Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Doctor Face Slapping Novels

Elaine Foster loved to test my love for her. She faked a chronic illness and convinced me to donate blood for her 99 times. When it came for the 100th time, I was already severely anemic. I finally said no. She turned around and used the blood I had given her to make blood sausages for Karl Claflin’s dog. Karl was the most popular guy on campus. Curled up in Karl’s arms, she said to me, “Michael Messner, I was never sick. I only pretended to be, just to see if you really loved me. Unfortunately, you failed the final test. I’m very disappointed. We are done.” I smiled indifferently and walked away without looking back. Five years later, we met again at the top hospital in the country. By then, neither Elaine nor Karl knew that they both had malignant gliomas growing in their brains. I had become the only neurosurgeon in the country capable of successfully removing them. When she saw me in plain clothes, wiping vomit off the hospital floor, she had assumed I was a janitor. She sneered, “Michael, you’d really stoop to anything to run into me, wouldn’t you? You even followed me here. It’s time you faced reality. I’m worth millions now, and you are just a janitor. We are worlds apart. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I did not bother answering. At that moment, I was only thinking about which nurse I would need to speak to for slacking off on the job. Luckily, I had just finished surgery and was going home when I spotted the patient in distress. Otherwise, the patient could have been in serious danger.

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

On my very first night working the overnight shift at the new hospital I've been transferred to, I run into my wife, Willow Jensen, who claimed she needed to be away on a year-long business trip. Now, she's lying on a gurney outside the delivery room, heavily pregnant, with blood pouring from beneath her. The man kneeling beside her grabs my hand tightly, his desperate pleas ringing in my ears. "Doctor, please! You have to save her!"

Three days before our wedding, I brought supper for my fiancee, Zoe Anderson, at the hospital. I opened the door of the on-call room and heard moaning sounds. Under the dim lights, the intern, Jack Reid, buried his head against Zoe’s fair shoulder. His hand slipped beneath her open white coat. After Zoe saw me, she pushed him away and tidied her clothes. She looked very calm. “Jack’s pursuing me. He’s infatuated with me, and when he found out that we’re getting married, he threatened to kill himself with a scalpel. “I was worried he’d hurt himself, so I comforted him this way. Our wedding will still go on three days later. “You’ve always been very kind. I believe you won’t mind me saving a life this way, right?”