But I had learned something in four years of standing over machines that were failing in ways that could kill the man who grabbed them wrong, and it was this: the loud voice is almost always the wrong one.

The loud voice wants to feel like it is helping.

It wants the relief of action.

It does not care whether the action works.

And the difference between a man who feels like he is helping and a man who actually helps is the difference between a burst-through door and a shaved head sent quietly out of sight — between a satisfying scene and a saved life.

I loved my wife too much to settle for feeling like I was rescuing her.