Doctor Romance Short Stories & Novels

On my first night shift at the new hospital, I saw my newlywed husband, Nathan Lloyd. He was supposed to be on a business trip. He was kneeling at the operating room entrance while a pregnant woman in labor was lying on the emergency bed beside him, experiencing heavy bleeding. Nathan gripped my hand, his pleading cries echoing in my ears, "Doctor, I beg you to save her!"

I'm in the middle of my pediatric shift when an emergency call comes in. A three-year-old boy arrives, hemorrhaging and unconscious from a car crash, but there is no matching blood type in the bank. Then, it hits me that my husband, Ethan Stone, has the same blood type, so I ask him to donate blood right away. When he arrives and stands frozen to the spot, I can no longer hold back my rage. "What are you waiting for? Saving his life is the priority here!" That's when the boy's mother sprints over and screams, "No! Close family can't donate! He's the boy's father!"

Tony finally realized I had stopped telling him everything. When the company assigned me to a business trip, I signed the papers immediately without consulting him. When my best friend invited couples to her wedding, I attended alone and gave her a nice wedding gift. Even when I fell ill and needed surgery, I booked the appointment without his consent. As a doctor, Tony frowned when he found out about the surgery. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Give me your medical records, I'll arrange everything for you." Without a second thought, I replied, "No need. I can handle it myself, I don't want to trouble you. Thank you." The moment the words left my mouth, both of us froze. Less than a month ago... I was completely dependent on him. Back then, I couldn't even choose an outfit for a date or decide what to eat for lunch without texting him first.

When my son suffered a heart attack in the middle of the night, I rushed him to the hospital where my wife worked. Instead of taking charge herself, she handed the operation to an intern. "New doctors need opportunities to learn. I'll be right there supervising. Nothing will happen." But before the surgery even began, a phone call pulled her away, leaving a trembling Marvin Vance alone in the operating room. My son never made it off the operating table. I collapsed in the hallway, sobbing in grief. Yet I overheard my wife gently comforting Marvin. "For your first surgery, you held on this long. You've done an amazing job, my little cinnamon roll." Awkwardly copying trendy slang younger people used online, she reassured him with endless patience. Then she turned to me with a cold expression and demanded that I sign a letter forgiving Marvin. "He has his whole future ahead of him. You can't destroy his life." I tore the document to pieces and threatened to call the police and expose what had happened. In response, she arranged for a medical donation and had my son's body dissected that very night. Driven insane by grief, I threw myself from a building while clutching my son's ashes. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of my son's surgery. This time, I immediately contacted my parents and transferred him to another hospital. But that night, they still dissected a child.

The mother of Mr. Burr, the hospital director, was critically ill and needed emergency surgery. My wife, wanting to help her beloved crush, Cedric Grey, take the spotlight, deliberately kept the surgery time from me. By the time I finally arrived—late, Mr. Burr stopped me from entering the operating room and scolded me harshly for being unprofessional and unethical. Once I realized what my wife was doing, I handed the lead surgeon position over to her beloved crush. “Well, since you're so eager to shine,” I said coldly, “you’d better not screw it up.” The nurses tried to talk me out of it. They said I was being impulsive, that this was a rare chance to prove myself. However, none of them knew that I was the only doctor in the entire country capable of performing this rare and complex heart valve surgery. Even if Cedric managed to buy time with some miracle drug and made it look like the patient was improving, without my diagnosis and surgical skills, the operation was doomed to fail. And when that happens, he’d be held responsible. As for my wife, her blind favoritism would come back to haunt her.

During a critical meeting, my medical case notes were swapped for "Confession of an Affair”. "Exhibit A: She knowingly intruded into a marriage, a disgrace to her profession." "Exhibit B: Harassing the patient's family and destroying their family." "Exhibit C: Callously endangering lives, deliberately plotting against the wife and child to take her place!" In front of hospital leadership, the patient’s family accused me of being a homewrecker, attempting to shame me into confessing. It was chaotic until she physically assaulted me, leaving me with a concussion. When my husband rushed in from the operating room, I said coldly, "Looks like this ‘real wife’ is being called the mistress! Why would you still defend me?” Without hesitation, my husband stepped forward and slapped the real mistress. “Security!” he called out. “Get this troublemaker out of here, now!”

At three months pregnant, I was diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy. My husband, a doctor, was overwhelmed with worry, pulling every string he could to arrange surgery and remove the baby. "As long as you're okay, it doesn’t matter if we don’t have our own child. We can always adopt. I can't lose you, Evelyn!" Heartbroken, I blamed myself for being useless, for failing to carry our child, and for disappointing my husband. But then, I accidentally saw his chat messages with another woman on the phone. "Don’t worry, I already told her she had an ectopic pregnancy." "I’ll have her sign the adoption papers soon, then find a way to bring you into our home." "Asher is my only son. I will make sure he inherits everything I have!" That was when I realized that the husband I loved so deeply had long since built another family behind my back.

I filed to leave Doctors Without Borders a year in advance, just so I could return home, keep my promise, and marry Dennis McMillan. But by the time I got back, Dennis was already a father. I overheard him telling the housekeeper, "Let Anna stay abroad a little longer. Best if she doesn't come back at all. If she finds out I have a son now, she'll definitely cause a scene." It was only then that I understood—he had deceived me. Three years ago, he said to me, "Go spend three years with Doctors Without Borders. Toughen yourself up. Once you are more mature, you'll be ready to be my wife." And I was mature now. I wasn't the same girl who used to break down in tears whenever something went wrong. My tastes had changed too. And now, I wasn't interested in someone like him anymore.

On Mother's Day, my mother-in-law passed away suddenly in the hospital. And my wife—a top-tier, elite surgeon—personally signed the organ donor consent form and led the team that removed her heart. I rushed to the hospital like a madman to confront her, only to find her calmly pulling off her gloves. "Mike's mother has been waiting for this heart for three years. He saved my life once. This is the only way I can repay him. "Mike has no one left but his mother. Can't you be a little more understanding? I'll bring him to lay flowers for your mother. Let's just put this behind us." I stared at the body on the table, face covered, then at the still-damp blood staining her white coat—and I almost laughed out loud from sheer disbelief. She still had no idea… that heart belonged to her own mother.

“Camille, I’ll love you forever!” Jameson let out a low, agonized growl. Just as he was about to climax, his phone suddenly began to buzz. He ignored it, of course. Now was hardly the time. However, his phone lit up again. The moment he saw the text on the screen, his body froze. Camille heard him answer the call. “Hello?” In the deep silence of the night, the voice on the phone cut through the stillness, clear and unmistakable. “Jameson, did you know that Sylvia—” Jameson switched languages and cut in with a sharp command, “Keep it down. It's not a good time.” The other person switched languages too, though he was still loud. “The hospital results came in. Sylvia is in the final stages of cancer. She only has a month left! Her last wish is to become your wife. Can you grant her that before she passes?” Jameson’s expression changed immediately. “What?! Wait for me!” He ended the call and turned to Camille. “Camille, something urgent came up. I need to step out for a bit. Be good and stay home. I’ll be back after you’ve had some sleep.” Before she could respond, he rose to wash up, changed his clothes, and left without looking back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Sylvia: [Camille, you lost. I told you—Jameson has always been mine.] Right above it was a message from three days ago: [If I tell him I have cancer, do you think Jameson will leave you and come to me? I bet he will.] Camille’s gaze slowly shifted from her phone screen to the open bedroom door. What Jameson did not know was that she had already picked up a new language. She understood every word of that call. After a long moment, a faint, bitter smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, I lost...”

I'm running a fever and having period cramps, so I curl up in bed and ask my boyfriend, Aiden Foley, if he can take me to the hospital. However, he just glances at me and refuses, citing medical ethics that he can't treat the people closest to him. I end up taking a cab to the hospital alone. Yet, in my weak and frail state, I lose my footing and tumble down the stairs, injuring my foot. Aiden, who claimed to be busy, then pushes past me with his intern, Tracy Olsen, in his arms, using the priority lane for an expedited checkup. A young nurse nearby hurriedly tries to explain on his behalf. "Dr. Foley just really looks after the newcomers. But don't worry. He'll be out to see you in a bit." I give her a wry, bitter smile. She has already helped me register for hospital appointments 33 times, and yet my own boyfriend hasn't even touched my medical records before. "Forget about it," I say, gazing up at the glaring fluorescent lights above my head. My train ticket back to my hometown is booked for two days from now, and my resignation has already been approved. This is the end of the road for us, Aiden.

My wife, Charlene Everett, and I used to work in the same hospital. I was known for being a kind doctor as well as a passionate teacher, while she was known for being a smart, fiery, and protective professional. All was well for the both of us until Charlene started caring about a clumsy trainee doctor called Zachary Wordsworth. I underestimated their relationship until the day he made a grave medical error, and she threw me to the wolves to protect him from his own mistakes. Indeed, Zachary cut a patient's womb out of her body mistakenly. The patient committed suicide not long after finding out. To avoid him being disciplined by the hospital, Charlene had the nurse in charge modify the records to have me as the surgery’s lead doctor. The patient’s family thought I was the one at fault and sued me. Everyone cursed me for being an unqualified doctor. Netizens made a huge ruckus online and started pressuring the hospital director to fire me. Helpless and in pain, I confronted Charlene, but she casually said, “Zach can’t handle the responsibility of failing the surgery. You’re more experienced, so you’ll be able to weather this storm.” When I later stumbled upon Charlene tangled up with Zachary, I could only let out a bitter laugh. I thus decided it was time for me to stop being kind.

When my husband once again chooses to abandon me to celebrate his true love's birthday, I finally let go. He takes his true love stargazing; I don't cause a fuss. He buys her an expensive scarf, but all I do is smile. I even tell him to buy another hat—it's pretty cold. He thinks I've finally learned to be obedient. However, he has no idea I've secretly renounced my citizenship to join Doctors Without Borders. By the time he comes to his senses, I've vanished without a trace.