I thought the worst pain of my life was saying goodbye to him. I was wrong. The true nightmare began an hour before the service, right there in the hushed, velvet-lined hallway of the funeral home.
The funeral director, a soft-spoken man named Mr. Abernathy, approached me with an apologetic wince. “Mrs. Hayes, I am so deeply sorry to disturb you at this moment. However, the final payment for the transport and the plot… your primary bank card was declined. I tried the secondary one as well. The accounts appear to be frozen.”
A cold dread coiled in my gut. “Frozen? That’s impossible. David and I made sure everything was funded last week.”
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