We would have found a way. We always did. [Elizabeth looks down at their hands, furrows her brow at the brand on Booker's hand. He punished himself so readily, made himself believe he would never do anything good again without a reminder of how terrible he had been before. It broke her heart to see him, the man who had been a fixed point of possibility and hope, punish himself over and over again.]

I won't say anything if you want to keep drinking. But at least come home, Booker. I don't want you to be alone.