Getting an email from my ex-husband’s new wife wasn’t something I ever expected. Especially not with a bill attached. The list of “expenses caused by me” left me speechless, and her audacity was unmatched. But I wasn’t about to let her nonsense slide without a response.
I’d been divorced from Matt for two years. Life had moved on, or so I thought.
That was until his new wife, Stephanie, decided to bill me for fixing everything she thought I’d broken in Matt’s life.
Spoiler alert: I wasn’t paying a cent.
But I did send her a response she’ll never forget.
Ever since Matt and I parted ways, I’ve been enjoying living on my own.
I love my little house, my cozy routine, and my peace of mind.
After our divorce, I focused on rebuilding my life, and I think that’s something I should’ve done long before we said, “I do.”
Looking back, it’s easy to see why things didn’t work out between us.
Matt and I were poles apart in every way that mattered.
I wanted a partner, and he wanted… well, someone to take care of him. The realization hit hard after the honeymoon period wore off.
We’d been introduced by a mutual friend, and at first, Matt seemed perfect. He had a stable job, a charming smile, and an air of responsibility.
Our dating days were a dream. Or rather, an illusion.
I remember the first time I went over to his place. It was spotless, and everything was neatly arranged.
“Wow, you’re really organized,” I said, impressed.
Matt grinned. “I try to keep things tidy. It’s just how I am.”
If only I knew then what I know now.
During those first few months, he was on his best behavior. Romantic dates, sweet texts, and thoughtful gestures made me think I’d hit the jackpot.
It was only after we got married and moved in together that I realized how wrong I was.
The first sign? His wet towel on the floor.
At first, I laughed it off.
“Hey, Matt, don’t forget your towel,” I said, picking it up.
“Sorry, babe,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be more careful.”
Spoiler: He wasn’t.
Soon, it wasn’t just towels. Dirty clothes on the bed. Dishes piling up in the sink. Half-finished projects scattered everywhere.
I’d remind him, he’d apologize, and nothing would change.
I remember one night sitting on the couch, watching him play video games, and thinking, Is this my life now?
It was like living with a teenager.
Things got worse when he lost his job. Matt was fired for missing deadlines and skipping meetings.
“They were too strict anyway,” he shrugged. “I’ll find something better.”
But he didn’t.
Instead, he started a side gig that barely brought in any money. Meanwhile, I was left managing all the bills, the housework, and, honestly, his life.
I booked his doctor appointments, reminded him to call his mom, and even rewrote his resume when he couldn’t be bothered.
One night, after cleaning up yet another mess he’d left behind, I found myself Googling how to encourage a grown man to be responsible at 2 a.m. That’s when it hit me.
I wasn’t his wife. I was his mother.
It was over after that.
Our divorce was amicable. Or so I thought.
We split our belongings, I moved out, and that was that.
Matt moved on quickly, tying the knot with a woman named Stephanie last summer.
And let me tell you, Stephanie is… a character.
She’s one of those people who posts daily “queen energy” quotes on social media. You know, she was one of those who always talked about self-love and empowerment, but it was mostly just a thin veil for pettiness.
I didn’t interact with her much. Our only real encounter was before their wedding.
And, oh, what an experience that was.
The wedding invite showed up in my mailbox one morning. It was a bit strange, considering I hadn’t spoken to Matt since we signed the divorce papers, but I figured maybe Stephanie was trying to be civil. I RSVP’d no. There was no way I was attending.
But Stephanie didn’t stop there.
A week before the wedding, she called me. I remember staring at my phone, confused by her number on my screen.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I answered.
“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she chirped, sounding far too cheerful. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Uh… no, I guess not,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Well, I wanted to ask a favor. Since you were such a big part of Matt’s life, I thought it would be nice to include some photos of you two in the wedding slideshow. You know, to show his ‘journey in love.'”
I almost dropped the phone. “I’m sorry… what?”
“Oh, and if you could share a few details about what he likes. His favorite meals, hobbies, that sort of thing… it would really help me personalize my vows.”
Was this woman serious?
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said politely. “But best of luck with your wedding.”
Looking back, that should’ve been my cue to block her. But curiosity kept me watching the train wreck from a safe distance.
The wedding, from what I heard, was exactly what you’d expect from someone like Stephanie. Over-the-top and full of unnecessary drama.
I wasn’t there, of course, but friends who attended filled me in on the details.
The maid of honor’s speech? A not-so-subtle dig at me.
“Matt’s finally found a real partner,” she declared, toasting to Stephanie.
The slideshow? It included a bizarre “before and after” transformation of Matt’s life, implying that his time with me was dull and gray while Stephanie brought color and joy.
It was embarrassing. For her.
I rolled my eyes when I heard about it, but I figured that was the end of my involvement in their circus. They’d move on, and so would I.
But a month ago, an email landed in my inbox with the subject line, Invoice for Outstanding Expenses.
My first thought was, This has to be spam.
But when I opened it, my jaw hit the floor.
It wasn’t spam.
It was a detailed bill from Stephanie, complete with a spreadsheet of supposed expenses I had “caused” during my marriage to Matt.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Here’s a taste of what she listed:
$300 for Matt’s eye doctor appointment and new glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating during your marriage.”
$2,500 for a new wardrobe: “Because his clothes were outdated and unflattering, a reflection of neglect.”
$200 for therapy sessions: “To undo the emotional damage caused by your lack of support.”
$500 for a fitness coach: “To rebuild his self-esteem after years of being ignored.”
$1,000 for a new mattress: “To replace the one you bought, which gave him back pain.”
$100 for a meal planning course: “Because he only learned to eat properly after meeting me.”
The total? Over $5,000.
She ended the email with a little note.
It read, As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.
I was shocked.
Was this a joke? I thought. Who sends their husband’s ex-wife a bill like that?
At that point, I decided I wouldn’t let this slide.
I wasn’t going to pay her. But I sure was going to have some fun with this.
At first, I drafted a scathing reply. It had paragraphs of how absurd and ridiculous her email was. But then I thought, No, that’s too easy. Let’s make this memorable.
I decided to have a little fun.
I sat down, took a deep breath, and began typing a counter-invoice. It was one of the most satisfying emails I’ve ever written.
Here’s a snippet:
Subject: Response to Invoice for Outstanding Expenses
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you for your detailed email. I must say, it gave me quite the laugh! However, I do have a few clarifications and additional charges you might have missed.
Let’s start with the eye doctor appointment. Funny you mentioned that. Matt refused to go for years because he didn’t want to “look like a nerd.” I’m glad you finally convinced him otherwise.
The wardrobe expenses? Oh, I remember that well. Matt had an entire collection of “ironic graphic tees” that he adored. He was particularly fond of the one that said, “Taco Tuesday Is My Religion.” I wasn’t about to fight a grown man over his wardrobe choices.
As for therapy? I fully support his journey of self-improvement. I’m just surprised he didn’t start sooner. I hope his therapist is helping him work through his fear of putting the toilet seat down.
Now, about that mattress. Ah, yes, the one with built-in cup holders. That was Matt’s dream purchase for his “gaming nights.” I’m sure the upgrade has been worth it.
And the meal planning course? Wow. I didn’t realize it took professional training to understand that vegetables are good for you. Perhaps I should’ve hired a life coach to teach him how to load a dishwasher properly.
But since we’re discussing expenses, I’ve compiled my own counter-invoice for you:
$10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games for five years.
$15,000 for emotional labor, including constantly reminding him to call his mom, go to the dentist, and pay his bills.
$5,000 for lost brain cells from listening to his business ideas — like that app that matches people by their favorite pizza toppings.
Total: $30,000.
Payable in full by next Friday.
Warm regards,
Your predecessor
I hit send, but I wasn’t done yet.
Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone started blowing up with calls and messages. “Emma, this is legendary.” “I’m framing this and hanging it in my kitchen!”
Stephanie, of course, wasn’t thrilled. She tried to explain herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded. She claimed she was only trying to “set things right” and ensure Matt wasn’t “left with baggage from his past.”
Eventually, Matt called me.
“Emma… I’m sorry,” he said, sighing into the phone. “I had no idea she’d do that.”
It was the first apology I’d ever received from him.
“Matt,” I replied, “it’s fine. Just make sure you pay that invoice.”
The cherry on top? At a mutual friend’s party a few weeks later, someone asked Matt if he ever paid me back for the “emotional labor.”
He turned bright red and left the party early.
Now, whenever Stephanie’s name comes up, someone inevitably says, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing.
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: Teresa thought she had it all with Shawn, her high school sweetheart turned husband. But as his ambition faded, so did their marriage. Following a bitter divorce, Shawn’s family turned vicious. Just when Teresa thought she couldn’t take any more, an unexpected ally stepped in, demanding justice.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
