The Doctor Who Loved Me in Secret

I fled with my pregnancy for four years, never expecting to run into my foster brother Diego late one night at the pediatric emergency room.

I wore a mask. He didn't recognize me.

His gaze first fell on the child in my arms:

How old?

Five, I lied.

He touched Jesse's throat with a cotton swab, then gently pressed his abdomen twice before turning back to his desk to write up the medical record.

Mycoplasma pneumonia. Nebulizer treatment and observation required.

Halfway through writing, his pen tip paused.

"Where's the child's father? Didn't he come with you?"

"He's dead!" I said.

His pen tip stopped on the medical record for three seconds.

"The detailed examination will take about two and a half hours."

He handed over the prescription, never once looking up at me again throughout the entire process.

I took the slip, and the moment I turned to leave the examination room with Jesse in my arms, the nurse's voice drifted over clearly from behind:

"Mr. Diego, your fiance just called to say she wants to change the bouquet for the engagement party the day after tomorrow to white bellflowers."

Fiance? Engagement party?

My arms suddenly tightened, pulling Jesse closer. I buried my head and hurried toward the end of the corridor.

The observation room had only one wall lamp lit, its warm yellow glow mingling with the smell of disinfectant.

After Jesse was hooked up to the nebulizer and given medication, his burning body finally cooled down, and he drifted off to sleep in a daze.

I sat on the hard plastic chair beside him, staring at the white mist dispersing from the nebulizer. Jesse clutched my finger in his sleep.

Who he resembledanyone who'd seen them could tell at a glance.

His eyes, nose bridge, the curve of his lipsall carved from the same mold as Diego.

So for these four years, I never brought him anywhere we might run into Diego's family.

I kept this child hidden away completely.

At three-thirty in the morning, Jesse's temperature returned to normal.

I wrapped him tightly in his blanket, picked him up, and headed out.

Passing through the emergency corridor, the examination room door was ajar. Diego was still inside.

He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, as if taking a brief rest. A cup of coffee sat on his desk, with a photograph pressed beneath it.

I didn't see clearly who was in the photo, and I didn't want to. I quickened my pace and rushed out of the hospital entrance.

The next day, Jesse's fever was completely gone. His spirits much improved, he sat on the living room carpet assembling Legos.

I changed clothes preparing to leave when Raven's call came in:

"Miss Annie, the Thomas Group moved up the meeting. They want to see you at nine."

"Got it. I'm leaving now."

I drove to the company and changed into a tailored ash-gray suit and skirt. The person in the mirror bore no resemblance to the woman from last night at the hospital, frantically registering with a child in her arms.

Annie Smith, founder of Smith Medical Technology, with annual revenue of $230 million last year.

No one in the entire company knew I had a son, and even fewer knew I'd been raised for over a decade in the Thomas household, that I was once the person Diego cherished above all.

In the conference room, three representatives from the Thomas Group had arrived, led by a man in his forties.

"Miss Annie, we've heard so much about you. Our chairman places great importance on this collaboration and would like to meet with you personally the day after tomorrow."

"Your chairmanis that Kane Thomas?"

My hand holding the water glass didn't move an inch.

Kane Thomas. Diego's father, the helmsman of the Thomas Group, and the man who years ago had slapped a check in front of me and told me to get out of the Thomas family.

"Miss Annie?"

Director Mason looked at me. I set down my glass and uttered a single word:

"Fine. I'll be there."

That evening when I got home, Jesse had completely recovered, running around barefoot on the floor.

After his bath, he lay in bed hugging his little astronaut doll:

"Mommy, that doctor yesterday was so gentle."

My hand tucking in his blanket froze.

"Mommy, does he look like Daddy?"

"Go to sleep peacefully, Jesse."

I turned off the lamp.

In the darkness, his breathing quickly became steady and even. I sat by the bed for a long time without moving.

Does he look like him?

He IS his biological father.

The day after tomorrow, Thomas Group headquarters, the fifty-fourth floor of a CBD office building.

I wore a fitted black suit and skirt, my hair completely pinned up, full makeup appliednot to see anyone in particular, but as protocol for going into battle.

The elevator reached the fifty-fourth floor. The receptionist led me to a very large conference room. When the door opened, people were already seated inside.

Three people from Director Mason's side, a man who looked like legal counsel, and a woman in her late twenties with long hair and delicate makeup, wearing a beige tweed suit.

When she saw me, she stood up politely:

"Miss Annie, hello. I'm Eve, Chairman Thomas's assistant. Mr. Thomas had something come up at the last minute and asked me to receive you first."

Eve.

The name the nurse had mentioned that night. Diego's fiance.

She didn't recognize me. We'd never met before.

I was Diego's completely buried past, the stain the Thomas family never spoke of.

"Miss Eve, hello."

I extended my hand. She gripped it lightly before letting go.

"Miss Annie is young and accomplished. Smith Medical has been very aggressive in the industry these past two years. Our Mr. Thomas has been paying close attention."

"You're too kind."

After the pleasantries ended, we got down to business.

Director Mason reported on the previously finalized cooperation framework. Eve took notes on the side, occasionally interjecting with questions. Her questions were all sharp and professionalshe was definitely not just an empty-headed vase.

After forty minutes of discussion, her phone rang.

"Excuse me, I need to take this call."

She walked out of the conference room. The door didn't close completely, and her voice drifted in from the corridor:

"Diego, I'm in a meeting at Thomas Group. Yeah, the high-end medical equipment company, Annie Smith. Do you know her? You don't? Okay then, let's go taste the menu tonight. The banquet menu still isn't finalized. Okay, love you."

I kept my head down staring at the contract terms, reading word by word, but my fingertips were slightly white.

Eve returned, smiling as she sat down:

"Sorry, personal call. Let's continue."

When the meeting ended, I stood to grab my bag and leave. Eve walked me to the elevator.

"Miss Annie, may I ask something presumptuousare you married?"

"No."

"Do you have children?"

I looked at her:

"Miss Eve, does this question relate to our cooperation?"

"No, just curious. Women powerhouses like you are mostly single."

The elevator arrived. I stepped in, unable to tell if she was asking casually or had already sensed something.

Monday, there was trouble at the company.

"Miss Annie, Thomas Group responded. They're adamant about a thirty-eight percent profit split."

Raven's expression was terrible.

"The reason given is that Mr. Thomas personally set it, and they said if we don't agree, they'll turn around and work with our competitors."

"Competitors? There are no same-tier competitors in our sector."

"They mentioned a name. Carter Medical."

I set down my pen.

Carter Medicala company established just four months ago. The founder was our former technical director who'd jumped ship, taking three core engineers with him. Their product was still in development and hadn't even obtained market authorization.

Thomas Group was using a shell company without even a finished product to pressure me. They were bluffing.

"I thought so too, but what if they really invest? The offline channels in the East are too important to us."

I thought for a moment:

"Set up a meeting with Kane Thomas for me. I'm done dealing with intermediaries."

"Are you sure you want to meet him directly?"

"At the negotiating table, I'm Annie Smith, founder of Smith Medical. Any other identity doesn't exist."

Raven hesitated, then returned five minutes later:

"It's arranged. Wednesday afternoon, Thomas Group headquarters. Kane Thomas will see you personally."

"Good."

Wednesday, I stood in the elevator on the fifty-fourth floor of Thomas Group headquarters, taking a deep breath.

Kane Thomas. The last time I saw him was five years ago.

Back then I was still the Thomas family's adopted daughter, twenty-three years old. I didn't know how to apply sophisticated makeup, wore cotton dresses bought from Amazon. He sat on the leather sofa in the Thomas family living room, speaking to me across the coffee table:

"Annie Smith, the Thomas family doesn't need an adopted daughter who doesn't know her place, much less one who has feelings for Diego. Here's two million. Take it, sign the papers, get out of the Thomas family, and never come back."

I didn't take that two million. I left.

Only when I left, I was already carrying a small life in my belly.

Today's me wore a sharp suit with full presence, completely different from that timid girl of years past.

"Miss Annie, Mr. Thomas is waiting for you inside."

By the floor-to-ceiling windows, a man around sixty stood talking on the phone.

Kane Thomas hung up and turned around:

"Miss Annie, please sit."

His eyes held scrutiny. Five years had changed me too much. He wasn't certain, but his gaze told me he found me familiar.

"Mr. Thomas, our previous framework negotiations stalled on the profit split. I wanted to discuss it with you face to face."

"Miss Annie certainly gets straight to the point."

He sat down.

"Thirty-eight percent was my decision. I have my considerations."

"What considerations?"

"The value of Thomas Group's channels isn't just distributionit's a complete after-sales system and technical training system. Factor in those costs, and thirty-eight percent isn't high."

"Mr. Thomas, I've done my due diligence. Seventy percent of Thomas Group's after-sales team is outsourced. A thirty-eight percent split should correspond to a mature end-to-end system, not a half-built work in progress."

He laughed:

"Very thorough homework. Cooperation requires mutual benefit. Thirty-three percentI can additionally provide completely free training support for the first batch of equipment, saving you labor costs."

He stared at me for ten seconds:

"Miss Annie, you remind me of someone."

He called my name.

He'd recognized me.

I don't know if he recognized me that night in the examination room but didn't expose me in front of the nurse, or if he only confirmed it later by checking medical records.

It didn't matter anymore.

So what if he recognized me?

My child and I don't need anything from him.

For the follow-up, I'd switch to another hospital.

I immediately called a pediatric director I knew well:

Scheduled for the next day at City Central Hospital. Definitely not Municipal Hospital. Definitely wouldn't see Diego.

That evening, I was at home reviewing the final cooperation contract when the doorbell rang.

The housekeeper went to answer it and soon returned:

"Miss Annie, someone at the door delivered a document envelope. They said it's from the hospital."

In the waterproof envelope was a detailed lab report and a handwritten note. I recognized the handwriting.

It was Diego's.

He'd had the report delivered to my home. He knew my home addressit was in the medical record system.

I put the report in a drawer, crumpled the note into a ball and threw it in the trash, then picked up my phone and sent him a text:

"Report received. Already scheduled follow-up at another hospital. Please don't disturb my life again."

After sending it, I blocked him directly.

After the examination at City Central Hospital, everything was normaljust a simple allergic constitution.

I held Jesse's hand, walking down the steps at the hospital entrance when suddenly a black Maybach smoothly stopped by the roadside.

The black Maybach's door opened, and Diego bent down and stepped out.

He still wore Municipal Hospital's white coat, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing the clear veins on his forearms. His eyes were bloodshotclearly he'd rushed over right after surgery. He'd been waiting outside the hospital for a full three hours.

I yanked Jesse behind me.

But Jesse poked his head out from my side, his round eyes brightening as he called out crisply:

"Uncle!"

Diego's gaze fell on the child's face, his Adam's apple rolling hard. Finally he didn't look at the child, his eyes locked deadly on my face, voice hoarse like sandpaper:

"I waited for you for three hours."

I adjusted my mask, voice cold as ice:

"Mr. Diego, you're overstepping. I've seen the child's follow-up results. Everything's normal. No need to trouble yourself."

I pulled Jesse to leave. Diego stepped forward, steadily blocking my path. He didn't touch me, just stood half a step away, pulling a folded document from his white coat pocket and holding it before me.

The document cover bore the logo of a forensic identification center. The moment I opened it, my blood ran cold.

Paternity test report.

The conclusion line spelled it out clearly in black and white: Cumulative paternity index greater than 99.99%, supporting Diego as Jesse's biological father.

The follow-up slip in my hand dropped to the ground with a "thud." My fingertips trembled uncontrollably, yet I still forced out a cold laugh:

"Forging something like thisdon't you think that's beneath you, Mr. Diego? I don't accept it."

Diego's voice carried four years of suppressed collapse:

"Annie, four yearsdid you plan to hide him forever? Plan to let him live without a father his whole life?"

I bent down to pick up the slip, gripping Jesse's hand tightly, and turned to leave, my steps almost fleeing.

This time, Diego didn't stop me.

I got in the car with the child, and the car sped away.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw him slowly crouch down and pick up the crumpled note I'd just droppedthe one he'd written with the follow-up reminder.

I'd clearly thrown it in the trash, but somehow Jesse had secretly retrieved it and tucked it in my bag.

I brought Jesse home and locked myself in the study all night.

That paternity test report sat on my desk like a red-hot branding iron, burning my eyes painfully.

The fortress I'd built around myself over four years cracked the moment I saw that report.

As dawn approached, Raven's call came in, her voice carrying unprecedented panic:

"Miss Annie, disaster! Thomas Group unilaterally tore up our previous agreement. They want to acquire usotherwise they'll report us to the FDA for non-compliance!"

I snapped alert instantly, the confusion in my eyes fading to leave only coldness.

Kane Thomas indeed had ulterior motives from the start.

If he could chase me out of the Thomas family with two million years ago, today he could use capital to swallow the empire I'd fought four years to build.

I immediately convened an emergency meeting with the core team, only to receive even more devastating news.

Our core non-invasive cardiac function monitoring patent had been preemptively registered by Carter Medical. Their application was filed three days before ours, and the technical documentation submitted was almost identical to our core code.

The former technical director who'd jumped ship did it.

And behind Carter Medical stood Kane Thomas.

The team was in turmoil, but I remained unusually calm, methodically arranging countermeasures.

It wasn't until the meeting ended and I was alone in the office that I collapsed weakly against the chair back.

Just then, my work email received an anonymous message.

The moment I opened it, my whole body shook.

The email contained all the evidence of Carter Medical's patent fraud, including transfer records between the technical director and Kane Thomas, recordings of private dealings, and even backend credentials showing they'd falsified application timestamps when registering the patent.

The attachments also included internal documents about Thomas Group's Eastern regional channels, clearly marking all channel partners' bottom lines and payment period vulnerabilities.

I immediately had the tech department trace the sender's address. The only result: the address was encrypted, originating from Municipal Hospital's internal network.

My hand on the mouse trembled slightly.

Suddenly I recalled that over these four years, the company had faced more than one life-or-death crisis.

In the early startup days, I couldn't get medical device production certification. After countless rejected applications to various departments, just as I was about to give up, someone anonymously helped me submit supplementary materials, and certification was approved within a week.

The second year, the capital chain broke. Suppliers blocked the door demanding payment. A nameless angel investment suddenly hit the company account, exactly filling the gap.

Even last year, when competitors maliciously smeared my product, before I could act, their dirty laundry spread throughout the industry first.

I'd always thought I was just lucky. Only now did I understandit wasn't luck.

Someone had been silently protecting me for four years from where I couldn't see.

Before I could process all this, the housekeeper's call suddenly came in, her voice shaking badly:

"Miss Annie! Come home quickly! Jesse suddenly can't breathe, his lips are purpleI've already called 911!"

My mind went blank with a "buzz."

I grabbed my car keys and rushed out, ran three red lights, driving like mad toward home, but still caught up to the ambulance carrying Jesse at Municipal Hospital's emergency entrance.

Jesse lay on the gurney, his little face deathly pale, lips blue-purple, breathing weak, already in semi-consciousness.

A doctor ran out holding examination results, expression grave:

"The child has congenital ventricular septal defect causing acute left heart failure. We must perform open-heart surgery immediately, or his life is in danger at any moment!"

My legs gave out. I steadied myself against the wall, voice trembling:

"Do the surgery! Who's your best doctor? I want the best doctor!"

The doctor answered:

"This surgery is extremely difficult. The child is young and the defect location is special. In the entire city, only Director Diego from Cardiac Surgery has successful experience with similar surgeries on patients under three years old."

Diego.

Those three words stabbed into my heart like a knife.

Four years of pride, four years of defenses, four years of gritting my teeth and perseveringall shattered to pieces before my child's life.

I didn't even have time to hesitate before hearing urgent footsteps behind me.

Diego ran over. He'd just finished a ten-hour bypass surgery and hadn't changed out of his surgical scrubs, sweat still on his forehead. Seeing my ashen face, he simply reached out and steadily supported my arm, voice firm as an anchor:

"Annie, trust me. I won't let anything happen to him."

Looking at those bloodshot eyes, the hatred and grievances I'd accumulated over four years suddenly collapsed completely in that moment.

I nodded, tears finally falling:

"Diego, please, save him."