It was now past midnight, and I had gotten out of bed to stumble over to my desk. I turned on my desk lamp, hoping not to wake Milli. As I flipped the switch, I wondered if the light from the bulb contained some wavelengths of 400 nanometers, like that problem she solved as a baby. Yes, it probably did, I thought.

But regardless of the wavelengths that struck her, she didn't wake up. She was sleeping, and a beauty. In fact, she was just like Sleeping Beauty, except she had not been cursed to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel before the sun sets on her 16th birthday, and die.

I took a minute to look at her. She was still as beautiful as the day I married her. Which, incidentally, was yesterday. I always enjoyed watching her in her sleep. It was like staying in the zoo after hours and watching the animals at night.

Her lungs filled with air, extracted the oxygen from it, then collapsed to expel the carbon dioxide. They were just like artificial respirators, except with no mechanical components. I watched her heart beat. The valves snapped open and closed to regulate the flow of blood, first from her atria to her ventricles, and then out into her body through her great arteries. Her heart was like a pacemaker that didn't require batteries.

I had turned on the light to look at some notes I had written to myself the night before. I hadn't been sleeping well lately. While a mesothelioma lawyer is always stressed, I had been dealing with a few particularly difficult cases lately.

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