Receiving an email from my ex-husband’s new wife, Stephanie, wasn’t exactly on my list of things to expect this year. Especially when it came with a bill—she claimed I owed her money for “damages” caused during my marriage to Matt. Her audacity was something else. But I wasn’t about to let this one slide.
It had been two years since my divorce from Matt, and life had been moving along—at least, I thought it was—until Stephanie decided to invoice me for what she believed were the “repairs” she needed to make after my marriage. Spoiler: I wasn’t paying a cent, but I sure had a reply for her that she wouldn’t forget.
After the divorce, I found a rhythm I was happy with: a cozy house, a peaceful routine, and no more towels left 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. The first few months were idyllic, with romantic dates and a clean apartment. It was all an illusion. The real Matt showed up after the wedding.
It started small—wet towels on the floor, dishes piling up in the sink. I used to laugh it off. “Matt, don’t forget your towel,” I’d say, picking it up. He’d promise to do better, but he never did. It escalated to overflowing laundry, missed bills, and half-finished projects.
When Matt lost his job for missing deadlines, I tried to be supportive. “I’ll find something better,” he promised. But “better” turned into a side hustle that brought in pennies, while I carried the weight of the bills, housework, and—let’s face it—Matt himself.
One night, after cleaning up yet another mess of his, I Googled “how to get a grown man to be responsible.” That was my breaking point. I wasn’t his wife; I was his mother. Our divorce was, or so I thought, amicable.
Matt remarried quickly, to Stephanie. She posted constant “queen energy” quotes online, which mostly seemed like passive-aggressive digs. 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 finished.
A week before the wedding, she called me.
“Hi, Emma! This is Stephanie,” she said cheerfully. “I was wondering if you could help me with my vows. Can you share some of Matt’s favorite meals or hobbies? Maybe even a few photos for the wedding slideshow?”
I almost dropped the phone. “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “Good luck with the wedding.”
The wedding was just as over-the-top as I expected—drama-filled, complete with a slideshow comparing Matt’s “gray and dull” past (me) to his “bright and colorful” future (Stephanie). I rolled my eyes and moved on, until her email landed in my inbox.
The subject: “Invoice for Outstanding Expenses.” I opened it, thinking it was spam, but instead found a detailed list of charges Stephanie expected me to pay.
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