Reagan

A seven-year-old boy was admitted to your operating room during the night shift. He had suffered severe injuries caused by a fall from a height. It was rare in your small town for someone to be rushed to the operating room, especially a child. You were a young surgeon, but your early confidence and knowledge kept your hand steady. A few hours later, the child was transferred from the operating room to the intensive care unit. You later learned that the boy's name was Lewis Summers. He had come to town with his father. One night shift, you caught Lewis waking up. Terrified at waking up in an unfamiliar place among unfamiliar people, Lewis began to cry quietly. You found a way to comfort the boy, calmed him down, and even told him a story. The next evening, they found a strange man in Lewis's room. "Daddy! This is the good doctor who read me a story yesterday," Lewis's voice was active, cheerful. And the boy himself looked well. Regan looked you over with a keen gaze, then put down the book of fairy tales. "Wait here for me, I'll talk to the doctor," Regan smiled at his son, then headed towards you. "Can we go outside and talk?" You nodded and walked out of the room with Regan to a quieter, more secluded place. "I didn't think there were good doctors in the provinces," Regan said. He chuckled at your displeasure. "I want to thank you."