I never expected to get an email from my ex-husband’s new wife, let alone one with a bill attached. The list of “expenses caused by me” left me stunned—it was unbelievably bold. But I wasn’t about to ignore her ridiculous claims.
Matt and I had been divorced for two years, and I thought we’d both moved on.
That was until his new wife, Stephanie, decided to charge me for everything she believed I had messed up in Matt’s life.
I wasn’t about to pay her a single cent.
Instead, I sent her a reply she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
Since Matt and I split, I’ve been loving my life on my own. My little house, my simple routine, and my peace of mind mean everything to me.
After the divorce, I focused on putting my life back together—something I should’ve done long before we got married.
Looking back, it’s clear why our relationship didn’t work. Matt and I were complete opposites where it really mattered.
I wanted a partner, but he just wanted someone to take care of him. That became painfully clear once the honeymoon phase ended.
We met through a mutual friend, and at first, Matt seemed ideal—he had a good job, a great smile, and seemed responsible.
Dating him felt like a dream. But looking back, it was all just an illusion.
I still remember the first time I went to Matt’s place. It was spotless, with everything perfectly in place.
“Wow, you’re so organized,” I said, genuinely impressed.
He smiled and said, “I try to keep things tidy. It’s just how I am.”
If only I’d known better.
In those first few months, he was on his best behavior—romantic dates, sweet messages, and thoughtful gestures that made me think I’d found the perfect partner.
But after we got married and moved in together, reality hit me hard.
The first red flag? His wet towel on the floor.
At first, I just laughed it off.
“Hey, Matt, don’t forget your towel,” I said, picking it up.
“Sorry, babe,” he answered with a sheepish smile. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
Spoiler: He never changed.
Soon, it wasn’t just the towels. Dirty clothes on the bed, dishes piling up in the sink, and half-finished projects scattered all over the place.
I’d remind him, he’d apologize, and nothing would ever change.
I remember sitting on the couch one night, watching him play video games, thinking, Is this really my life now?
Living with Matt felt like living with a teenager.
Things got worse when he lost his job. He was fired for missing deadlines and skipping meetings.
“They were too strict anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll find something better.”
But he didn’t.
Instead, he started a side gig that barely made any money. Meanwhile, I was left handling all the bills, the housework, and, honestly, his entire life.
I booked his doctor appointments, reminded him to call his mom, and even rewrote his resume because he couldn’t be bothered.
One night, after cleaning up yet another mess, I found myself Googling “how to make a grown man be responsible” at 2 a.m. That’s when it hit me.
I wasn’t his wife—I was his mother.
That realization ended it for me.
Our divorce was simple, or at least I thought it was. We divided our things, I moved out, and that was that.
Matt moved on quickly, marrying a woman named Stephanie last summer.
And let me tell you, Stephanie is something else.
She’s the type who posts daily “queen energy” quotes on social media—always preaching self-love and empowerment, but really just masking a lot of pettiness.
I didn’t deal with her much. The only time we crossed paths was before their wedding, and let’s just say it was an unforgettable experience.
The wedding invite arrived in my mailbox one morning, which was odd since Matt and I hadn’t spoken since the divorce. Maybe Stephanie was trying to be polite? Either way, I RSVP’d no. There was no chance I was going.
But Stephanie didn’t stop there.
A week before the wedding, she called me. I remember staring at the phone, confused as to why her number was even showing up.
Curiosity got the best of me, so I answered.
“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she said, her voice overly cheerful. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Uh… no, I guess not,” I replied cautiously. “What’s up?”
“Well,” she began, “I wanted to ask a favor. Since you were such a big part of Matt’s life, I thought it would be lovely 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 a few details about what Matt likes—his favorite meals, hobbies, that kind of thing—it would really help me personalize my vows,” she added.
Was this woman serious?
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said as politely as I could. “But best of luck with your wedding.”
Looking back, that should’ve been my sign to block her. But curiosity kept me watching the chaos from a safe distance.
From what I heard, the wedding was exactly what you’d expect from someone like Stephanie—over-the-top and packed with unnecessary drama.
I didn’t attend, of course, but friends who went gave me the details.
The maid of honor’s speech? A thinly veiled jab at me.
“Matt’s finally found a real partner,” she said, raising her glass to Stephanie.
The slideshow? It included a strange “before and after” of Matt’s life, painting his time with me as dull and lifeless while Stephanie supposedly brought him joy and color.
It was embarrassing—for her.
I rolled my eyes when I heard about it, but I figured that was the end of their antics. They’d move on, and so would I.
About a month ago, I got an email with the subject line: Invoice for Outstanding Expenses.
At first, I thought it had to be spam.
But when I opened it, I was completely shocked.
It wasn’t spam—it was a detailed bill from Stephanie, complete with a spreadsheet of “expenses” she claimed I had caused during my marriage to Matt.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Here are some of the things she listed:
- $300 for Matt’s eye doctor visit and glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was getting worse during your marriage.”
- $2,500 for a new wardrobe: “Because his clothes were outdated and unflattering—a reflection of neglect.”
- $200 for therapy: “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 that 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 note that said:
“As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.”
I was stunned.
Was this some kind of joke? Who sends their husband’s ex-wife a bill like that?
I decided I wasn’t going to let it slide. I wasn’t paying her, of course, but I was definitely going to have some fun with this.
At first, I started drafting a harsh reply, filled with paragraphs about how absurd and ridiculous her email was. But then I thought, No, that’s too easy. Let’s make this unforgettable.
So I decided to get creative. I sat down, took a deep breath, and started typing a counter-invoice. Writing it was oddly satisfying.
Here’s a part of what I sent:
Subject: Response to Invoice for Outstanding Expenses
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you for your email—it gave me a good laugh! But I think you missed a few details, so I’d like to clarify and add some charges of my own.
Let’s start with the eye doctor appointment. Funny you brought that up! Matt refused to go for years because he didn’t want to “look like a nerd.” I’m glad you finally talked him into it.
The wardrobe expenses? Oh, I remember that well. Matt had a bunch of “ironic graphic tees” he loved, including one that said, “Taco Tuesday Is My Religion.” I wasn’t going to argue with a grown man over his clothes.
As for therapy, I’m all for his self-improvement. I’m just surprised he didn’t start earlier. I hope his therapist is helping him with his fear of putting the toilet seat down.
About that mattress—yes, the one with built-in cup holders. That was Matt’s dream buy for his “gaming nights.” I’m sure the new one is a big upgrade.
And the meal planning course? Wow. I didn’t realize it needed professional training to figure out that vegetables are good for you. Maybe I should’ve hired a life coach to teach him how to load a dishwasher properly.
Since we’re talking about expenses, I’ve put together a counter-invoice for you:
- $10,000 for managing all household tasks while Matt played video games for five years.
- $15,000 for emotional labor, including 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.
Due by next Friday.
Warm regards,
I hit send, but I wasn’t finished yet.
Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone was ringing off the hook with calls and messages. “Emma, this is legendary.” “I’m framing this and putting it in my kitchen!”
Stephanie, of course, wasn’t happy. She tried to explain herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded. She said she was just trying to “set things right” and make sure Matt wasn’t “left with baggage from his past.”
Eventually, Matt called me.
“Emma… I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh on the phone. “I had no idea she’d do that.”
It was the first apology I’d ever gotten from him.
“Matt,” I replied, “it’s fine. Just make sure you pay that invoice.”
The best part? A few weeks later, at a mutual friend’s party, someone asked Matt if he’d 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 always says, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing.