It hurts, handing her the divorce papers. He hadn't expected to feel bad, feel anything at all. He had steeled himself against the wave of emotions.
But the knife cuts through him when she sees that he's not joking. When she nearly collapses into his arms, legal papers falling to the ground next to her purse and jacket.
She pleads with him to give her another chance, that she'll make it up to him, to all of them.
He shakes his head, words temporarily stuck in his chest as he steadies her on her own feet. He tells her, as calmly as possible, that they're done, that he can't do this anymore. They'd been over for a while. What she did two weeks ago was just the final straw. He offers to pay for a room at the Plaza until she can find her own place.
Her fingers tremble as she goes to pack some clothes from the bedroom. When she returns, he's missing. He leaves a note on her things with the hotel confirmation number and a final "I love you."
He doesn't hear the front door close as he walks the upstairs hallway, trying to quiet the newborn in his arms. He can do this alone, he decides, running his fingertip over Alexis's tiny, upturned nose. He and his little girl can do this alone.