My patient had a fever of 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit, and because I refused to prescribe fever reducers without a blood test, her mother later live-streamed a furious attack against me online.
Look at this heartless doctor, everyone! My child had a scorching 105.8-degree fever, and she insisted we get a blood test and wait for the results, stubbornly refusing to give her a fever reducer for an emergency!
“Healthcare is such a mess these days; it’s impossible to get affordable care, and it’s all because of doctors like you who order excessive tests!”
“Angel in white? I see a greedy, corrupt opportunist! If my child suffers brain damage, can you pay for that?!”
The video quickly ignited public outrage, and #MostImmoralPediatrician trended nationwide.
I was doxxed and bombarded with online harassment. I even received a cursed package filled with blood-stained voodoo dolls and threatening letters.
Meanwhile, Eleanor Vance, crying in her live stream about her child’s persistent high fever, received countless donations.
Desperate to help, I ignored the insults. After donating a huge sum, I successfully connected with her via video call:
“Ms. Vance, your child is this sick; you must take her to the hospital immediately for a blood test, then we can prescribe the right medication…”
But she suddenly knelt down:
“My daughter has a bleeding disorder and anemia. How can she withstand having so much blood drawn at once? Isn’t that going to kill her?!”
“I just want her to get well. Why is it so hard?!”
With a startled gasp, Eleanor Vance cut off the live stream.
I had tried to persuade her, but if she wouldn’t take her child to the hospital, it wasn’t like I could go to her house and forcibly draw blood.
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the churning emotions within me.
My professional instinct still prompted me to immediately report this serious online defamation and threat to the hospital’s administration and security.
However, the online storm moved far faster than real-world procedures.
After verifying my account with my real name, I shared an authoritative pediatric fever treatment guideline.
I attached screenshots from reputable medical journals and tagged Eleanor Vance.
I tried my best to explain in simple language why children with high fevers needed blood tests for accurate medication.
Just minutes after my post went up, comments and private messages flooded in like a dam breaking.
“Shameless! Now you want to clear your name? Why didn’t you do this earlier? Honestly, how much dirty money have you made?”
“Still talking about guidelines at a time like this? Is a child’s life less important than your stupid rules? Will you die if you don’t earn a few extra bucks?”
“This guideline couldn’t possibly be made up on the fly, could it?”
“Look closely, everyone! This bitch is just trying to shirk responsibility!”
In less than ten minutes, the number of abusive comments soared past ten thousand. Some people screenshot the guideline, stamping it with “FORGED EVIDENCE” in red letters.
Others mocked my medical jargon word for word, claiming I was putting on a show to fool the public.
A nurse, verified as working at my hospital, posted a comment:
[To my knowledge, this doctor has always been fond of excessive testing.]
This comment immediately became the top-rated one.
Before long, someone dug up an old photo of me from college.
In the picture, I was wearing a lab coat, pulling an all-nighter in the lab. The caption, however, was twisted into:
[Breaking news! Back then, her favorite thing to do was use her uniform to seduce professors in the lab!]
Before I could even defend myself, another post appeared, claiming to be from my high school classmate:
“She’s always been this cold and unfeeling. When our classmate was writhing in pain from acute gastroenteritis, she calmly kept doing her homework.”
The post went viral.
Two colleagues, unable to stand it, openly defended me with their real names, but they too were swept into the storm. Even the entire hospital faced a boycott from netizens.
Dr. Peterson called me into his office, incandescent with rage:
“It’s just a fever reducer for her child, isn’t it? Why are you so stubborn? Don’t we usually provide fever reducers for free in such special cases right away?”
“I know, but her child cannot be given it! Especially not for free…”
Before I could continue my defense, reporters who had disguised themselves and snuck in surrounded Dr. Peterson and me.
“Dr. Hayes, it seems all of this is your personal action and has nothing to do with the hospital, right?”
To distance himself from me, Dr. Peterson immediately declared to the reporters that I had betrayed my medical ethics for money.
“I hereby solemnly declare that the hospital will terminate Dr. Isabella Hayes’ employment and pursue all her professional misconduct and illegal gains!”
Like a stray dog, I was thrown out by security at the hospital entrance, left to face the furious mob of netizens nearby.
Only when I was beaten, bruised, and curled up on the ground did the crowd scatter like a flock of birds as a patrol car passed by.
That night, I don’t know how I survived. My eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion, desperately searching for evidence to clear my name.
But before I could find anything, my family also suffered.
I finally drifted off as dawn broke, only to be startled awake by my sister Mia’s tearful call:
“Bella, Mom was cursed at today when she took me to school, and our doorstep is covered in trash. Mom said, don’t send her money anymore, she can’t use it…”
“This is a disaster!”
In the background, I could hear my mother’s faint sobs.
After hanging up, Liam, my boyfriend of three years, also sent a message:
[Bella, I believe you’re innocent, but the public pressure is too immense. My parents want me to keep my distance from you for now. Let’s not contact each other for a while.]
A cold, unopened takeout container sat on my table, but I had no appetite. My phone screen constantly popped up with news alerts.
Eleanor Vance’s new video was trending again. She appeared without makeup, wearing black-rimmed glasses, clutching a framed photo of her daughter. Her voice was hoarse:
“This unscrupulous doctor killed my child! I’ve already appointed a lawyer. See you in court, I will not accept a settlement!”
Just one night with a high fever, and her child was gone?
I was utterly bewildered, but the suspicion I’d harbored grew stronger.
The online bullying escalated, and the news of Lily’s death was like a match thrown into a powder keg, igniting a firestorm that left me utterly devastated.
I knew silence equaled guilt. I had to act.
I started a live stream and publicly released a statement, proposing a forensic autopsy for the deceased child to determine the true cause of death.
This was the only direct and scientific way I could think of to prove my innocence.
However, this last stand only ignited the fuse for a new wave of anger.
Eleanor Vance cried until she almost fainted in her own live stream:
“My daughter is gone, why won’t they let her rest in peace? That malicious woman, she won’t even spare my child’s body! She just wants to destroy the evidence and clear her own name!”
Her family also appeared in interviews, tearfully condemning my heartlessness and cruelty.
Netizens’ fury reached its peak:
“They want to dissect a child who’s already dead? Dr. Hayes, are you even human?”
“This is clearly stalling for time, trying to evade responsibility!”
“Support Eleanor! Don’t let this vicious woman get away with it!”
“Does she have a powerful backer? She’s so arrogant!”
My insistence seemed so pale and powerless against the surging tide of public opinion. Even the police came to my door, gently advising me:
“Dr. Hayes, the family is emotionally agitated and firmly refuses an autopsy. We can’t force it. How about you apologize first, calm the family down, and then we can discuss it further…”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong. Why should I apologize?”
To my dismay, after the police left, the paparazzi, who had been staking out my home, posted a recording of this conversation online.
The netizens’ emotions were reignited.
“A butcher who thinks nothing of human lives! And she still claims she’s not wrong!”
“Eleanor, please don’t give up. We all support you in fighting for your rights!”
I found myself in deeper trouble. With the path to an autopsy blocked, I couldn’t produce direct evidence to prove my innocence.
Eleanor Vance, on the other hand, firmly occupied the moral high ground, receiving sympathy and financial support from across the internet.
I shut myself in my dimly lit room, curtains tightly drawn, as if that could shield me from the devouring stares and vicious whispers outside.
But every search term with “Isabella Hayes” in it felt like a poisoned dagger, repeatedly tearing at my nerves.
“Ding—”
A new push notification popped up. It was from Eleanor Vance.
She posted a picture of a cemetery. The caption read:
[My daughter, Mom chose a new home for you. There’s no pain there, and no heartless doctors. Mom will definitely get justice for you! @IsabellaHayes, can you sleep at night?]
The comment section was instantly flooded with “Go Mom!”, “Rest in peace, angel baby!”, and “Karma will get her.”
Immediately after, a link for a “Fundraiser for Eleanor Vance’s Legal Fight” was launched. The target amount: five hundred thousand dollars.
The progress bar under the donation link grew almost visibly. Countless anonymous IDs left messages, expressing sympathy for Eleanor and Lily, and curses against me.
I watched the constantly ticking numbers, feeling a chill shoot straight from my feet to the top of my head.
This wasn’t a fundraiser. This was a grotesque spectacle of profiteering, using a child’s death!
And I was the sacrifice, nailed to a pillar of shame, to highlight their supposed kindness and righteousness.
No, I couldn’t just sit here and let myself be slandered.
The autopsy path was blocked; I had to find another angle.
Lily’s sudden death, followed by her swift cremation, could only mean Eleanor’s secret was about to unravel.
I tried to contact Chloe, the nurse who claimed to be my colleague, but found she had blocked me. She seemed to have anticipated that I would confront her when I was at my wit’s end.
Undeterred, I dug out my college contact list and called every classmate who might remember that lab photo.
“Bella, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but you know how people online are now… I’m scared!”
“My wife is pregnant and can’t handle stress, I’m sorry…”
Most calls went to a long busy signal before hanging up automatically.
The few that were answered ended quickly with hesitant stutters and sighs.
My supposedly deep friendships from school felt as thin as water-soaked paper in the face of the online mob.
But I wasn’t disheartened.
Dragging my utterly broken body, I returned to the hospital, hoping to ask former close colleagues to help me access Lily Vance’s past medical records through the internal system.
Even a tiny clue might help piece together the truth.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Hayes… You’ve already resigned and no longer have access to the internal system. Besides, this involves patient privacy…”
My former colleagues, who used to greet me with smiles, now avoided my gaze, whispering so low I could barely hear them.
Meanwhile, the donation page for Eleanor Vance continued to joyfully tick upwards, quickly surpassing the half-million-dollar mark.
She posted a new video, without makeup, her eyes swollen like peaches, bowing deeply to the camera:
“Thank you, everyone! My daughter in heaven will bless all kind-hearted people! I’ll use all this money to hire the best lawyers to make sure the murderer pays! Once we win, I’ll donate all the money to a children’s foundation!”
The comment section was full of praise for her righteousness and kindness. And I was being screamed at by countless people to die.
As I returned to my apartment building, a shout startled me, making me stumble:
“The bitch is here!”
With that explosion from a middle-aged woman, rotten vegetables and eggs flew at me. From that day on, my home address was publicly known across the internet.
My doorstep was either piled with trash or covered in dead rats and foul, yellowish stench. My neighbors, unable to bear the constant harassment, and the building management, tired of being implicated daily, collectively petitioned me to move out.
Unwilling to cause trouble for others, I packed my suitcase and left that very night.
Unfortunately, when I tried to check into a hotel, the receptionist immediately refused me, claiming they were fully booked once they saw who I was.
After being turned away repeatedly, with nowhere to go, I could only call the colleague who had openly defended me. The phone rang for a long time before she answered.
“Dr. Hayes, please don’t call me anymore. I’ve been suspended because of you, and the hospital has launched an investigation into me…”
The call was abruptly disconnected. In the cold dial tone, I leaned against the stained wall and slowly slid to the floor.
Guilt, like a creeping vine, squeezed the breath from my lungs.
Perhaps it was the days of fear, hunger, and utter exhaustion, but I fell ill.
My forehead was so hot you could fry an egg on it, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed razor blades.
Wearing a mask, I bought some medicine at a pharmacy and eventually found a cheap motel that didn’t require ID.
In a blur of feverish awareness, my phone vibrated. It was an anonymous text message:
“Dr. Hayes, I’ve got a lead on what you asked me to investigate.”
The dizziness from the high fever eased slightly with that message.
Just as I confirmed the evidence with the sender, there was an urgent knock at my door.
I opened it to find two police officers in uniform.
Behind them, countless flashing phone screens and prying eyes peered.
“Isabella Hayes, you are suspected of medical malpractice leading to death. Please come with us to the station to cooperate with the investigation.”
The interrogation room lights at the police station were blindingly white.
“Dr. Hayes, if you refused to prescribe fever reducers for Eleanor Vance’s daughter, why did you secretly send her medication afterwards?”
“Did you know her daughter died after taking the fever reducer you sent?”
I shook my head, denying it:
“I didn’t secretly send any medication. Without a blood test to confirm the situation, I would never casually give her child any drugs!”
“Then how do you explain this video?”
The police showed me a video, which astonishingly showed me, fully disguised, at Eleanor Vance’s doorstep delivering medicine.
“I don’t even know where she lives, how could I have…”
The officer interjected, “The hospital system contains her detailed address; there’s no need to quibble.”
Then the police handed me a file.
“This is evidence provided by Ms. Eleanor Vance: an audio recording and her child’s medical death certificate.”
I took it. The recording had clearly been meticulously edited.
It only contained my cold insistence on “needing a blood test before prescribing medication” and her tearful pleas.
On the death certificate, the words “acute severe infection with multi-organ failure” were horrifying.
“Dr. Hayes, as a doctor with many years of practice, why would you do this? Was it truly to generate income for the hospital? To increase your personal earnings?”
I didn’t know why Eleanor Vance was so determined to destroy me, but Lily had already been cremated.
With the hospital unwilling to defend me, it was indeed difficult to prove my innocence.
But I had the strongest evidence now.
I sharply lifted my head, looking at the officer across from me:
“Since Ms. Vance likes to resolve issues via live stream, I request that this questioning be conducted via a live video call, allowing me to confront her face-to-face.”
A dead silence fell over the interrogation room.
The young officer taking notes paused, looking up in astonishment.
The lead interrogating officer frowned, his face full of bewilderment:
“Are you sure? Do you know the public sentiment? They practically want you dead! If you can’t prove your innocence in the end, your life will be ruined!”
“I know!”
I met his sharp gaze, my fingernails digging deeply into my palms.
“As long as I can confront her via video call, you’ll know why I refused to give her child a fever reducer, and you’ll also know why her child died.”
After a long stare-down, the police agreed to my request.
The news spread like wildfire, instantly sweeping across the entire internet.
No one had expected that even after being taken to the police station, I would dare to be so arrogant as to go live and confront Eleanor Vance.
Everyone awaited this face-off between the vicious doctor and the grieving mother.
The camera focused on me, a cold red light flashing.
On the electronic screen opposite, Eleanor Vance’s live video feed appeared.
She still looked pale, eyes red-rimmed, forcing a strong facade of barely suppressed grief.
The number of live viewers, at the moment of connection, rocketed, soaring past ten million. The barrage of comments was so dense it almost obscured the screen.
[The bitch dares to show her face!]
[Go Eleanor! We’re all with you!]
[Look at her, still unrepentant!]
The live stream began. The police questions were sharp and direct.
“Isabella Hayes, why did you refuse to prescribe fever reducers for Eleanor Vance’s daughter, and then secretly send unknown medication that led to her death?”
“Because… she deserved to die.”
My words shocked the entire internet, and even the police slammed the table in anger. Only in Eleanor Vance’s tear-filled eyes was there a flicker of triumph.
The next second, tears streamed down her face:
“I knew she had ill intentions! It’s all my fault for cremating my daughter on impulse, otherwise an autopsy would definitely prove that the medicine she secretly sent was the poison that killed my daughter!”
“If it weren’t for a kind person reminding me afterwards, I never would have thought Isabella Hayes could be so malicious!”
“I only wanted an apology for my child, which is why I live-streamed that night’s consultation. But she actually poisoned my daughter because of it….”
Her tearful accusations elicited a wave of pity and angry curses in the comments section. But I ignored her sorrow and challenged her:
“Eleanor Vance, do you dare to say your daughter had no previous medical history?”
“No! My daughter was just a little frail, with mild anemia and a bleeding disorder, which is why I couldn’t bear for her to have blood drawn…”
“Is that so?”
“Ms. Vance, you repeatedly emphasized your child’s anemia and bleeding disorder, refusing a blood test.”
“Then, please explain this—”
I raised my phone, unlocked it, and turned it towards the camera.
For a second, the live stream was dead silent.
Then, the entire internet erupted in shock!
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