[So he only gets to gain any ground in this if he's perfectly logical, if his emotions don't affect him at all? That's rich. Must be nice to get to set the rules as she apparently does.

This whole argument is sickeningly familiar. He's not as blind and obsessed as he was months ago, but they're falling into old rhythms, old ways of fighting, just like they had before he decided he had to leave. And that's not fair, he hasn't done anything—maybe his fuckups have been a lot worse than hers, turning his back on their marriage is far more catastrophic than hiding a journal should be, but she's not even admitting she's done anything wrong here.]

It has no relevance to you. I had a life before you, Elena, is it that shocking that I could have a sentimental attachment to something you didn't know about?

[The last thing he has of his mother's. The only photograph of his brother. Maybe he could have told her about them if this hadn't been thrown in his face suddenly, maybe he still should, but he can't. The words lock themselves away when he even thinks about speaking them.]

There's no information in this journal that I didn't already have. That's not the point. You should have said something—how am I supposed to know that you're not keeping things from me in the future, huh?