The Doctor's Fatal Prescription

At the hospital's winter party, my boyfriend—desperate to impress his untouchable ice queen—suddenly tackled me like a deranged linebacker, slamming me violently into a snowbank. "Just a joke!

Look at your dumb face, haha!" That day, his precious crush flashed her most beautiful smile on camera, while I shattered my right arm, losing the ability to ever hold a scalpel again.

Later, he was diagnosed with a fatal, rare spinal condition. The only chief surgeon in the entire country capable of performing the cuttingedge nerve repair surgery he needed? Me.

The moment he slammed me into the ground to impress her, he slammed the door on his own life. Chapter 1 A rare, heavy snowfall blanketed the city.

After lunch, a few colleagues and I strolled through the hospital courtyard and bumped into Seraphina taking photos of the snow.

Back in our Ivy League med school days, she was the infamous icecold knockout.

She radiated an arrogant, don'ttouchme vibe, as if nobody alive was worthy of her attention except her perfect transcripts.

She was the ultimate fantasy for half the guys on campus. "Dr.

Seraphina!" A male colleague called out her name, shoving a hot cup of coffee into her hands. "Freezing out here, isn't it? Why are you all by yourself?" "Thanks.

I'm not a fan of crowds." Seraphina turned away smoothly, her pale skin looking as if it were dusted with a thin layer of frost under the winter sunlight.

The group wanted a picture under the trees. I pulled out my phone to play photographer, bending over to find the perfect angle and distance.

I held up my fingers, counting down. "Three. Two…" At the final second, Wyatt charged out of nowhere like an unhinged defensive back.

Laughing maniacally, he hoisted me entirely off the ground, leaving me suspended in midair.

Then, without a shred of mercy, he slammed my right shoulder down into the icecovered concrete! Crack! "Look at your dumb face! Hahaha!" My body cratered into the snow.

The sheer force of my impact sent tremors through the buried tree trunk, shaking a cascade of powdery snowflakes from the branches above. A pictureperfect winter wonderland.

And for the first time in history, Seraphina cracked a genuine smile, leaving everyone breathless. Why did Wyatt do this? To make me look like a clown?

Just to squeeze a fleeting smile out of Seraphina? What the hell did I ever do to deserve this? Static drowned out my brain for several agonizing seconds. Then, the numbness hit.

It spread outward from my right shoulder, turning my entire arm into dead weight. Sensation vanished from my fingertips.

The metallic tang of blood coated my tongue. "Help…" The word scraped out of my throat, a ragged choke. "Whoa, Seraphina, this shot is gorgeous!

I've known you for seven years and this is the first time I've ever seen you smile!" Wyatt snatched my phone from the snow, parading the photo around to the group like a prized trophy. "Yeah, Dr.

Seraphina, you really should smile more. Absolutely stunning!" "Wyatt, hurry up and pull your girlfriend up.

What's wrong with you?" Wyatt laughed it off, waving a hand dismissively before crouching down to dig me out of the snow. "Oh, Fallon runs a comedy TikTok on the side.

We prank each other like bros all the time. She's fine…" His voice flatlined the second he met my eyes. The pupils were dilated, glassy, devoid of any life. He dug deeper.

His gaze landed on the grotesque, unnatural angle of my right arm. The color drained from his face. "Shit… I'm so sorry, Fallon.

I'm sorry, it was just a joke…" My right shoulder had been impaled by a jagged tree root. Blood soaked through my coat, painting the snow crimson. They rushed me into the ER.

Wyatt stared at his own bloodstained hands, his jaw slack as he tried to inch closer to the gurney. A paramedic violently shoved him backward like a stray dog.

Swallowing the excruciating, whitehot agony ripping through my nerves, I locked my eyes onto his hypocritical face.

The Chief of Surgery and the Vice President were just clocking out from a brutal backtoback shift. The moment they saw me on the stretcher, their faces turned ashen.

They sprinted into the trauma bay right behind me. Wyatt gripped my left hand in a death vice. The edges of his eyes were rimmed red.

He kept frantically brushing the melting snowflakes off my cheeks, his entire body trembling like a leaf. They physically restrained him outside the operating room doors.

In the final splitsecond before the heavy steel doors slammed shut, I looked at him with absolute calm. "Fuck off." When I regained consciousness in the hospital room, Seraphina was standing near the door, interrogating a nurse about my medication dosage from the previous night.

The room reeked. The cloying, suffocating scent of her plum blossom essential oil overpowered the sharp sting of bleach and iodine.

Seraphina's phone rested on the edge of my pillow, the screen glaringly awake. She had posted the group photo in the snow to her Instagram.

Wyatt was the very first comment, pinned right at the top. [You really should smile more. You look beautiful when you smile.] My chest went still.

My gaze shifted from the glowing screen to the medical chart lying directly beside it.

Whether out of sheer negligence or malicious intent, Seraphina had tossed my chart onto the mattress like a piece of trash. I was a surgeon.

I didn't need anyone to translate the clinical jargon. My right hand. I would never hold a scalpel again. Chapter 2 The rustle of paper was deafening in the quiet room.

Seraphina shot me a look over her shoulder, snatched the chart away with an icy snap of her wrist, and didn't say a word.

Despite going to the same med school and working in the same hospital, we weren't close. Seraphina barely acknowledged men, and completely ignored women.

We had zero common ground. "Fallon? Are you awake? I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Wyatt's voice shattered the sterile silence of the room. He had just come off an allnight surgery.

Sweat beaded across his handsome forehead.

His massive frame hovered tentatively over my bed before he gripped my good left hand through the blanket. "I just wanted to play a joke on you. I'm sorry, Fallon.

I already called your parents, don't worry! It's… it's just a fracture. We'll do a minor procedure in a few days.

Silas himself will be the lead surgeon, and I'll be right there with him. Your right hand will make a full recovery, I swear!" Wyatt's voice shook.

He looked like a panicked kid, dropping his head and feverishly rubbing his thumb over my knuckles again and again.

When I gave him nothing but a dead stare, a stiff, panicked smile twitched onto his face.

His trembling hands fumbled in his scrub pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. "I'm sorry, I'm just so stupid! The truth is… yesterday, I brought a ring.

I was planning to propose to you in the snow. That was supposed to be my huge surprise for you!" I didn't even notice when Seraphina slipped out of the room.

Wyatt stared at me, his eyes burning with desperate affection. "The city has never seen snow that beautiful.

I wanted to propose while it lasted… You know, piss you off first and then hit you with the ultimate surprise. That's what guys do online! I swear, I just wanted to joke around!

I'm an idiot, I deserve to die, but I promise I'll never do it again!" He popped the lid. Inside sat a cheap, generic band that screamed of a lastminute panic buy at a strip mall.

Did I believe a word of this? Wyatt grabbed my paralyzed right hand. "Marry me, Fallon." The air turned bonechillingly silent.

The only sound left in the world was the steady drip, drip of my IV fluid. I laughed. The tension drained from Wyatt's shoulders in a heavy exhale.

He leaned in, aggressively rubbing his cheek against my limp palm like a pathetic dog begging for a treat. "Look at your dumb face." I grabbed a fistful of his hair with my good left hand, yanking his head back.

My eyes were dead. "You traded the hand that holds my scalpel for a goddamn surprise? Keep your garbage ring and explain it to the judge.

I've already officially charged you with firstdegree aggravated assault. Piss me off for a proposal? Stop trying to cover your tracks.

You just wanted to humiliate me so your untouchable goddess would finally crack a smile. Do I look like a fucking idiot to you? And by the way, I'm not the one you owe an apology.

You owe it to my patients. They waited months for a spot on my surgical table.

Silas is ninetysix years old, and he and I are the only two people in the entire country capable of performing those specialized spinal procedures.

Now that my hand is destroyed, who's going to save them?" Wyatt's jaw slacked. Stripped of his lies, guilt choked the words right out of his throat. He stumbled backward and left.

The heavy door clicked shut, leaving me completely alone in the sterile room. Chapter 3 "Wyatt, honestly, this isn't on you. No one can predict an accident.

Fallon is just… acting like a little girl right now. She needs to be coddled. She'll get over it once she cools down." My eyes snapped open at the sound.

Seraphina was standing right outside my hospital room, consoling Wyatt. "I guess this is exactly why I don't let people get close to me.

I could never take my anger out on an innocent person. Blaming you unconditionally just because you're her boyfriend?

I honestly despise that kind of toxic, dramatic woman." I genuinely thought the painkillers were making me hallucinate. What the actual fuck was Seraphina yapping about?

Wyatt let out a heavy, ragged sigh. "You're right, Seraphina. I get it. But let her blame me anyway. I love her. I can't be as rational and clearheaded as you are.

You care about Fallon too, right? Standing guard outside her room like this… Thank you, Seraphina. Really.

You should go get some rest." Through the narrow slits of the window blinds, I watched the silhouettes.

Wyatt rubbed his hands exhaustedly over his face, then slowly, almost reverently, leaned his heavy head against Seraphina's shoulder. "Thank you, Seraphina." I sneered, grabbed my phone with my left hand, and jabbed the speakerphone button to dial emergency services. "911?

My exboyfriend maliciously assaulted me on hospital grounds, resulting in permanent physical disability.

I need to file a formal report immediately and request an emergency restraining order." Wyatt and I met back in undergrad.

If there was one thing that actually won me over, it was his sheer, unfiltered earnestness.

He never held anything back, taking my side unconditionally like a dumb, overly enthusiastic golden retriever wagging its tail for its owner.

I never had to question his loyalty; I just had to patiently teach him how to love, how to be a partner… I was done playing kindergarten teacher to a grown man.

He could hand me his heart all he wanted, but his soul would always inevitably gravitate toward his untouchable, pure goddess. He made me physically sick.

My parents rushed to the police precinct. Once I laid out the brutal facts, they backed my decision without hesitation.

What kind of sick "joke" involves bodyslamming your girlfriend into concrete? He didn't just hurt me; he obliterated my career. And the absolute kicker?

After destroying my arm, he had the audacity to call my parents and blatantly lie to their faces.

He told them I had clumsily slipped on the ice outside the hospital and fractured my wrist. Faced with my formal charges, Wyatt didn't utter a single syllable of defense.

He just stood there, ready to swallow whatever punishment came his way.

Ironically, it was the Hospital President and the Chief of Surgery who scrambled to play peacemaker, desperate to keep the scandal buried.

Wyatt was slapped with an indefinite suspension.

The hospital's legal team practically begged for a private outofcourt settlement, offering to negotiate a massive payout just to keep him out of a jail cell and protect the hospital's PR.

Besides, my ninetysixyearold mentor, Silas, was currently hospitalized and in a coma.

No one wanted to trigger a media circus that might literally send the old man into cardiac arrest. A private settlement? Fine. Wyatt better start liquidating his assets.

The board fasttracked my surgery, assuring me they would handle the fallout while I focused entirely on recovering my hand.

But by my first official day as an inpatient, a massive screaming match had already erupted at the nurses' station over mandatory overtime.

The surgical wing was suddenly down two attendings. Every single shift and surgery had to be frantically rescheduled, dumping a crushing workload onto the staff.

Seraphina, passing by on her rounds, stopped dead in front of the nurses' desk. Her voice cut through the chaos like ice. "Complaining won't change the schedule.

You nurses think you're exhausted? Try being a doctor. It was just a freak accident, but Dr. Fallon had to throw a massive temper tantrum and blow it completely out of proportion.

She got her own boyfriend suspended. You have no one to blame but her. Don't hate me for being blunt. I'm just telling the truth." Chapter 4 The nurses at the station froze.

They hadn't been there. They didn't know the facts. But coming from Seraphina—the hospital's untouchable, gossiphating ice queen—her verdict sounded like gospel.

Seraphina pivoted to leave. I lunged forward, my good hand snapping around her wrist like a vice. "If you have something to say, Seraphina, say it to my face.

Drop the passiveaggressive act. What exactly did I blow out of proportion? I'm the one with the shattered arm! Let's play a game.

If your boyfriend bodyslammed you into concrete for absolutely no reason, permanently destroyed your surgical career, and then shrugged it off as a 'joke'—would you just smile and let it go?

Because if you wouldn't press charges, you're either a saint or a moron!" The color drained from the nurses' faces.

I slammed my phone down onto the counter, the snow photo glaring on the screen. "Seraphina was standing front and center.

The exact second Wyatt crushed my shoulder, she was grinning from ear to ear! What was going through your head, Seraphina? Was my misery really that entertaining?" Seraphina swayed.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, the last traces of color vanishing from her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but a massive force suddenly shoved me backward.

Wyatt shoved his way between us, shielding Seraphina behind his broad back like a bodyguard. "Fallon, back off! Seraphina doesn't understand all this petty meangirl drama!

Just drop it. I already told you this is all my fault." "But Seraphina started it.

We all heard her." A young nurse suddenly piped up from the back, her voice shaking but honest. "I'd be pissed too, her boyfriend is psycho!

And honestly… even if it was a total stranger getting slammed into the ground, who laughs at that?" Seraphina's face went chalkwhite.

Her eyes glistened, looking as fragile and victimized as a kicked puppy. Then, her mask snapped back into place.

She snatched up her clipboards and whipped around. "Think whatever you want. I don't need anyone's validation." "You don't have to apologize for smiling, Seraphina!

You were happy, so you smiled. That's not a crime!" Wyatt stubbornly blocked her path, playing the ultimate white knight. Then, his eyes softened.

He turned back to me, dropping his voice to a hushed, pleading tone. "Fallon, just apologize to her. How are you supposed to work together if you make this a massive war?

Besides, she's covering both of our shifts right now. She's exhausted. Have some sympathy." A collective, sharp gasp rippled through the nurses' station.

Bound by the presence of patients in the hallway, they couldn't scream at him, but their glares actively wished for his death.

I grabbed a full bottle of medicalgrade rubbing alcohol off the counter, unscrewed the cap, and hurled the liquid directly into Wyatt's face.

The harsh, stinging chemicals dripped down his jawline. "Since your brain is full of shit, I figured I'd give you a free deep clean. Apologize to her?

Wyatt, have you been acting like her pathetic little lapdog for so long that you actually forgot what a total loser you are?

I was going to keep my mouth shut, but she's covering my surgeries? Does she even have the skill to scrub in on them? Cut the martyr act! She's no overworked saint.

I became a surgeon to save lives, not to tiptoe around her fragile ego. And 'working together'?

Everyone else was horrified when my arm snapped, but she was standing there grinning like a psychopath. She practically cheered.

Do I need to check my horoscope before I rip into her for being a garbage human being?" Chapter 5 The entire hospital corridor fell dead silent.

The nursing staff froze in shock, and patients' family members crept out of their rooms to watch the show. Seraphina leaned heavily against the wall.

Her perfectly manicured hands trembled, and she swayed slightly on her feet, looking like she might collapse onto the linoleum at any second.

Graham, a male patient in a wheelchair who hadn't caught the context of the fight, slowly rolled toward her, reaching out as if to steady her.

I smirked, leaning back as my voice sliced through the tension. "Everyone here knows the drill.

I've always been the lead surgeon for the most complex, cuttingedge procedures in this wing, while a certain socialite who only knows how to scowl couldn't even touch the operating table.

Now that my hand is permanently destroyed, isn't it blatantly obvious who gets handed the next promotion on a silver platter?" The realization visibly hit the crowd.

Suddenly, Seraphina's twofaced act made perfect, chilling sense. Seraphina let out a bitter, breathy laugh and dropped her gaze to the floor. "Say whatever you want.

I won't defend myself. I just want to focus on medicine." But the spectators weren't buying the victim routine anymore. "No wonder she was smiling so hard.

She was probably dying of jealousy over Dr. Fallon!" "Makes sense. Nobody normal laughs at something like that, right? I never expected Dr.

Seraphina to be…" Wyatt's fists clenched at his sides. He stepped forward, putting himself between me and the crowd. "Enough, Fallon! Do you really have to target her like this?

Seraphina isn't that kind of person! Don't drag her into our mess!" The situation escalated fast. The screaming dragged the Head Nurse and the Chief of Surgery out of their offices.

Security guards rushed in, shoving their hands over bystanders' cell phone cameras to stop them from recording.

Amid the absolute chaos, Graham stared blankly at me from his wheelchair. "Dr. Fallon? What do you mean your hand is destroyed?" Graham was my patient.

He had strictly followed his treatment plan for months, and his surgery was officially scheduled for next week. "I traveled across the country for this.

Professor Silas is the only one who understands my condition.

He told me his protégé, Fallon, could save my life." He gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white. "I was supposed to get my surgery next week. What is going on?

Can you… can you not operate on me anymore?" The three of us froze. A suffocating weight of guilt slammed into my chest, hitting the bottom line of my medical oath.

Wyatt reacted first, bowing deeply to Graham in a frantic apology. I immediately dropped my head, swallowing the lump in my throat to explain the situation.

Seraphina, the edges of her eyes flushed red, stepped right up to the wheelchair. For the first time in her life, she put on a soft, comforting voice. "Please don't worry.

Let me look at your medical files. I promise I will cure you." Graham's eyes blazed red. He violently shoved Seraphina's hand away. "Who the hell are you?

Professor Silas explicitly said Fallon is the only surgeon who can save me.

Do you even have the skill to back up that kind of bullshit promise?" Seraphina stared at him, her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Her arrogant facade shattered into pieces right in front of everyone. She couldn't force a single word out of her throat to defend herself.

Biting her bloodless lower lip, she scrambled to gather her clipboards and fled down the hallway under the harsh glare of the crowd. "Seraphina!" Wyatt immediately sprinted after her.

I specialized in an adultonset, ultrarare spinal degenerative disease.

Once it hits, patients are essentially trapped in a wheelchair, living in excruciating, mindnumbing agony every single day. They needed surgery, and they needed it fast.

Because we were dealing directly with the spinal cord, the procedure demanded Godtier precision and cuttingedge theoretical knowledge. It was incredibly highrisk.

Silas had mentored dozens of elite surgical residents over the decades, and I was the only one who even barely met his impossible standards. Now, my future was completely gone.

But for the patients who just lost their only shot at a cure? They might actually be out of time. No one was in more pain than they were right now.

The hospital board fully grasped the sheer magnitude of the disaster. They didn't penalize me for the screaming match in the hallway.

Instead, they slapped Wyatt with another official disciplinary strike on top of his suspension, and issued a formal warning to Seraphina.

By the end of the day, I was quietly upgraded to a private VIP suite. Chapter 6 Seraphina acted like she had something to prove.

She bulldozed the Chief of Surgery into transferring Graham's case to her, determined to cure him.

She rounded on him three times a day to monitor his progression, pumped him full of aggressive painkillers and antiinflammatories, and arrogantly promised him he'd be on the operating table within the week.

To stop her from killing him, I tried to sit in on his consultations several times. She shut the door in my face every single time. "Don't mess around with his protocol!

You don't have the specialized experience for this. Keep him on my original regimen until we can assess my right hand!" Seraphina's eyes were dead.

Her face held that same untouchable, icy arrogance of a pure snow lotus on a high peak. "Fallon, I trained under Silas too. My skills are just as sharp as yours.

Or are you just terrified I'm going to steal your spotlight?" A cold chill crawled up my spine. Even the nursing staff was terrified.

They cornered me in the breakroom, whispering that Seraphina's cocktail of drugs wasn't doing a damn thing. When Graham first got admitted, he was optimistic.

Now, the agony kept him awake all night, driving him to literally slam his head against the drywall until it cracked.

By day, the relentless nerve pain stripped him of his sanity, leaving him screaming and thrashing that he just wanted to die. He was a completely different person. "Dr.

Fallon, I can't even think about it. If Dr. Seraphina completely botches this, Graham is going to…" I immediately texted the Chief.

Recognizing the massive liability, he fasttracked a psychiatric evaluation for Graham.

After agonizing over the situation for days, I got a DM on my social media account, timestamped at 3:00 AM. [Frankie, can I make a wish?

I have a terminal disease and they can't cure me.

I just want to see something funny.] I secretly ran a comedy TikTok account under the handle "Frankie." I posted absurd, chaotic prank videos based on follower requests, donating every single cent of the ad revenue.

But I had a strict rule: I only took requests from terminal patients, the chronically ill, and people who had lost all hope.

It was my way of giving them a shot of dopamine when medicine failed. [I know the rules. I attached a photo of my medical chart.

It's a super rare disease, can you even read it?] It took me exactly one second to recognize Graham's chart.

Based on his absurd request, I ordered a bunch of glow sticks and a giant, inflatable frog suit from a nearby Target, paying for priority rush delivery straight to the hospital.

I shot back a quick message telling him not to give up, that there was still a cure, and that his video would be up today.

About two hours later, someone knocked on my door. "Thanks for grabbing my delivery. The hospital's policy on patients not going down to the lobby is just—" I looked up and froze.

It was Wyatt. He was holding a thermos and a stack of Tupperware, casually dumping my massive Target delivery bag onto the table.

His brow furrowed in deep disapproval. "Shooting another stupid comedy video? How much money does that garbage even make?

You're literally a patient right now and you're still doing this? Fallon, sometimes I really don't get you.

Why do you intentionally act like a clown and make yourself look so cheap? Why can't you just learn to be a little more elegant and refined?" Cheap. So that was it.

That was how Wyatt had always seen me. Compared to his elegant, untouchable goddess, Seraphina, I was just trashy.

That was why bodyslamming me into the concrete was just a joke to him. I was nothing but a worthless punchline. "Did you want something? Oh, I forgot.

The lawyers must have finished the paperwork. You're here to pay up, right?" He flinched as if I had physically slapped him. His shoulders slumped.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he pulled a bank card out of his pocket and offered it to me with both hands. His voice shook. "Can you just drink the soup my mom made for you first?

It's good for your recovery." I snatched the card and shoved it into my pocket, grabbing the massive Target bag with my good hand.

I turned my back on him and his pathetic Tupperware. "How much is on this? Is it notarized by the legal team? I don't take installment plans.

You better have wired the full settlement!" Chapter 7 I found an empty spot in the stairwell, zipped myself into the ridiculous, oversized inflatable frog suit, and started recording my dance routine to "Queencard." Halfway through the song, voices drifted through the heavy steel fire doors.

Seraphina and Wyatt. Seraphina's icy voice cut through the silence. "Honestly, Wyatt, that was your entire life savings. The money you set aside for a house and a wedding.

I don't recommend draining your accounts for this. Besides, you didn't even do anything wrong." "I know, Seraphina. I don't even care about the money.

It was always going to be spent on Fallon anyway. It was supposed to be for her ring and the down payment on our house." My fists clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms.

I was just about to kick the door open when Seraphina lowered her eyes and let out a soft, breathy laugh.

The dazzling, perfectly calculated smile left Wyatt staring at her like an absolute idiot. "I just can't understand girls who are so desperate for a ring.

They have their own hands and feet, they choose to get married, so why do they demand the guy buy the house and the diamond?

It makes it look like they're just putting a price tag on themselves. I honestly look down on women like that. It's pathetic." "I completely agree.

There are so few women in the world as rational and independent as you, Seraphina. You deserve—" Bang! I slammed the heavy fire door open and charged through.

I drove my fist straight into Wyatt's jaw. "Did you swallow a bottle of laxatives, Wyatt? Because absolutely nothing but pure shit is coming out of your mouth!

You make me physically sick!" Since my identity was completely hidden by a massive, bouncing green frog suit, I let the insanity take the wheel.

I spun around and roundhousekicked Seraphina right in her perfectly contoured face. A patient's family had left a jar of hydroponic garlic sprouts on the stairwell windowsill.

I grabbed a fistful of the wet, pungent roots and shoved them forcefully into her open mouth. "Eat up! You love playing the pure, innocent victim, right?

Let me know when your actual surgical skills catch up to your Godtier acting!" Seraphina's fragile frame shook violently. Perfect, cinematic tears rolled down her cheeks.

While she choked and sobbed on the wet garlic, I lowered my oversized inflatable frog head, rammed straight into Wyatt's chest like a linebacker, and sprinted down the stairs.

I barely made it down one flight. A massive, unnatural shadow plummeted past the stairwell window. It slammed into the concrete courtyard below like a bomb. Thud