My Ex husbands New Wife Sent Me a Bill for Expenses Caused by Me

Getting an email from my ex-husband’s new wife, Stephanie, wasn’t on my bingo card for the year. Especially not with a bill attached—a list of “expenses” she claimed I owed for “damages” caused during my marriage to Matt. Her audacity was unparalleled. But I wasn’t about to let her nonsense go unanswered.

I’d been divorced from Matt for two years. Life had moved on—or so I thought—until Stephanie decided to bill me for “fixing” everything she thought I’d broken in Matt’s life. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t paying a dime. But I did send her a response she’d never forget.

Since my divorce, I’d found a rhythm I loved: my cozy little house, my peaceful routine, and no one leaving towels on the floor. Looking back, marrying Matt had been a mistake. We were opposites in every way that mattered. I wanted a partner; he wanted someone to take care of him.

When we first met, Matt seemed perfect—steady job, charming smile, responsible. Or so I thought. During those early months, he was on his best behavior: romantic dates, thoughtful texts, and a clean apartment that fooled me into thinking he was organized. The illusion shattered after we got married.

It started small—wet towels on the floor, dirty dishes left in the sink. At first, I laughed it off. “Matt, don’t forget your towel,” I’d say, picking it up. He’d grin and promise to do better. He never did. Soon, it wasn’t just towels. It was laundry everywhere, missed bills, and projects left half-finished.

When Matt lost his job for missing deadlines and skipping meetings, I tried to be supportive. “I’ll find something better,” he said. But “better” turned into a half-hearted side gig that brought in pennies while I shouldered the bills, the housework, and, honestly, Matt himself.

One night, after cleaning up yet another of his messes, I Googled, how to get a grown man to be responsible. That was my breaking point. I wasn’t his wife—I was his mom. Our divorce was amicable—or so I thought.

Matt remarried quickly. Stephanie, his new wife, was… a lot. She posted daily “queen energy” quotes on social media that mostly came off as passive-aggressive jabs at others. Our paths didn’t cross much, but she made an impression when she invited me to their wedding. I RSVP’d no, but Stephanie wasn’t done.

A week before the wedding, she called me.

“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she chirped. “I was wondering if you could help me personalize my vows. Could you share some of Matt’s favorite meals or hobbies? Maybe even send over a few photos of you two for the wedding slideshow?”

I almost dropped the phone. “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said, biting back a laugh. “Good luck with your wedding.”

The wedding went as you’d expect: over-the-top, full of drama, and even included a slideshow with a “before and after” transformation of Matt’s life. Apparently, I represented the “gray and dull” past, while Stephanie was his “bright and colorful” future. I rolled my eyes and moved on—until her email landed in my inbox.

The subject line read: Invoice for Outstanding Expenses. I opened it, thinking it was spam, only to find a detailed spreadsheet of charges Stephanie expected me to pay.

Here are some highlights:

• $300 for Matt’s glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating.”
• $2,500 for a new wardrobe: “To replace the outdated, unflattering clothes you let him wear.”
• $200 for therapy sessions: “To undo the emotional damage caused by your neglect.”
• $1,000 for a new mattress: “Because the one you bought gave him back pain.”
• $500 for a fitness coach: “To rebuild his confidence after your marriage.”

The total? Over $5,000. She ended the email with, “As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.”

At first, I drafted a scathing reply. But then I thought, No, this calls for something better. Instead of a rant, I sent a counter-invoice.

Here’s a snippet:

Subject: Response to Invoice for Outstanding Expenses

Dear Stephanie,

Thank you for your email. I must admit, it gave me quite the laugh! Since you’re itemizing expenses, I thought I’d do the same.

• $10,000 for managing household responsibilities while Matt played video games for five years.
• $15,000 for emotional labor, including booking his doctor appointments, reminding him to call his mom, and rewriting his resume.
• $5,000 for lost brain cells from entertaining his business ideas—like the app that matches people based on their favorite pizza toppings.

Total: $30,000. Payable in full by next Friday.

Warm regards,
Your predecessor

Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends. Within hours, my phone blew up with messages like, “Emma, this is iconic” and “I’m framing this email!” Stephanie’s attempts to explain herself only made her look worse. She claimed she was “setting things right” and “protecting Matt from his baggage.”

Eventually, Matt called me.

“Emma, I’m so sorry,” he said, sighing. “I had no idea she’d do that.” It was the first apology I’d ever gotten from him.

“Matt,” I replied, “just make sure you pay my invoice.”

The cherry on top? At a party a few weeks later, someone jokingly asked Matt if he’d paid me back for the “emotional labor.” He turned bright 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 have no regrets.