Getting an email from my ex-husband’s new wife was the last thing I ever expected. Especially not with an invoice attached. The list of “expenses caused by me” left me speechless. The audacity of this woman was unreal. But if she thought I was just going to ignore it, she was in for a surprise.
Matt and I had been divorced for two years. Life had moved on—or so I thought.
That was until Stephanie, his new wife, decided I owed her money for “fixing” Matt after our marriage ended.
Spoiler alert: I wasn’t paying a cent.
But I did send her a response she’d never forget.
Ever since the divorce, I’d been enjoying my life—my peaceful little house, my cozy routines, and the bliss of living alone. No messes, no constant nagging, no overgrown man-child to take care of.
Looking back, it was no mystery why our marriage failed. Matt and I were complete opposites in every way that mattered.
I wanted a partner. He wanted a mother.
When we first met, I thought he was charming, responsible, and mature. He had a stable job, a great sense of humor, and he seemed like the kind of man who had his life together.
I remember the first time I went to his apartment. Everything was neat, clean, perfectly in place.
“Wow, you’re really organized,” I said, genuinely impressed.
Matt grinned. “I try to keep things tidy. It’s just how I am.”
If only I had known.
For the first few months, he was on his best behavior. Romantic dates, sweet messages, thoughtful little surprises. It was a dream.
Then we got married.
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 the towel. It was dirty clothes on the bed. Dishes left in the sink. Unfinished projects scattered everywhere.
I’d remind him. He’d apologize. Nothing changed.
One night, as I sat on the couch watching him play video games for hours, I realized something: I wasn’t his wife. I was his babysitter.
It got worse when he lost his job. 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 hustle” that barely made any money. Meanwhile, I was left paying all the bills, managing the house, and—let’s be honest—running his entire 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, I found myself Googling “how to encourage a grown man to be responsible” at 2 a.m.
That’s when it hit me.
This wasn’t a marriage. It was a full-time job. And I was done working overtime.
Our divorce was amicable. Or so I thought.
Matt moved on fast. A year later, he married Stephanie—a woman who loved posting daily “queen energy” quotes on social media.
I barely knew her, but our first real interaction was unforgettable.
The wedding invite showed up in my mailbox one morning. Strange, considering Matt and I hadn’t spoken since signing the divorce papers.
A week before the wedding, she called me.
“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she chirped. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Uh… no, I guess not,” I said, confused.
“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 sort of thing—it would really help me personalize my vows.”
Was this woman serious?
“Yeah… I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said. “But best of luck with your wedding.”
I should have blocked her right then. But curiosity kept me watching the train wreck from a safe distance.
Friends later told me about the wedding.
The maid of honor’s speech? A not-so-subtle dig at me. “Matt’s finally found a real partner,” she toasted.
The slideshow? A bizarre “before and after” of Matt’s life, making it look like his time with me was dull and gray while Stephanie had somehow turned him into a shining star.
Embarrassing. For her.
But I figured that was the end of it. They’d move on. I’d move on.
Then, last month, I got an email.
Subject: Invoice for Outstanding Expenses.
My first thought? Spam.
But when I opened it, my jaw hit the floor.
It was a detailed bill from Stephanie, complete with a spreadsheet of expenses I had “caused” during my marriage to Matt.
A few highlights:
- $300 for Matt’s new glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating.”
- $2,500 for a new wardrobe: “To fix his outdated, neglected look.”
- $200 for therapy: “To undo the emotional damage you caused.”
- $500 for a fitness coach: “To rebuild his self-esteem.”
- $1,000 for a new mattress: “Because the one you bought gave him back pain.”
Total? $5,000.
She ended the email with: As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.
I was stunned. Who does this?
I wasn’t about to let this slide. But instead of anger, I felt inspiration.
I sat down and wrote my response.
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 believe you overlooked some expenses. Please find my counter-invoice below:
- $10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games for five years.
- $15,000 for emotional labor, including reminding him to call his mom and pay bills.
- $5,000 for lost brain cells from listening to his business ideas—like the app that matches people by pizza toppings.
Total: $30,000.
Payable in full by next Friday.
Warm regards,
Your predecessor.
Then, just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone exploded with messages. “Emma, this is legendary.” “I’m framing this email.”
Stephanie was furious. She tried to explain herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded.
Even Matt called me. “Emma… I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d do that.”
“Matt,” I said, “it’s fine. Just make sure you pay that invoice.”
At a party weeks later, someone asked Matt if he ever paid me back for the “emotional labor.”
He turned bright red and left early.
Now, whenever Stephanie’s name comes up, people say, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing.
