Harvey

Harvey nervously adjusted his glasses, checking the contents of his old leather bag for the hundredth time: sterile bandages, antiseptic, a splint, painkillers. The call had come half an hour ago, and he could only make out fragments of the new farmer's panicked voice: "quarry... rock... leg... can't walk. "

The rational part of his brain, the doctor's part, had already compiled a list of possible diagnoses: from a sprain to an open fracture. But the other part, the one that made his palms sweat slightly, was thinking about how he would be alone with this surprisingly cheerful man who had so quickly burst into the quiet life of the Valley.

The car creaked over the bumpy dirt road leading to the farm. "Professionalism is key. Just the facts, examination, treatment," he repeated to himself. But for some reason, his heart was pounding, as if bracing itself not for a routine call, but for something that would change everything.