My Ex Husband’s New Girlfriend Found My Number to Ask Me Just One Question — When I Read Her Text, I Was Stunned

My story is about how my ex-husband’s girlfriend realized a truth about him that I grew too comfortable with while married to him. With one important question, his new girlfriend taught me a valuable lesson about self-love after reaching out unexpectedly.

I’ve been divorced for five years now, and it’s been an interesting journey navigating life post-marriage. My ex-husband, Ben, 48, and I, 45, were together for 13 years and had two wonderful kids. Even after our split, we’ve managed to stay on good terms.

A mother with two children | Source: Pexels

A mother with two children | Source: Pexels

We co-parent effectively despite our marriage having its ups and downs. Ben and I are best friends and have also maintained a friendship that surprises most people. Our divorce wasn’t messy; we simply wanted different things out of life.

Yesterday was our eldest’s 16th birthday, and we decided to celebrate with a family dinner. Ben has been seeing someone new, a woman named Lisa, for about four months. He told me about her as soon as their relationship got serious.

Someone's birthday party | Source: Pexels

Someone’s birthday party | Source: Pexels

Transparency was part of our agreement to keep things open and honest for the sake of our children. He asked if he could bring Lisa to the birthday dinner, and while I wasn’t thrilled as I would have preferred to meet her one-on-one first, I didn’t want to cause any drama or be intrusive. So, I agreed.

On that fateful day, I finally got to meet Lisa who was friendly, and eager to make a good impression, which was a relief. I preferred her to be a good person if she was going to be around my children.

Two women clinking glasses | Source: Pexels

Two women clinking glasses | Source: Pexels

She’s got a kind smile and she immediately struck up a conversation with me about the kids’ school and activities. I could tell she was trying hard to fit in, which I appreciated.

As the evening went on, I noticed how attentive Lisa was to Ben. It was sweet but also a little unsettling because I never saw that side of him during our marriage. I chalked it up to new relationship energy and tried to focus on the kids and the celebration.

A happy couple bonding | Source: Pexels

A happy couple bonding | Source: Pexels

Halfway through dinner, things got weird when my eldest handed me a birthday card from her father. This caught me off guard because my birthday was months ago. No one usually remembers it, and Ben has never been one to recall such occasions.

Don’t get me wrong, my children’s father is a great man. But he’s really terrible with things like anniversaries, birthdays, or any special occasions. During all the years we were together, Ben never got me a present or card.

Someone lighting the candles on a birthday cake | Source: Pexels

Someone lighting the candles on a birthday cake | Source: Pexels

It was also my responsibility to handle events like the kids’ birthdays, Christmas, and more. I don’t know if I was wrong for this, but his forgetfulness didn’t bother me. I thanked my daughter, feeling touched by the gesture.

Lisa, sitting across from me, saw my surprise. I had assumed she’d made him get it, but then I noticed how she was giving me these funny looks. Unsure what they meant, I decided to mingle with other guests to avoid the awkwardness.

A woman holding a card | Source: Freepik

A woman holding a card | Source: Freepik

But, Lisa somehow managed to get my attention. “Ben mentioned he’s not great with birthdays,” she said with a chuckle. “He forgot mine a few weeks ago. Is it intentional?”

I laughed, remembering all the missed anniversaries and forgotten special days. “I have no idea, Lisa, but 13 years of marriage and two kids wasn’t the benchmark because he never really got the hang of it,” I replied. “It’s just who he is.”

Two women talking | Source: Pexels

Two women talking | Source: Pexels

Lisa seemed disappointed and tried to hide it, but I thought nothing of it and wandered off to talk to other guests. I decided to shift the conversation to something lighter and talked about family plans and the upcoming holidays. The rest of the evening went smoothly, and we all parted ways with smiles and hugs.

Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I received a text from an unknown number. It was my ex’s new girlfriend. “Hi, this is Lisa. I got your number from Ben. I hope it’s okay to text you. I wanted to ask you something.”

A woman holding her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman holding her phone | Source: Pexels

Curious, I replied, “Sure, what’s up?”

Her response came quickly and when I read it, I was STUNNED. She hadn’t gotten over our brief conversation earlier and was asking if Ben’s forgetfulness of special occasions was something that could be fixed. “I know this might seem odd because we touched on it earlier, but I need to know…”

“…Does Ben ever improve when it comes to birthdays and anniversaries? I don’t want to make a big deal out of it if it’s something that won’t change.” I stared at my phone, feeling a mix of emotions. Part of me wanted to warn her, to tell her not to ever expect much.

A shocked woman reacting to something on her phone | Source: Freepik

A shocked woman reacting to something on her phone | Source: Freepik

But another part of me debated whether to give Ben a heads-up as it seemed like this was a serious issue for his new girlfriend and that she expected more attention to such things. Yet, a part of me resented having to teach him to be better about something he never tried with me.

I also felt like it wasn’t my place to interfere. After a moment, I typed back, “Honestly, he’s my ex for a reason. I can’t say if he’ll change or not, and I’m not going to have the answers you need.” I continued, “It’s something you’ll have to figure out together. Lovely meeting you, though.”

A woman texting on her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman texting on her phone | Source: Pexels

Months went by without much thought about that night. Then, one evening, Ben called me out of the blue. “Lisa and I broke up,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“She kept making a big deal out of nothing, busy complaining about birthdays and anniversaries. I told her it’s not something I care about, and she just wouldn’t let it go,” he said, sounding furious.

“It turned into this huge argument when I forgot our anniversary, and she left,” he explained, his voice tinged with annoyance.

A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

I sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt as I wondered if I could’ve helped them if I had been more supportive of Lisa when she texted me. “Ben, did she tell you it was important to her?” I asked, feeling like my responses to Lisa played a part in their breakup.

He was silent for a moment. “She told me on many occasions that such things were important to her.”

“But WHO CARES! You never made it a big deal,” he said defensively.

Tired of coddling him, I said, “Well, sir, and that’s why we divorced.”

An upset woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

An upset woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels

“That’s mean, Kim,” my ex replied, sounding sad.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I stopped trying because I knew it wouldn’t matter to you,” I replied calmly. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t important to me. Or to her. You have to meet people halfway.”

Ben grumbled something under his breath, and I could tell he wasn’t ready to accept that truth. We ended the call on a neutral note, and I sat there, thinking about Lisa. She deserved someone who would appreciate her efforts and reciprocate her feelings.

An upset woman thinking | Source: Pexels

An upset woman thinking | Source: Pexels

A few days later, I bumped into Lisa at the grocery store. She looked tired but managed a smile when she saw me. “Hi, how are you?” she asked politely.

“I’m good, thanks. How about you?” I replied, genuinely concerned.

“I’ve been better,” she admitted. “Ben and I broke up.”

“I heard,” I said softly. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

She sighed. “I couldn’t deal with feeling unimportant. I tried to explain it to him, but he didn’t seem to care.”

Two women at a grocery store | Source: Pexels

Two women at a grocery store | Source: Pexels

I nodded, understanding her frustration all too well. “It’s hard when someone doesn’t value what you do. You deserve someone who will.”

Lisa smiled sadly. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I guess I hoped he could change.”

“Change is hard for some people,” I said gently. “But don’t lose hope. You’ll find someone who values you.”

Two women at a grocery store | Source: Pexels

Two women at a grocery store | Source: Pexels

We parted ways, and I felt a strange sense of closure. Lisa’s struggle mirrored my past frustrations, but it also highlighted how much I had grown since my marriage ended. I had learned to accept Ben’s flaws, but I also realized that I deserved more than what he was willing to give.

That evening, I sat down with my children and talked about their dad. I wanted them to understand that while he had his shortcomings, he loved them deeply. We laughed about his forgetfulness and shared stories of the good times we had as a family.

A mother bonding with her child | Source: Pexels

A mother bonding with her child | Source: Pexels

As I reflected on everything, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had moved on from the hurt and disappointment and was ready to embrace whatever the future held. I hoped Lisa would find the happiness she deserved, and I knew that I had done the right thing by not getting too involved in their relationship.

In the end, it wasn’t about birthdays or anniversaries. It was about finding someone who truly valued and appreciated you for who you are. I did not doubt that Lisa would find that person someday, and I knew I was finally content with my own life.

A woman thinking | Source: Pexels

A woman thinking | Source: Pexels

As I looked at my children, I felt grateful for the love and joy they brought into my life. We had our good and bad moments, but we were a family, and that was what mattered most. And as for Ben, I hoped he would eventually learn to value the important things in life.

For now, I was happy. I had my kids, friends, and a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. And that was more than enough.

Two children bonding | Source: Pexels

Two children bonding | Source: Pexels

If you enjoyed Kim’s story, you’ll love this one about a woman who got pregnant around the same time her son’s girlfriend was also expecting. The son’s girlfriend caused a rift in the family when she made demands of his mother about naming her child.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

My Neighbor Started a Barbecue Every Time I Hung Laundry Outside Just to Ruin It

For 35 years, my laundry routine was sacred… until my new neighbor, armed with grudge and a grill, started firing it up the moment my pristine sheets hit the clothesline. It seemed petty at first. Then it got personal. But in the end, I had the last laugh.

Some people mark the seasons by holidays or weather. I mark mine by which sheets are on the line: flannel in winter, cotton in summer, and those lavender-scented ones my late husband Tom used to love in spring. After 35 years in the same modest two-bedroom house on Pine Street, certain rituals become your anchors, especially when life has stripped so many others away.

A smiling woman hanging a dress on a clothesline | Source: Pexels

A smiling woman hanging a dress on a clothesline | Source: Pexels

I was pinning up the last of my white sheets one Tuesday morning when I heard the telltale scrape of metal across concrete next door.

“Not again,” I muttered, clothes pins still clenched between my lips.

That’s when I saw her: Melissa, my neighbor of exactly six months. She was dragging her massive stainless steel barbecue grill to the fence line. Our eyes met briefly before she looked away, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Morning, Diane!” she called out with artificial sweetness. “Beautiful day for a cookout, isn’t it?”

I removed the pins from my mouth. “At ten in the morning on a Tuesday?”

She shrugged, her blonde highlights catching the sun. “I’m meal prepping. You know how it is… busy, busy!”

I had to rewash an entire load that came out reeking of burnt bacon and lighter fluid after one of Melissa’s smoky meal prep sessions.

A barbecue grill | Source: Unsplash

A barbecue grill | Source: Unsplash

When she pulled the same stunt that Friday while I was hanging clothes on the line, I’d had enough and stormed across the lawn.

“Melissa, are you grilling bacon and lighting God knows what every time I do laundry? My whole house smells like a diner married a bonfire.”

She gave me that fake, sugary smile and chirped, “I’m just enjoying my yard. Isn’t that what neighbors are supposed to do?”

Within minutes, thick plumes of smoke drifted directly onto my pristine sheets, the acrid smell of burnt bacon and steak mingling with the scent of my lavender detergent.

This wasn’t cooking. This was warfare.

Smoke emanating from a BBQ grill | Source: Unsplash

Smoke emanating from a BBQ grill | Source: Unsplash

“Everything okay, hon?” Eleanor, my elderly neighbor from across the street, called from her garden.

I forced a smile. “Just peachy. Nothing says ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ quite like smoke-infused laundry.”

Eleanor set down her trowel and walked over. “That’s the third time this week she’s fired up that thing the minute your laundry goes out.”

“Fourth,” I corrected. “You missed Monday’s impromptu hot dog extravaganza.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

I nodded, watching as my sheets began to take on a grayish tinge. “Twice. She just smiles and says she’s ‘enjoying her property rights.'”

Sheets pinned to a clothesline | Source: Unsplash

Sheets pinned to a clothesline | Source: Unsplash

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Tom wouldn’t have stood for this nonsense.”

The mention of my husband’s name still created that momentary hitch in my chest, even eight years later. “No, he wouldn’t have. But Tom also believed in picking your battles.”

“And is this one worth picking?”

I watched as Melissa flipped a hamburger patty, the grill large enough to cook for 20 people. “I’m starting to think it might be.”

I took down my now smoke-infused sheets, holding back tears of frustration. These were the last set Tom and I had bought together before his diagnosis. Now they reeked of cheap charcoal and pettiness.

A teary-eyed woman | Source: Pexels

A teary-eyed woman | Source: Pexels

“This isn’t over,” I whispered to myself as I trudged back inside with my ruined laundry. “Not by a long shot.”

“Mom, maybe it’s time to just get a dryer,” my daughter Sarah suggested. “They’re more efficient now, and—”

“I have a perfectly good clothesline that’s served me for three decades, sweetie. And I’m not about to let some Martha Stewart wannabe with boundary issues chase me off it.”

Sarah sighed. “I know that tone. What are you planning?”

“Planning? Me?” I opened my kitchen drawer and pulled out the neighborhood association handbook. “Just exploring my options.”

A surprised young lady | Source: Pexels

A surprised young lady | Source: Pexels

“Mom…?! I smell rats. Big ones.”

“Did you know there are actually rules about barbecue smoke in our HOA guidelines? Apparently, it’s considered a ‘nuisance’ if it ‘unduly impacts neighboring properties.'”

“Okayyyy?!? Are you going to report her?”

I closed the handbook. “Not yet. I think we need to try something else first.”

“We? Oh no, don’t drag me into your neighbor feud,” Sarah laughed.

“Too late! I need to borrow those neon and pink beach towels you used at that swim camp last summer. And any other colorful laundry you can spare.”

“You’re going to fight barbecue with laundry?”

“Let’s just say I’m going to give her Instagram brunch a new backdrop.”

Bright pink and green striped towels on the sand | Source: Pexels

Bright pink and green striped towels on the sand | Source: Pexels

I sat on my back porch, iced tea in hand, and watched as Melissa’s backyard was transformed. Strings of Edison bulbs appeared along her fence. A new pergola materialized. Potted plants with color-coordinated flowers lined her immaculate paver patio.

Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, the same group of women showed up with designer bags and bottles of champagne.

They’d crowd around her long farmhouse table, snapping photos of avocado toast and each other, cackling like hyenas while gossping about everyone who wasn’t there… especially the ones they’d hugged five minutes earlier.

A group of women laughing | Source: Unsplash

A group of women laughing | Source: Unsplash

I overheard enough of their conversations to know exactly what Melissa thought of me and my clothesline.

It’s like living next to a laundromat,” she once told a friend, not even bothering to lower her voice. “So tacky. This neighborhood was supposed to have standards.”

***

Snapping out of my thoughts, I rushed inside and grabbed the neon towels plus that hot pink robe with “Hot Mama” on the back that my mom gave me for Christmas.

“Mom, what are you doing?” my youngest, Emily, gasped. “You said you’d never wear this in public.”

I smiled. “Things change, honey.”

A woman wearing a bright pink robe | Source: Unsplash

A woman wearing a bright pink robe | Source: Unsplash

Saturday morning arrived with perfect blue skies. I watched from my kitchen window as caterers set up Melissa’s elaborate brunch spread. Flowers were arranged. Champagne was iced. And the first guests began to appear, each one dressed more impeccably than the last.

I timed it perfectly, waiting until phones were out and mimosas were being raised for a group selfie.

That’s when I emerged with my laundry basket.

A woman holding a laundry basket | Source: Freepik

A woman holding a laundry basket | Source: Freepik

“Morning, ladies!” I called cheerfully, setting down my overflowing basket of the most garish, colorful items I could assemble.

Melissa’s head snapped in my direction, her smile freezing in place. “Diane! What a…surprise. Don’t you usually do laundry on weekdays?”

I hung up a neon green beach towel and laughed. “Oh, I’m flexible these days. Retirement is wonderful that way.”

A woman laughing | Source: Pexels

A woman laughing | Source: Pexels

The women at the table exchanged glances as I continued hanging item after item: my children’s SpongeBob sheets, the hot pink “Hot Mama” robe, leopard print leggings, and a collection of bright Hawaiian shirts Tom had loved.

“You know,” one of Melissa’s friends stage-whispered, “it’s really ruining the aesthetic of our photos.”

“That’s so unfortunate,” I replied, taking extra time positioning the robe directly in their camera line. “Almost as unfortunate as having to rewash four loads of laundry because of barbecue smoke.”

A woman holding her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman holding her phone | Source: Pexels

Melissa’s face flushed as she stood abruptly. “Ladies, let’s move to the other side of the yard.”

But the damage was done. As they repositioned, I could hear the murmurs and gossips:

“Did she say barbecue smoke?”

“Melissa, are you feuding with your widowed neighbor?”

“That’s not very community-minded…”

I hid my smile as I continued hanging the laundry, humming loudly enough for them to hear.

Two women gossiping | Source: Pexels

Two women gossiping | Source: Pexels

When the brunch ended earlier than usual, Melissa marched to the fence. Up close, I could see the perfect makeup couldn’t quite hide the tension in her face.

“Was that really necessary?” she hissed.

“Was what necessary?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I do. Just like you knew exactly what you were doing with your strategic barbecuing.”

“That’s different—”

“Is it? Because from where I stand, we’re both just ‘enjoying our yards.’ Isn’t that what neighbors are supposed to do?”

An angry young woman | Source: Pexels

An angry young woman | Source: Pexels

Her eyes narrowed at hearing her own words thrown back at her. “My friends come here every week. These gatherings are important to me.”

“And my laundry routine is important to me. It’s not just about saving money on utilities, Melissa. It’s about memories. That clothesline was here when I brought my babies home from the hospital. It was here when my husband was still alive.”

Her phone buzzed. She glanced down at it, her expression hardening again. “Whatever. Just know that your little laundry show cost me followers today.”

As she stormed off, I couldn’t help but call after her: “That’s a shame! Maybe next week we should coordinate colors!”

A woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

A woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels

For three consecutive Saturdays, I made sure my most colorful laundry made its appearance during brunch. By the third week, Melissa’s guest list had noticeably thinned.

I was hanging up a particularly vivid tie-dyed sheet when Eleanor appeared at my side, her garden gloves still on.

“You know,” she said with a chuckle, “half the neighborhood is taking bets on how long this standoff will last.”

I secured the last clothespin. “As long as it takes. I just want her to see me… and understand that I have as much right to my clothesline as she does to her brunches.”

A woman clipping laundry to a clothesline | Source: Freepik

A woman clipping laundry to a clothesline | Source: Freepik

After Eleanor left, I sat on my porch swing, watching my laundry dance in the breeze. The vivid colors against the blue sky reminded me of the prayer flags Tom and I had seen on our trip to New Mexico years ago. He’d loved how they moved in the wind, carrying wishes and prayers up to heaven.

I was so lost in the memory that I didn’t notice Melissa approaching until she was standing at the foot of my porch steps.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone clipped and formal.

I gestured to the empty chair beside me. “Have a seat.”

An empty chair on the porch | Source: Unsplash

An empty chair on the porch | Source: Unsplash

She remained standing, her arms crossed tightly. “I want you to know that I’ve moved my brunches inside. Happy now?”

“I wasn’t trying to ruin your brunches, Melissa. I was just doing my laundry.”

“On Saturday mornings? Coincidentally?”

“About as coincidental as your barbecues starting every time my whites hit the line.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, two women too stubborn to back down.

A mature woman staring at someone | Source: Pexels

A mature woman staring at someone | Source: Pexels

“Well,” she finally said, “I hope you enjoy your victory and your tacky clothesline.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to her house.

“I will!” I called after her. “Every single sunny day!”

***

These days, hanging laundry has become my favorite part of the week. I take my time arranging each item, making sure the “Hot Mama” robe gets prime position where it catches the most sunlight.

Eleanor joined me one Saturday morning, handing me clothespins as I worked.

“Have you noticed?” she asked, nodding toward Melissa’s yard where the patio sat empty, curtains drawn. “She hasn’t fired up that grill in weeks.”

I smiled, adjusting a particularly bright yellow sheet. “Oh, yes!”

An empty patio | Source: Unsplash

An empty patio | Source: Unsplash

“And have you also noticed she can barely look at you? I swear, yesterday at the mailbox she practically sprinted back inside when she saw you coming.”

I laughed, remembering how Melissa had clutched her letters to her chest and scurried away like I was wielding something more dangerous than fabric softener.

“Some people just can’t handle losing,” I said, pinning up the last sock. “Especially to a woman with a clothesline and the patience to use it.”

A woman running | Source: Pexels

A woman running | Source: Pexels

Later, as I sat on my porch swing with a glass of iced tea, I caught sight of Melissa peering through her blinds. When our eyes met, she frowned deeply and let the slat snap shut.

I raised my glass in her direction anyway.

Tom would have gotten such a kick out of all this. I could almost hear his deep chuckle, feel his hand on my shoulder as he’d say, “That’s my Diane… never needed more than a clothesline and conviction to make her point!”

The truth is, some battles aren’t about winning or losing. They’re about standing your ground when the smoke clears… and showing the world that sometimes the most powerful statement you can make is simply hanging your laundry out to dry, especially when it includes a neon pink robe with “#1 HOT MAMA” emblazoned across the back.

Clothes hanging on a clothesline | Source: Unsplash

Clothes hanging on a clothesline | Source: Unsplash

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