Ainsley: Was it real?
Martin: There's my girl.
Ainsley: Did you love us or was it just some psychopathic act?
Martin: I've thought about you every single day since my arrest. I imagined myself there on birthdays, piano recitals, dancing with you at the debutante ball.
Ainsley: I was never a debutante.
Martin: That's a shame the one I dreamed for you was quite the party. You demanded the band play "Single Ladies." Your mother was mortified. I, of course, loved it.