My Ex-Husband’s New Wife Sent Me a Shocking Bill — Here’s How I Responded

I never expected to see an email from my ex-husband’s new wife in my inbox, let alone one with a bill attached. The nerve she had was unbelievable, and the detailed list of “expenses I supposedly caused” left me completely speechless. However, there was no way I was going to let her absurdity slide without a proper response.

Matt and I had been separated for two years. I believed life had moved on.

That is, until Stephanie, his new wife, decided to charge me for mending all she believed I had ruined in Matt’s life.

Warning: I wasn’t spending any money.

I did, however, send her a memorable response.

I’ve been enjoying living alone ever since Matt and I split up.

I cherish my tranquility, my comfortable routine, and my small home.

After our divorce, I concentrated on starting again, something I believe I ought to have done long before we exchanged vows.

It’s simple to understand why our relationship didn’t work out in retrospect.

In every significant regard, Matt and I couldn’t be more different.

He needed someone to look after him, and I wanted a relationship. After the honeymoon phase ended, the realization struck hard.

A mutual friend had connected us, and Matt first appeared ideal. He was responsible, had a steady job, and had a sweet smile.

It was a dream when we started dating. Alternatively, an illusion.

I can still clearly recall my first visit to his house. Everything was in its proper place, and everything was immaculate.

I remarked, “Wow, you’re really organized,” with admiration.

Matt smiled. “I make an effort to maintain order. It’s simply who I am.

I wish I had known what I know now.

He behaved perfectly during those first few months. Sweet texts, romantic dates, and kind actions gave me the impression that I had struck gold.

I didn’t know how mistaken I was until we were married and living together.

His damp towel on the ground was the first clue.

I initially dismissed it with a laugh.

I picked up my towel and said, “Hey, Matt, don’t forget your towel,”

“Sorry, babe,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “I’ll be more careful.”

He wasn’t, spoiler alert.

Before long, it was more than towels. There are filthy clothing on the bed. The sink is overflowing with dishes. There are incomplete projects all over the place.

He would apologize when I reminded him, but nothing would change.

I recall thinking, “Is this my life now?” as I sat on the couch one evening and watched him play video games.

Living with a teenager was like that.

His job loss made matters worse. Matt lost his job because he skipped meetings and missed deadlines.

“Anyway,” he shrugged, “they were too strictly.” “I’ll find something better.”

However, he didn’t.

Rather, he began a side business that barely made a profit. I was left to handle all of the household chores, the bills, and, to be honest, his life in the interim.

When he couldn’t be bothered, I revised his CV, made appointments for him to see his doctor, and reminded him to call his mother.

I was searching for ways to teach a mature man to be responsible at two in the morning one night after tidying up yet another mess he had left behind. It dawned on me then.

I wasn’t his spouse. His mother was me.

Then it was finished.

We got divorced peacefully. Or so I believed.

I moved out, we divided up our possessions, and that was that.

After getting married to Stephanie last summer, Matt moved on swiftly.

And Stephanie is a character, I must say.

She is among those who share “queen energy” remarks on social media every day. She was one of those people who always spoke about empowerment and self-love, but it was mainly a thin cover for pettiness.

I didn’t spend much time with her. The only time we really interacted was prior to their wedding.

And what a wonderful experience it was.

One morning, the wedding invitation arrived in my mailbox. Given that I hadn’t spoken to Matt since we signed the divorce papers, it seemed a little odd, but I assumed Stephanie could be attempting to be kind. I said “no” in my RSVP. I had no intention of going.

Stephanie, however, didn’t stop there.

She called me a week prior to the wedding. I recall looking at my phone and being perplexed by her number.

I answered because my curiosity got the better of me.

“Hello, Emma! She chirped, sounding far too happy, “This is Stephanie. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

My response was, “Uh… no, I guess not,” “What’s up?”

“Well, I had a favor to ask. I thought it would be wonderful to add some pictures of the two of you to the wedding slideshow because you were such an important part of Matt’s life. To illustrate his “journey in love,” you know.

I nearly dropped the phone. “I’m sorry… what?”

“Oh, and if you could tell me a little bit about his preferences. I could truly personalize my vows if I knew about his favorite foods, pastimes, and so.”

Was she being serious?

I said, courteously, “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” “But best of luck with your wedding.”

In hindsight, I should have blocked her at that point. I watched the train wreck from a safe distance, though, out of curiosity.

According to what I’ve heard, Stephanie’s wedding was just what you would anticipate. excessively dramatic and exaggerated.

Naturally, I wasn’t present, but friends who were told the specifics told me.

The speech of the maid of honor? An unsubtle jab at me.

She said, “Matt’s finally found a real partner,” and she toasted Stephanie.

The presentation? It featured a surreal “before and after” comparison of Matt’s life, suggesting that while Stephanie added color and happiness to his time with me, his time with me was drab and dreary.

It was humiliating. For her.

When I learned about it, I rolled my eyes, but I assumed that was the last time I would be involved with their circus. Both they and I would go on.

However, I received an email titled “Invoice for Outstanding Expenses” a month ago.

This must be spam, was my initial assumption.

But my jaw dropped to the ground as I opened it.

It wasn’t spam.

Stephanie sent me a comprehensive bill that included a spreadsheet of alleged costs I had “caused” while married to Matt.

My eyes were unbelievable.

A sample of what she listed is as follows:

$300 for new glasses and Matt’s visit to the eye doctor: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating during your marriage.”

For a new clothing, $2,500: “Because his clothes were outdated and unflattering, a reflection of neglect.”

Therapy sessions costing $200: “To undo the emotional damage caused by your lack of support.”

A fitness instructor for $500: “To rebuild his self-esteem after years of being ignored.”

A brand-new mattress for $1,000: “To replace the one you bought, which gave him back pain.”

$100 for a class on meal planning: “Because he didn’t know how to eat right until he met me.”

It came to more than $5,000.

She added a brief message at the conclusion of the email.

As his wife, I’ve made significant financial investments to try to fix him. You should contribute, of course.

I was surprised.

Was there a joke here? I pondered. Who would send such a charge to their husband’s ex-wife?

I made the decision then that I would not tolerate this.

I had no intention of paying her. However, I was going to enjoy myself immensely with this.

I initially wrote a harsh response. It contained paragraphs detailing the ridiculousness and absurdity of her email. “No, that’s too easy,” I thought. Let’s leave a lasting impression.

I made the decision to have some fun.

I took a seat, inhaled deeply, and started typing a counter-invoice. One of the most fulfilling emails I’ve ever written was this one.

Here’s a sample:

Subject: Reaction to Unpaid Expense Invoice

Greetings, Stephanie

I appreciate your thorough email. I have to admit, I laughed a lot! I do, however, have some additional costs and clarifications that you might have overlooked.

First, the appointment with the eye doctor. It’s funny that you brought that up. For years, Matt was reluctant to go because he didn’t want to “look like a nerd.” I’m happy you were able to persuade him to change his mind.

The cost of the wardrobe? Yes, I do recall that. Matt loved his “ironic graphic tees” and had a whole collection of them. Among his favorites was the one that read, “Taco Tuesday Is My Religion.” I had no intention of arguing with an adult guy about his clothing choices.

What about therapy? I wholeheartedly endorse his quest for personal development. I’m just shocked that he didn’t get started earlier. I’m hoping that his therapist is assisting him in overcoming his fear of lowering the toilet seat.

Let’s talk about that mattress now. Yes, the one with the integrated cup holders. Matt had always wanted to buy something for his “gaming nights.” The update has undoubtedly been worthwhile.

What about the course on food planning? Whoa. I had no idea that professional training was required to recognize the health benefits of vegetables. Maybe I ought to have gotten a life coach to show him the correct way to load a dishwasher.

However, because we’re talking about costs, I’ve put together my own counter-invoice for you:

$10,000 for handling all of the housework while Matt spent five years playing video games.

$15,000 was spent on emotional work, which included reminding him to pay his bills, see the dentist, and call his mother.

$5,000 for the brain cells he lost while hearing his business concepts, such as the software that matches users based on their preferred pizza toppings.

$30k in total.

Due in full by Friday of next week.

Sincerely,

Your forebear

I didn’t finish when I pushed submit.

I CC’d some mutual pals just for kicks.

My phone began to overflow with calls and messages in a matter of hours. “Emma, this is legendary.” “I’m framing this and hanging it in my kitchen!”

Naturally, Stephanie wasn’t overjoyed. She made an effort to clarify, but the more she spoke, the worse she came across. All she was attempting to do, she said, was “set things right” and make sure Matt wasn’t “left with baggage from his past.”

After a while, Matt gave me a call.

“Emma… He sighed into the phone and apologized. “I had no idea she’d do that.”

It was the first time he had ever apologized to me.

“It’s okay, Matt,” I said. Just remember to pay the bill.

The icing on the cake? A few weeks later, at a gathering hosted by a mutual acquaintance, someone inquired as to whether Matt ever reimbursed me for the “emotional labor.”

Red in the face, he departed the gathering early.