I’d been divorced from Matt for two years. Life had moved on—or so I thought. That was until his new wife, Stephanie, decided to bill me for fixing everything she thought I’d broken in Matt’s life. I wasn’t paying a cent. But I did send her a response she’d never forget.

 

Ever since Matt and I parted ways, I’d been enjoying my peaceful, drama-free existence. I loved my little house, my cozy routine, and most of all, my freedom.

 

Looking back, it was obvious why things didn’t work out. I wanted a partner. Matt wanted… a mom.

 

During our dating days, he seemed perfect—charming, responsible, and put-together. I still remember the first time I saw his apartment, neat and spotless. “Wow, you’re really organized,” I’d said, impressed. Matt grinned. “I try to keep things tidy. It’s just how I am.”

 

If only I knew then what I know now. Once we got married, the illusion shattered. The first sign? His wet towel on the floor.

 

“Hey, Matt, don’t forget your towel,” I reminded him, laughing.

 

“Sorry, babe,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll be more careful.”

 

Spoiler: He wasn’t.

 

Soon, it wasn’t just towels. Dishes piled up. Dirty laundry was everywhere. Half-finished “projects” cluttered every corner. I became his personal assistant—scheduling doctor’s appointments, reminding him to call his mom, and even rewriting his resume because he couldn’t be bothered.

 

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chocolate chips

Chocolate

caramels

Then he lost his job.

 

“They were too strict anyway,” he shrugged. “I’ll find something better.” But he didn’t. Instead, he started a “side hustle” that barely covered his snack budget, leaving me to handle all the bills and his life admin.

 

One night, after cleaning up yet another mess he left behind, I found myself Googling “how to encourage a grown man to be responsible” at 2 a.m.

 

That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t his wife—I was his mother. After that realization, it was over.

 

Our divorce was amicable. Or so I thought.

 

Matt moved on quickly, marrying a woman named Stephanie last summer. And Stephanie? She was… a character.

 

You know the type—posts daily “queen energy” quotes, talks about self-love but mostly just as an excuse to be petty. Our only real interaction had been before their wedding, and oh, what an experience that was.

 

One morning, an invite arrived in my mailbox. I assumed it was a mistake, but before I could toss it, Stephanie called me.

 

“Emma! Hi! This is Stephanie!” she chirped. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time!”

“Uh… no?” I said, confused.

“Great! I was wondering if you’d send me some old photos of you and Matt for our wedding slideshow. You know, to show his ‘journey in love.’”

 

I almost dropped my phone.

 

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Oh! And if you could share details about what he likes—his favorite meals, hobbies—it would really help me personalize my vows!”

 

Was this woman serious?

 

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me,” I said, and hung up.

 

Looking back, I should have blocked her then and there. But curiosity kept me watching the train wreck from a safe distance.

 

The wedding, from what I heard, was a spectacle of pettiness.

 

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 “before and after” montage of Matt’s life—gray and lifeless with me, colorful and joyous with Stephanie.

 

Embarrassing. For her. I rolled my eyes and moved on. Until, a month ago, an email landed in my inbox:

 

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 believed I had “caused” during my marriage to Matt. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

 

Here’s a taste of what she listed:

 

$300 for Matt’s eye doctor appointment and new glasses – “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating.”

$2,500 for a new wardrobe – “Because his clothes were outdated and unflattering—a reflection of neglect.”

$200 for therapy sessions – “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, which 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 even ended with a note: “As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.”

 

I was shocked. Who sends their husband’s ex-wife a bill?

 

At first, I drafted a scathing reply. Then I thought, No. That’s too easy. I wasn’t paying. But I was going to have some fun. Instead, I sent my own invoice.

 

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 noticed a few missed expenses, so I’ve compiled my own counter-invoice:

 

Let’s start with the eye doctor appointment. Funny you mentioned that. Matt refused to go for years because he didn’t want to “look like a nerd.” I’m glad you finally convinced him otherwise. The wardrobe expenses? Oh, I remember that well. Matt had an entire collection of “ironic graphic tees” that he adored. He was particularly fond of the one that said, “Taco Tuesday Is My Religion.” I wasn’t about to fight a grown man over his wardrobe choices.

 

As for therapy? I fully support his journey of self-improvement. I’m just surprised he didn’t start sooner. I hope his therapist is helping him work through his fear of putting the toilet seat down. Now, about that mattress. Ah, yes, the one with built-in cup holders. That was Matt’s dream purchase for his “gaming nights.” I’m sure the upgrade has been worth it.

 

And the meal planning course? Wow. I didn’t realize it took professional training to understand that vegetables are good for you. Perhaps I should’ve hired a life coach to teach him how to load a dishwasher properly. But since we’re discussing expenses, I’ve compiled my own counter-invoice for you:

 

$10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games for five years.

 

$15,000 for emotional labor, including constantly 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.

 

Payable in full by next Friday.

 

Warm regards,

Your predecessor

 

hit send. But I wasn’t done yet.

 

Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends. Within hours, my phone blew up. “Emma, this is legendary. I’m framing this and hanging it in my kitchen.”

 

Stephanie, of course, lost it. She tried to justify herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded.

 

Eventually, Matt called. “Emma… I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I had no idea she’d do that.”

 

It was the first apology I’d ever received from him. “Matt,” I said, “it’s fine. Just make sure you pay that invoice.”

 

The cherry on top?

 

At a party a few weeks later, someone asked Matt if he ever paid me back for all the “emotional labor.”

 

He turned bright red and left early.

 

Now, anytime Stephanie’s name comes up, someone inevitably says: “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”

 

And honestly? I regret nothing.