The Miracle Doctor Returns: Divorce To Hidden Identity

Chapter 8

The silence in the ward was heavy, like the air itself had turned into lead. The boy’s breathing had steadied, faint but strong enough to hold on. Relief filled the family’s eyes, but before they could even speak, the foreign specialists erupted.

“You reckless fool!” one of them snapped, his accent sharp and cutting. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? You tampered with a critically ill child! If by chance he survived, it was luck—not skill.”

Their words fell like stones, but I didn’t flinch. My hands were still warm from the pulse I had felt, the ancient rhythm that had awakened something long-buried inside me. For a brief moment, I wondered if perhaps they were right—if this was all coincidence. But the boy’s steady chest was proof, undeniable proof.

Another doctor stepped forward, his face red with fury. “This is malpractice! He’s no doctor, just a layman with tricks. Remove him from this ward before he causes real harm.”

I watched the parents falter, fear clouding their gratitude. They were caught between the prestige of renowned specialists and a man they barely knew. A son’s life was no small wager. I could see it in their trembling hands, the way their eyes darted between me and the doctors.

Linda stood frozen by my side, her usual confidence shaken. I felt her gaze, silently urging me not to provoke them. But something inside me wouldn’t allow their arrogance to stand unchallenged.

I stepped forward, my voice low but unyielding.

“You claim I endangered the boy. Very well. Let us examine the truth together.”

The specialists sneered, but I continued, my words precise, each one striking like a blade.

“When I entered this room, his pulse was erratic—not from the illness alone, but from the overload of sedatives you administered. His lungs were collapsing under fluids that should never have built up, yet you failed to detect it. You treated the symptoms, not the root, and in doing so nearly killed him.”

The room went silent. The family’s eyes widened, shifting slowly toward the specialists. I could almost hear the crack of their pride breaking under the weight of truth.

“You,” I said, pointing to the one who had spoken first. “Your diagnosis of systemic infection ignored the child’s congenital weakness. You didn’t even check his medical history. You simply applied a textbook solution and prayed for results.”

The man’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching.

“And you,” I turned to another, “insisted on invasive procedures that would have destroyed what little strength remained in his organs. You were so eager to showcase your ‘advanced methods’ that you forgot medicine is about saving lives, not proving theories.”

Each accusation was sharp, deliberate. I didn’t need to shout; the truth carried its own thunder. The parents’ faces shifted from doubt to horror, then to anger—anger not at me, but at the men they had paid fortunes to save their child.

The mother’s voice trembled, breaking the silence. “Is… is this true?”

The specialists stammered, offering excuses, but the damage was done. Their authority, once towering, now lay in ruins at my feet.

The father—the magnate himself—stepped forward. His eyes, bloodshot from sleepless nights, locked on me.

“You…” his voice cracked, then steadied. “You saved my child when they could not. From this moment on, you are the one I trust. The rest of you—leave. You are no longer needed here.”

The words struck like thunder. The specialists’ faces twisted with disbelief. One of them slammed a tray aside, sending instruments clattering to the floor.

“You’ll regret this!” he spat. “This charlatan will kill your boy, and when he does, don’t come crawling back to us!”

They stormed out, their white coats whipping like banners of defeat. Yet I knew their pride wouldn’t let this end so easily.

The father turned back to me, and to my surprise, he bowed—a man of his stature lowering himself before me. His voice broke with emotion. “Please… take responsibility for my son. I place his life in your hands.”

The weight of his trust pressed onto my shoulders like an iron chain. I wanted to refuse, to tell him I wasn’t the miracle worker he thought I was. I wanted to confess that half my memory was a void, that I was walking in shadows I barely understood. But when I looked at the boy’s frail body, when I felt the faint rhythm of his pulse still lingering in my fingertips, the words died on my tongue.

“I will,” I said quietly. “I’ll do everything in my power.”

The mother wept openly, clutching her husband’s arm. Linda finally exhaled, though her eyes flickered with a storm of questions she dared not ask in front of them.

The family ushered me to a seat, insisting I remain close, as if my presence alone could shield their son from death. Servants rushed to clear the space, bowing as though I were a figure of divine power. It felt surreal. Just hours ago, I had been nothing more than an ordinary man living under ridicule, my past a fog of fragments. Now, I stood in a place where even magnates bent low, where specialists fled in disgrace.

But in the shadows of the ward, I caught movement. A man lingered by the exit, his eyes fixed on me with predatory sharpness. He wasn’t family, nor staff. When our eyes met, he turned and slipped away, his steps silent as a ghost.

I knew what that meant.

Word would spread. The Miracle Doctor—that forgotten name whispered in old tales—was stirring once again.

Somewhere beyond these walls, men who had long wished me erased would hear of this night. And one of them, perhaps the most dangerous of all, would not sit idle.

Carl.

I could almost see his face twisting with rage when the spy delivered the news. His schemes, carefully woven, now faced a threat he thought buried forever.

I stood there, staring down at my trembling hands. They had moved today with certainty I couldn’t explain, guided by knowledge my mind had forgotten but my body remembered. It terrified me.

Was this truly mine—or the echoof another life I no longer understood?

I clenched my fists, steadying the tremor. Whatever the truth was, I knew one thing: tonight had changed everything.