Getting an email from my ex-husband’s new wife was the last thing I expected—especially one with a bill attached. The itemized list of “expenses caused by me” left me speechless. The audacity? Unmatched. But there was no way I was letting her nonsense slide without a response.
Matt and I had been divorced for two years. Life had moved on—or so I thought.
Enter Stephanie, his new wife, who decided to bill me for “fixing” everything she believed I’d broken in Matt’s life.
Spoiler alert: I wasn’t paying a cent.
But I did send her a reply she’ll never forget.
After the divorce, I settled into my own cozy routine. I loved my little house and the peace that came with it. Rebuilding my life post-Matt was one of the best decisions I ever made—and, honestly, something I should’ve done long before we said, “I do.”
Looking back, it’s painfully clear why things didn’t work out.
Matt and I were polar opposites in every way that mattered. I wanted a partner; he wanted someone to take care of him. It became obvious shortly after the honeymoon glow faded.
When we first met, Matt seemed perfect—stable job, charming smile, responsible demeanor. Our dates felt like a dream. Or, more accurately, an illusion.
The first red flag came when I visited his apartment. Everything was spotless.
“Wow, you’re so organized,” I said, impressed.
“I try to keep things tidy,” he replied with a grin. “It’s just how I am.”
Spoiler: it wasn’t.
Once we got married and moved in together, the real Matt showed up. Wet towels on the floor. Dirty dishes piling up. Half-finished projects everywhere. I’d remind him; he’d apologize. Nothing changed.
When he lost his job for missing deadlines and skipping meetings, I thought, Things can’t get worse. Spoiler: they did.
He took up a side hustle that barely brought in any money while I handled the bills, housework, and—frankly—his life. One night, as I Googled “how to make a grown man more responsible,” it hit me: I wasn’t his wife. I was his mother.
And that was that.
Our divorce was amicable—or so I thought.
Matt moved on quickly, marrying Stephanie last summer. She’s… a character. The type to post “queen energy” quotes on Instagram while throwing thinly veiled jabs at others.
I avoided interacting with her, except for one memorable encounter.
Before their wedding, Stephanie sent me an invitation. Strange, considering I hadn’t spoken to Matt since the divorce, but I assumed she was trying to be civil. I RSVP’d no.
Then came the call.
“Hi, Emma! It’s Stephanie,” she chirped. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Uh… no,” I replied cautiously. “What’s up?”
“Well,” she began, “since you were such a big part of Matt’s life, I thought it’d be nice to include photos of you two in the wedding slideshow. You know, to show his ‘journey in love.’”
I nearly dropped my phone.
“And,” she continued, “if you could share some details about his favorite meals or hobbies, it would help me personalize my vows.”
Was she serious?
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said, keeping my voice polite. “Best of luck with the wedding.”
Looking back, I should’ve blocked her then and there.
Months later, I got the email.
Subject: Invoice for Outstanding Expenses
At first, I thought it was spam. But no—it was a detailed bill from Stephanie, complete with a spreadsheet of “expenses” she claimed I’d caused during my marriage to Matt.
Highlights included:
- $300 for Matt’s eye doctor appointment: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating.”
- $2,500 for a new wardrobe: “To fix the neglect.”
- $500 for a fitness coach: “To rebuild his self-esteem.”
- $1,000 for a new mattress: “To replace the one you bought, which caused him back pain.”
The total? Over $5,000.
She ended with a note: As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.
I was stunned. Who does this?
Instead of ignoring it, I decided to have fun.
I drafted a counter-invoice:
Subject: Response to Invoice for Outstanding Expenses
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you for your email. It gave me a good laugh! However, I noticed a few omissions and have attached my own invoice for your review.
- $10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games.
- $15,000 for emotional labor, including reminding him to call his mom and rewrite his resume.
- $5,000 for enduring his endless pitches for an app to match people by pizza toppings.
Total: $30,000.
Payable in full by next Friday.
Warm regards,
Your predecessor
For added flair, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone blew up. “Emma, this is iconic!” “I’m printing this out and framing it.”
Stephanie wasn’t thrilled. She tried explaining herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded. Eventually, Matt called.
“Emma, I’m so sorry,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I had no idea she’d do that.”
“Just make sure you pay my invoice,” I replied, grinning.
At a party weeks later, someone asked Matt if he ever paid me back for the “emotional labor.” He turned red and left early.
Now, whenever Stephanie’s name comes up, someone inevitably says, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing.
