred when he learns I'm the one he's operating on.

Alpha Scott hated me, his fated mate, more than anything. All because I was just a human, a useless creature without claws. His heart belonged entirely to his childhood sweetheart, Joanna. After Joanna died in an accident, he hated me for ten years. But when an enemy pack’s bomb exploded in front of our den, he saved me. Before he died, covered in blood and lying in my arms, he used his last ounce of strength to push away my trembling hand. "Elena, if only the Moon Goddess had never let us meet..." At the funeral, the former Luna—Scott's mother—grabbed my collar, sobbing uncontrollably. "Scott, it's my fault. I never should have forced you to accept this human. If I had supported your choice of Joanna, would any of this have happened today?" I didn't answer. Because she was right. After being dragged out of the funeral, I climbed Skyfall Ridge—the pack's sacred ground—alone and leaped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the Moon Goddess designated me as Scott's mate. This time, I decided to sever all ties with Scott, to give everyone what they truly wanted.

I have a premature rupture of the membrane when I'm 38 weeks pregnant. I have no choice but to undergo an emergency C-section. To my surprise and dismay, the anesthesiologist is my ex-boyfriend, with whom I broke up eight months ago. God, save me! Could I please have another anesthesiologist? It's my ex-boyfriend's child I'm giving birth to, and I suddenly don't want to bring the child into the world anymore!

The ninth time I found a strange man's item in my fiancée's car, I picked up the ring and asked, "Whose ring is this?" "Are you doubting me again?" Olivia's voice dripped with impatience. She dialed a number with practiced ease. My sister picked up. "A man's ring? That's a gift I bought for Gregory. Seriously, bro? Olivia treats you like gold and you're still pulling this? Last time we all hung out, everyone was saying you're always accusing her of cheating. I didn't want to believe it, but wow." My best friend Gregory also chimed in when he heard. "Ethan, how do you expect Olivia to feel comfortable marrying you if you keep this up? Apologize. Now." The call ended. Olivia looked at me with that righteous expression, like she'd just won a court case. "Happy now? Can you stop accusing me?" But I was frozen. Every time I found men's items in her car, everyone around me would step up to explain it away and make me apologize. But none of them knew—that ring wasn't something someone left behind. It was something I bought for myself. A wedding gift. For our wedding. And it turned out to be the key that unraveled seven years of everyone covering for her affair.

My husband, Mason Crawford, is a renowned obstetrician-gynecologist with more thank-you greeting cards from patients than I can count. But when I start bleeding during my first trimester and rush to the hospital to see him, he kicks me out. "Family doesn't get special treatment. Hospital rules. You have to register and wait in line like everyone else." I take his words to heart. I never bother him, not once, for any of my prenatal checkups. That is, until his first love, Vivian Werner, who married and moved abroad, comes back pregnant. That's when everything changes. When Vivian comes in for her prenatal checkups, he personally pulls strings to arrange a VIP room for her. And the checklist of tests he draws up for her is even more detailed than the one he gave me. Vivian says she's scared something might happen to her baby, so he brings in the best medical team to watch over her 24/7. I find this unfair, so I complain to him about it a lot. But Mason simply wipes away my tears gently. "She's divorced and pregnant. She's already got it hard enough. Do you really have to be jealous over this, too?" Since I can't think of a comeback, I have no choice but to bite my tongue and bottle up my feelings. Then, on my way to get a fetal heart-rate monitoring test, I get into a car accident. I call him countless times, but he never comes to sign the consent forms. The surgery ends, and I hold our stillborn baby in my arms. I want him to come see our daughter one last time, but he still doesn't pick up. It isn't until the sun goes down that his buddy calls me with the "good news". "Leah, Vivian's given birth. It's a boy. I've never seen Mason's hands shake like that before. You should go get a gift and bring it here as soon as possible. Mason says he wants to become the baby's godfather." So this is why he hasn't picked up. He's busy delivering his ex-girlfriend's baby.

My little sister, Anna Hale, was a famous surgeon. But I was the only one who knew she couldn't operate at all. During every major operation, I was the one holding the scalpel and spending 12 hours or more on my feet in the OR while she relaxed in her office over coffee. I worked until I collapsed, yet my father, Arthur Hale, the hospital director, always gave Anna the credit for the lives I saved. She was the respected doctor. I had nothing. I was just her stand-in whenever she needed one. One night, I'd barely left the hospital when my father called, his voice ice-cold. "Emma, get back to the OR right now! We just got a critically injured patient. You're helping Anna save him!" I couldn't stand by and let someone die. But as I drove back, a sudden chorus of chatter filled my ears, and floating comments began scrolling before my eyes: [Don't go back! The patient is Salvatore Rinaldi, the old Don of the Rinaldi family. His son arranged the hit so he could take over.] [If you save him, his psycho son will come after you right away. If you don't, he'll pin his father's death on you.] [There's no way out. Save him or not, you're the one who ends up dead.] A chill ran down my spine. My father was still urging me to hurry over the phone. I decided to trust the words floating before my eyes and take my chances. My eyes swept over the area and landed on a section of exterior wall under construction beside the hospital entrance. Without a second's hesitation, I drove straight into it. Now that I'd been in an accident, Anna would have to handle the surgery on her own.

I was operating on my husband, Don Cassius Vitelli, when I removed a bullet lodged less than an inch from his heart. He'd refused general anesthesia just so he could stay on the phone with his childhood sweetheart, Mia Russo. He'd insisted on local anesthesia instead. "Stitch faster," he ordered, gripping his phone and fighting not to tremble. Watching him wince in pain, I fought to keep my nerves in check as I pulled out a document and slid it in front of him. "It's a consent form for your post-op medication. Standard procedure." I looked at him. "Sign it, and I'll take care of the rest." Cassius didn't hesitate for a second. Cassius had fought his way to the top and he trusted no one. He normally double-checked everything, down to the supply lists. But he was so focused on Mia's soft breathing over the phone that he signed the document without even looking at it. He had no idea he'd just signed divorce papers. I'd followed him for seven years. For three of them, I'd been his secret wife, the woman he could never show to the world. In 15 days, I would finally be free.

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."

This year, as the country's leading neurosurgeon, I was invited to perform a high-profile specialist surgery at a hospital in another state. Twenty years ago, I stood in this very operating room. My mother suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, and the surgeon's hand slipped by less than a quarter of an inch. She died. Back then, it was my first love, Ethan Lancaster, who helped me through the grief. Only later did I learn the truth. The surgeon listed on the case was Ethan's father, the hospital's renowned Chief of Neurosurgery. But the one actually holding the scalpel was Ethan himself, still a surgical resident at the time. He and Vanessa Hart had planned it all along. They used my mother's operation as a practice case to advance his career. After the tragedy, Vanessa used her status as the hospital director's daughter to bury the entire incident. From that day forward, I gave up my guaranteed research placement and sat for medical school entrance exams again. I studied from undergraduate through postdoctoral training. I spent twenty full years turning myself into the kind of surgeon who would never make that mistake. All so that one day, no one else would have to suffer the same tragedy my mother did. Today, my assistant slid a patient's file across the desk. Brainstem tumor. Late stage. Extremely high risk. The face in the photo had aged considerably, but I recognized it at a glance. I handed the file back to my assistant and removed my surgical coat. “I can't perform this surgery.”

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..."

After being reborn, the very first thing I do is schedule a hysterectomy. In my past life, my boyfriend's first love started a livestream channel to build her image as a brilliant OB-GYN. The moment she saw me vomiting, she deliberately claimed on livestream that I was pregnant. Right then and there, my boyfriend insisted that he had never even slept with me. I tried to explain, but she handed me medication to help sustain the pregnancy. She even told me to take care of myself and take them on time. Viewers made fun of my boyfriend, saying I had cheated on him. Furious, he broke up with me. Later, my personal information leaked, and countless men began harassing me for hookups. I couldn't take it anymore and jumped to my death. Meanwhile, his first love rode the fame wave of her brilliant OB-GYN persona, gaining followers and being idolized by her fans. But this time, I don't even have a uterus. Let's see how she plans to fake a pregnancy scandal now.

The OB-GYN clinic is almost closed for the day when Isaac Howard gets a male patient. He's young and handsome and looks to be in his early 20s. He seems to be a college student. Thinking he's here to start trouble, Isaac frowns. "This is the OB-GYN clinic. What's a college student doing here?" Out of breath, the young man replies, "Doctor, please wait a minute. My wife is on her way. She'll be here soon." "Is that so?" As a professional doctor, Isaac doesn't overthink it. He just asks, "So, what seems to be the problem with the pregnant patient? What's bothering her?" "We kind of went overboard this morning… Picked things up a notch. I was in class this afternoon when she suddenly texted me saying she wasn't feeling well. I was worried, so I skipped class to grab a spot for her." "What's the patient's name?" Isaac looks down to check the intake form. His fingers freeze the second his eyes hit the family section. In the patient name column, it reads, "Julia Gordon." What a coincidence. That's his wife's name, too.

My husband, the hospital director, stole my kidney to save his beloved first love, who suffered from uremia. While I was under anesthesia for heart surgery, he stormed into the operating room without permission and ordered the removal of one of my kidneys. I begged him to stop, explaining that my heart condition was critical and that I could not survive back-to-back major surgeries. He only sneered at me, his voice dripping with disdain. “I knew you’d be jealous of Cece and make pathetic excuses. That’s exactly why I chose this moment.” Ignoring my desperate pleas, he took my kidney and walked away. In the end, I suffered multiple post-surgery complications and died miserably on the operating table.

During a critical heart transplant, my doctor husband insisted his intern assist despite her garish nail art compromising the sterile field. When I called her out, he abandoned the patient mid-surgery to comfort her. I begged him to return, but he snapped, "Giselle is upset. Can't you wait? This is nothing compared to her feelings." 40 minutes later, the patient bled out and died. Later, they discovered that he was our highly respected mayor and placed the blame on me. "If it weren't for you causing a scene and kicking us out of the operating room, the mayor wouldn't have bled to death. This is all your fault!" Defenseless, I was sentenced to life in prison, tortured, and died in agony. My husband and his intern walked down the aisle, enjoying their happy life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of that fateful surgery.

"Pregnant patient, corpus luteum rupture, heavy bleeding! We need a consent form signed—now!" I stood there holding the clipboard, waiting, when a voice I knew way too well cut through the chaos. "I'm here!" Jimmy. My husband. The same guy who vanished on our anniversary—now signing off on emergency surgery for another woman. He didn't even blink before writing "husband" on the form. Still had our wedding ring on, too. He didn't recognize me behind the mask. Just grabbed my hand and begged. "Please save her. It's my fault. She's pregnant. I messed up. I love her. I can't lose her." His grip tightened. My wedding ring slipped off and hit the floor. I didn't say a word. Just turned and walked into the OR. A doctor beside me, totally clueless, beamed and said, "Dr. Meyer, your test results came back—twins! Your husband's gonna be so happy. Congrats!" I smiled, barely. "Schedule the termination after surgery."

My mother had been a murderer. Her surgery skills had been top-notch, yet on the day my father and I had almost died in a car accident, she turned into another man's arms to help him with a physical therapy massage. After they finished, they went on a date at a cafe while they chatted happily, while my father died on the cold surgery table. It had only been the next day when the staff from the morgue found me on the brink of death. My grandmother raised me with her callused hands for the past 40 years. She put me through the best medical schools, and when I became the hospital's medical director, a young man was admitted to the hospital after he had been involved in an accident. His wife grabbed my hand and begged me, "You're the only person who can save my husband, Dr. Corbin!" I read his medical records carefully, and I was taken aback when I saw his name and address. I stared at his picture for a long time before I looked up and replied softly, "I'm sorry. I can't save him."

On my birthday, my mother-in-law had just been wheeled out of surgery, only to be sent straight back into the ER. In a video newly posted by an intern, he was shown holding a scalpel and cutting my mother-in-law open, while the lead surgeon, who was my wife, was nowhere in sight. “Who says interns aren’t qualified to operate? No worries. My Dr. Lover dotes on me.” Colleagues flooded the comment section, saying the couple was sweet and that they were shipping them. I forwarded the video straight to the hospital director. Not long after, my wife called me. Her breath ragged and voice fragmented. “So I forgot your birthday. Is that reason enough for you to go to the director and accuse me of violating hospital rules? “I’m so done with your unreasonable behavior! Even if my mother sides with you this time, I’m still getting a divorce…” She hung up before I could respond. What she didn’t know was that her mother wouldn’t be taking my side anymore. Because the patient who went into massive postoperative hemorrhage and died during resuscitation, under the lead of an intern, was her mother.