Doctors Novelas e Histórias

Joanna Cross's fiance, who had supposedly died seven years ago, suddenly came back. When I went to find her, the two of them were discussing their wedding. Adrian Shaw pointed at me, standing at the very back of the crowd, and asked, "Jo, who is he?" Joanna answered without hesitation. "Our wedding officiant." I clutched my chest, faintly feeling my heart condition beginning to flare. Before I could question her, the bodyguards escorted me out of the living room. Inside, laughter filled the room. Outside, my hands and feet went cold, and the pain nearly tore me apart. Two hours later, Joanna came out with a smile still on her face. When she saw the state I was in, she panicked and immediately wrapped me tightly in her coat. But the words she spoke were colder than ice. "Adrian has forgotten everything except that I was his fiancee. "The doctors said any stimulation could make him try to kill himself. The wedding is fake. It is only to make him happy. The person I love has always been you." I could not hold on anymore and collapsed. Joanna hurriedly helped me into the car, her voice shaking. "Mason, don't be scared. The matching heart was prepared long ago. I won't let anything happen to you. "I will take you to the best hospital right now." But just as she helped me into the passenger seat, she ran into Adrian, whose eyes were full of tears. "Jo, are you abandoning me?" In a single second, Joanna made her choice. She peeled my fingers away from her one by one, then shut the car door. After that, Joanna never appeared again. Instead, she sent me a message. [Your surgery was successful. That's wonderful!] [Adrian cannot handle any stimulation. Can you disappear for three months? After that, we will spend the rest of our lives together.] Her promises were so vivid. But Joanna did not know the surgery had never succeeded. Three months was too long. I could not make it that far.

The day I found out I was pregnant with my second child, the impossible happened: the baby in my womb spoke. "Stupid sister, are you even listening? Mom said that as soon as you graduate, she's selling you off. That money is for my future wedding!" My daughter went still. She didn't say a word, didn't confront me, didn't even cry. She just quietly applied to study abroad. And from that day on, I never heard from her again. My husband, seeing how devastated I was, moved to comfort me. But the baby's voice cut through the silence once more. "Comfort her? You're the biggest fool in this house! When I'm born, I'm not calling you 'Dad.' My real dad is that handsome guy from the bar!" The color drained from Sean's face. Before I could utter a word of explanation, he dragged me straight to the hospital for a paternity test. The results came back quickly—my best friend had pulled some strings to expedite them. And there it was, in cold, clinical print: NO PATERNITY BIOLOGICALLY ESTABLISHED. He didn't let me speak. He filed for divorce immediately. In a panic, the baby's voice cried out from inside me again, "Why is the idiot backing out now? Did he finally figure out Mom tricked him? The one who saved his life all those years ago wasn't her—it was her best friend!" That one sentence shattered my entire world. My husband turned his back on me and married my best friend. As for me… the shock and grief hit me like a physical blow. I felt a hot, sudden gush of blood. Before the doctors could save me, I died on that cold hospital bed, my hands clutching my swollen belly, my mind still reeling, unable to comprehend how my life had unraveled so completely. It wasn't until I was reborn, and once again heard the treacherous little voice inside me, that I finally began to understand the truth.

My name is Margaret Turner. After my daughter, Sarah McDowell, becomes pregnant, I am shocked to find that I can hear the thoughts of the baby in her womb. "Grandma, please don't let Mommy get the prenatal checkup! If they learn I'm a girl, Dad will make her get rid of me. I don't want to die!" I can't believe what I'm hearing. Knowing that my son‑in‑law, Jeremy O'Brien, works at a hospital and can use his connections to learn the baby's gender, I do everything in my power to keep Sarah from being examined. But three months later, doctors confirm that Sarah's baby has a congenital deformity and is fated to be born disabled. Sarah is devastated, and guilt consumes me. Suddenly, I hear my granddaughter's voice again. "It's all because of Dad. He cheated with that nurse and returned home soaked in her cheap perfume. As soon as Mommy breathed it in, I was fated to come into the world deformed. Poor Mommy…" Rage explodes inside me. Without a second thought, I storm into Jeremy's workplace, determined to catch him in the act. I don't expect to walk in on a critical heart surgery he is performing. My intrusion throws the room into chaos, and the patient dies on the operating table. The patient's family loses control, and they cause a violent scene in the hospital. In the mayhem, Jeremy is killed on the spot. When Sarah learns what I've done, she is consumed by rage and declares she wants nothing more to do with me. At that moment, my granddaughter's voice echoes in my mind once more. "Mommy is heartbroken and needs time to heal. Grandma, please don't make things worse. Mommy will be okay after she rests." Hearing this, I force myself to stay calm. But that very night, word arrives that Sarah has thrown herself into a river and ended her life. Shattered by grief, I eventually make the same tragic choice. As my final breath fades, my granddaughter's chilling laugh echoes in my ears. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day her voice first crept into my mind.

Ever since I was born, my parents bound me to a Pain Transfer System. My body was covered in scars. My older brother, Dylan Jeater, had albinism and Hydroa Vacciniforme. His condition was so severe that he could not be exposed to any light. Doctors determined that he would only live to be sixteen years old. However, Dylan had always been playful. He often snuck outside. Eventually, his body was covered in sores. My father, Robert Jeater, worked day and night to earn money. He finally bought two Pain Transfer System wristbands at a high price for Dylan and me. For six years, the pain Dylan felt from every sun exposure had been transferred to me. My mother, May Jeater, always held me gently and treated my wounds. She said, “Chester, I’m sorry. I just want Dylan to be happy in the time he has left. I hope you understand.” On New Year’s Eve, my parents took Dylan out. It was very sunny that day. As soon as we left the house, my whole body broke out in blisters. I could not help but cry out in pain. Dylan tore off his wristband and broke down sobbing. “Does it hurt? Fine, if you think it hurts so much, then turn off the transfer! Let me just die of the pain! “I’ll only live up to sixteen anyway. I’m going to die sooner or later.” His body became severely sunburned, and he lost consciousness. Mom shoved me to the ground. “Dylan never complained once in all those years of pain! After only six years of it being passed to you, you’re already breaking down?! “He’s only going to live to be sixteen! Is it wrong to want him to be happy in his last few years?” Dad picked up Dylan. “I don’t want you getting hurt either, but the pain can only be transferred between biological brothers.” They then rushed him to the hospital. I picked up the wristband from the ground. A message popped up on the screen. [Do you want to transfer your remaining lifespan to the linked user?] Without any hesitation, I pressed confirm.

My father and brother had preferred my sister over me since we were kids. In fact, they hated me. When I was bullied at a party, it was a mafia boss, Edwin Carlson, who stepped in. He saved me and announced right there in front of everyone that I was the woman he loved. He warned that anyone who dared mess with me again would have to deal with him. Edwin bought a castle deep in the forest just for me. He filled the garden with my favorite tulips and held a grand wedding there that made headlines across the country. For a while, I became the woman everyone envied. Seven months pregnant, I attended my father's birthday party. But that night, a sudden fire broke out. My biased father and brother only cared about saving my sister, Kelsey Grant. They rushed her out while I was left behind to die in the flames. In the end, it was Edwin who carried me out. But when I woke up in the hospital, I saw something that shattered my heart. "What the hell were you thinking, starting that fire?" Edwin's face was dark with rage. "Stephanie's only seven months pregnant! Are you trying to force her into early labor? Were you trying to kill her and the baby?" My father and brother spoke in hushed voices, trying to explain. "Kelsey has leukemia. The doctors said we can't wait anymore—she needs surgery soon. And she needs the baby's bone marrow..." "I care about Kelsey's life more than you do. Why else would I have married Stephanie? But you can't hurt her. I have my own plan!" Edwin warned coldly. "Saving Kelsey is the goal, yes—but if you try to save her at the cost of Stephanie's life, I won't allow it!" After hearing that, I fled the hospital room in a panic. So that was why he married me. Not because he loved me, but to save Kelsey. Everything he did for me—his kindness, his care—was all for her. Just like my father and brother, he loved Kelsey. Not me. If no one loved me, then I figured I might as well just disappear.

Ever since my wife, Allison Strong, gives birth to our son, Noel Russell, she becomes unable to speak. The doctors say it is likely a psychological issue. For three whole years, she does not say a single word to me. Even when there's a gas leak in the house, she simply waits for me to discover it myself. When Noel cries from hunger, she never tries to comfort him. After my company goes bankrupt, I don't even have time to grieve. I spend my days delivering packages to support the family while taking my wife to see psychologists and specialists. One day, I am dead tired after working from morning until night. As I back my car into the garage, I fail to notice that Allison has left three-year-old Noel to play behind the vehicle. The moment I feel the car roll over something, my gut tells me something is very wrong. Noel's cries last only a few moments before he falls silent. My legs nearly give out beneath me. Forcing myself to stay upright, I scoop up Noel and rush him to the hospital with my hands trembling uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Allison stands silently somewhere to the side. Just like always, she says nothing. Her expression remains absolutely unfazed. Though she is the one who has given birth to Noel, everything seems completely unrelated to her. I have a mental breakdown. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I shake her desperately and yell, "You saw what was happening, why didn't you warn me? Why did you let him play there? What kind of psychological problem do you have that you can just stand by and watch your own son die? "Are you trying to destroy me, Allison?" I scream hysterically, but she still does not open her mouth or make a sound. Despair engulfs me. Three years of complete silence from her crushes me. Just when I am about to give up, Allison pushes through the crowd and softly speaks her first words in three years. They are quiet, but I hear them clearly. "Clarence..." Clarence Welch is the name of her first love. Only then do I realize that her psychological issue is with Noel and me.

Wade Cox's fiancée, Cecilia Hart, who should have been dead for seven years, suddenly comes back to life. When I go to find him, I discover that they are discussing marriage. Nestled in Wade's arms, Cecilia points at me as I stand at the back of the crowd. She asks, "Who is she, Wade?" Without hesitation, he answers, "She's just the host for the wedding." I clutch my chest, feeling the warning signs of a heart attack. But before I can question him, the bodyguards escort me out of the living room. Laughter and cheerful conversation continue inside. I stand outside, my hands and feet icy cold, consumed by pain. Two hours later, Wade finally comes out, looking confident and full of energy. The moment he sees the state I'm in, he hurriedly wraps me in his coat. He explains, "Cecilia has forgotten everything except that I'm her fiance. The doctors say any emotional shock could drive her to take her own life. The wedding isn't real. It's just to make her happy. The one I love has always been you." I can no longer hold on at that point—I pass out. Wade panics as he carries me to the car. Even his voice is trembling as he assures me. "Don't be afraid, Stella. We've already found a compatible heart donor. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm taking you to the best hospital right now." He has just put me into the passenger seat when he sees Cecilia standing nearby with tears in her eyes. "Wade, are you abandoning me?" she asks sadly. It takes him only a second to make his choice. One finger at a time, he pries my hand from his. Then, he closes the car door. After that, Wade never appears before me again. Instead, he sends me a message, saying, "Great news, Stella. The surgery was a success! Cecilia can't handle any emotional stress right now. Can you go away and lie low for three months? After that, we'll spend the rest of our lives together." The promises are beautiful, but he doesn't know the truth. The surgery isn't successful at all, and three months is far too long. I don't have that much time left.

When I was three years old, during a car accident, I was struck in the head by a car while trying to protect Mom. After that, the doctors said something inside my head had broken, and I'd never be quite right. Everyone back home called me the slow one. Late at night, I'd see her crying alone. On my seventh birthday, Mom took me to Manhattan, and that was when I discovered that she had a second home and another daughter, Charlotte. In front of strangers, she wouldn't claim me. She only let me call her Miss Eleanor. On the third night, She sat down at her vanity. On the table was a small black box. I thought it was a present. She opened the box and took out a black silicone bracelet, with a little light embedded in the clasp—small, dark, switched off. "This is called a TruthBand. It's something a company in California makes. The light turns green when you tell the truth, and red when you lie. If you wear this, Mommy will always know." She fastened it around my wrist. Tight. The little light blinked green. I thought that if I was good enough, she would love me the way she loved my sister. But then she made me do ski practice with Charlotte. Charlotte was a junior champion. "You're both my daughters. I don't play favorites. Whoever falls, gets punished." Charlotte never fell. I couldn't even keep my skis straight. Every single run, I was the one Mama dragged off the mountain and locked in the cellar. On Thanksgiving Day, Mama spent the whole afternoon cooking. I wanted to help. I dropped a bowl. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were red. She grabbed a little pill bottle off the counter, tipped my chin up, and forced something between my teeth. "Dumb as a rat. Are you happy now? Did you finally embarrass me enough? " I lay on the kitchen floor, gasping. While she wasn't looking, I scraped up three little pink pellets that had spilled and tucked them into my fist. Mommy, I told myself, I'll be good now, and then you'll be happy. Right?

My mother, Eleanor Thorne, dropped out of school at a young age to work, single-handedly raising my uncle, Logan Thorne, all on her own. Because of that bond, right before she passed away from a severe illness, she tightly held Logan’s hand and entrusted me to his care, begging him to look after me. With bloodshot eyes, Uncle Logan swore right beside her hospital bed that he would never let a single soul lay a finger on me for the rest of his life. When I was seven years old, my biological father, Richard Jennings, was preparing to remarry, and he muttered a cruel comment under his breath, calling me a piece of useless baggage. The next second, Logan smashed a glass bottle right over his head. "Who the hell do you think you are, talking to my little girl like that?" he roared. "Keep running your mouth, and I will personally ruin you!" Before his head wounds could even fully heal, Richard literally checked himself out of the hospital and fled the city, never daring to show his face around us again. During my high school years, a boy cornered me on the way home to force a love letter into my hands, which completely terrified me. Logan flew into an absolute rage. That very afternoon, he brought a crew and broke the boy's leg. That act invited a violent retaliation. Logan was targeted in a brutal hit-and-run and left for dead on the asphalt. He spent three grueling days fighting for his life in the ICU before the doctors finally pulled him back from the brink. Yet, the exact moment he was discharged from the hospital, he tracked that student down again and beat him within an inch of his life. I was utterly horrified. Desperate to prevent my uncle from hurting anyone else on my account, I, Maisie Thorne, secretly applied to a university overseas without telling him, leaving the country for three long years. On the eve of Logan’s wedding, he personally flew out on a private jet to pick me up and bring me back home. That night, we sat down to have a quiet dinner together. But the night took a twisted turn when his fiancée mistook me for a hidden mistress. "So, you're the little obsession my husband can't seem to stop thinking about," Victoria Vane sneered, glaring at me. "I’ve heard all about the mysterious girl locked away in his private thoughts. Let's see how much sleeping around you can do once I strip that pretty little face right off your head, Maisie Thorne!"

Sheila Jenkins was hit by a truck on the fifth anniversary of her wedding. The accident was devastating. Her legs were crushed beneath the vehicle, which rolled over them before finally coming to a stop. Her husband, Joshua Stewart, the man who had been her childhood sweetheart, was so frantic that he gave more than half the blood his body could safely spare, begging the doctors to save her life. When Sheila was finally wheeled out of the operating room, she had not even had the chance to thank him for everything he had done. Still drifting in and out of consciousness, she suddenly overheard a conversation between Joshua and his assistant. "Mr. Stewart, there's still time to save her legs. If the surgeons operate now, they can still treat the damage. Are you really going to give up and let Mrs. Stewart spend the rest of her life crippled?" Joshua's expression remained icy, and his voice was even colder. "I hired someone to hit her for that exact reason. The whole point was to make sure she ended up crippled." His assistant froze. "The only woman I have ever loved is Cecilia. If the Stewart family had not refused to accept her back then, and even threatened her life to force us apart, I never would have buried my feelings and pursued and married Sheila simply because she was the 'right' match. My greatest regret is that I could never give the woman I truly love the title of being my wife. Since I cannot give her my name, I will at least give her the wedding she deserves." He paused before continuing without a trace of emotion. "If Sheila finds out I'm holding a wedding for Cecilia, she'll definitely try to ruin it. This way, she'll be stuck at home, crippled and completely unaware of what's happening." Unable to stay silent any longer, the assistant let out a quiet sigh. "Mr. Stewart, I know the woman you love is Ms. Zeller. I just... don't think Mrs. Stewart deserves this. She hasn't done anything wrong. She has no idea your heart has always belonged to someone else. She doesn't even know that the baby she gave birth to was strangled to death by your own hands... and that the child she's been raising all these years is actually yours and Ms. Zeller's. That's already cruel enough. If she loses her legs too..." Before he could finish, Joshua cut him off, speaking with icy indifference. "What does her suffering have to do with me? The only person I care about is Cecilia. "From my perspective, even if Sheila loses both her legs and her own child... her suffering still isn’t worth a single one of Cecilia’s tears."