Getting an email from my ex-husband’s new wife was not something I ever expected. And definitely not with a bill attached.
The subject line read: “Invoice for Outstanding Expenses.”
At first, I thought it was some kind of spam. But when I opened it, my jaw dropped.
The email contained a detailed list of “expenses caused by me,” and let me tell you, the audacity was unmatched. I had to read it twice just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
But I wasn’t about to let this nonsense slide without a response.
I had been divorced from Matt for two years. We had gone our separate ways, and life had moved on. Or so I thought.
That was until his new wife, Stephanie, decided to send me a bill for everything she claimed I had “broken” in Matt’s life.
Spoiler alert: I wasn’t paying a cent.
But I was about to send her a response she’d never forget.
Since the divorce, I had been enjoying my life. My cozy little house, my peaceful routine, and most importantly, my freedom.
Looking back, I now realized that I should have rebuilt my life long before our marriage even ended.
Matt and I had been opposites in every way that mattered. I wanted a partner. He wanted someone to take care of him.
When we first met, he seemed perfect. He had a stable job, a charming smile, and an air of responsibility. We were introduced by a mutual friend, and during the dating phase, he was on his best behavior—romantic dates, sweet texts, thoughtful gestures.
It was all an illusion.
I remember the first time I visited his apartment. It was spotless, everything neatly arranged.
“Wow, you’re really organized,” I had said, genuinely impressed.
Matt grinned. “I try to keep things tidy. It’s just how I am.”
What a joke. If only I had known then what I know now.
The first sign of trouble came after we got married. 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 sitting on the couch one night, watching him play video games, and thinking, “Is this my life now?”
Then he lost his job.
He 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 picked up a side gig that barely brought in any money. Meanwhile, I was left managing all the bills, the housework, and, honestly, his life.
I scheduled his doctor’s 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 had left behind, I found myself Googling, “How to encourage a grown man to be responsible” at 2 a.m.
That was my wake-up call.
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, marrying a woman named Stephanie last summer. And let me tell you, Stephanie was… a character.
She was one of those people who posted daily “queen energy” quotes on social media. The kind of person who talked about self-love and empowerment but mostly just used it as an excuse for pettiness.
I didn’t interact with her much, except for one unforgettable moment before their wedding.
One day, out of nowhere, I got a wedding invitation in the mail.
I hadn’t spoken to Matt since the divorce, so I found it strange. Maybe Stephanie was trying to be civil? Either way, 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.
“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she chirped, way too cheerful. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Uh… no, I guess not,” I said cautiously. “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 nearly dropped the phone. “I’m sorry… what?”
“Oh, and if you could share some details about what he likes—his favorite meals, hobbies—that would really help me personalize my vows.”
Was she serious?
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said as politely as I could. “But best of luck with your wedding.”
Looking back, I should’ve blocked her right then and there.
A month after their wedding, the email arrived. The bill.
A spreadsheet listing all the things I had “caused” during my marriage to Matt.
Some highlights:
- $300 for Matt’s eye doctor appointment and new glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating.”
- $2,500 for a new wardrobe: “Because his clothes were outdated, 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.”
- $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.”
Total? Over $5,000.
Her final note read: As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.
I stared at the email, stunned.
Was this a joke? Who sends their husband’s ex-wife a bill?
I wasn’t about to let this go unanswered.
So I sent her a counter-invoice:
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 additional charges you might have missed.
- $10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games.
- $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 failed business ideas.
Total: $30,000.
Payable in full by next Friday.
Warm regards, Your predecessor
I hit send. Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone was blowing up. “Emma, this is legendary!” “I’m framing this and hanging it in my kitchen!”
Stephanie was furious. Matt even called me, embarrassed.
“Emma… I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I had no idea she’d do that.”
“Just make sure you pay that invoice, Matt.”
Now, whenever Stephanie’s name comes up, someone inevitably says, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing.
