I lost my husband- and FNB lost its humanity

I am a widow. A mother. A woman trying to survive unthinkable loss while holding together a life that fell apart in one moment.

My husband died under traumatic circumstances. In the aftermath, I was left to navigate grief, shock, legal processes, and the weight of a world that no longer made sense. I was also left to raise our minor child alone, to carry on without the man who had been our covering and our compass.

In the midst of this—while I was still trying to breathe—FNB chose profit over compassion.

We informed FNB, along with all other creditors, that the estate could not cover all debts. My attorney wrote to them with a request that was simple: a compassionate write-off in line with what other creditors had already agreed to. Every other institution responded with understanding and humanity. Every one but FNB.

Instead of empathy, we received resistance.

Instead of grace, we received penalties.

Instead of help, we received pressure.

Eventually, after fighting just to get accurate bond settlement figures, I found a way—through sacrifice and sheer will—to pay off the bond. I thought the nightmare was behind me. But it wasn’t.

Now, FNB wants me to pay their legal fees for bond cancellation—fees that were never transparently communicated, and which the estate cannot afford. After everything I’ve paid—financially and emotionally—they are still trying to extract more.

They speak of policy. But where is their conscience?

They speak of procedure. But where is their humanity?

They offered a “grace period” only after I begged. And even then, they quietly loaded penalties. There was no kindness. No consideration. Just calculated delay disguised as favour. I am now being punished for surviving.

FNB’s conduct has added trauma upon trauma. I am not only grieving a husband—I am now having to protect my child from the financial aftershocks of a system that simply doesn’t care. It is appalling.

This is not just about money. It’s about how you treat people when they are most vulnerable. It's about the fact that I am a mother trying to raise a grieving child—and instead of help, you gave me hardship. You gave me red tape and robotic emails. You gave me the full weight of a corporate machine with no soul.

I hope someone in your organisation reads this and realises what you’ve become.

Because I will carry this grief for the rest of my life.

And now, thanks to FNB, I carry the bitter lesson that when you’re drowning, some institutions won’t throw you a rope—they’ll ask you to pay for one.