Olesya: On February 23, I left on a trip. Sergey put me and the child in a taxi, and we said goodbye. At 5 a.m., he called me: "It’s war." At first, I thought it was a mistake and said to him: "What war?" But then the whole train came alive, everyone started checking the news online, and I realized—it had begun. And there I was, on a train, far from home.

Sergіy: The train was overcrowded. People were crying, trying desperately to evacuate their children.

Olesya: I immediately went to the train conductor and arranged for my child to be met and sent further. We had a dog that needed to be taken too. My daughter said she wouldn’t leave without it. We got everything organized, but the train was delayed by six hours, and it was very stressful.

Sergіy: It was a difficult situation. People stood in lines, crying, and there weren’t enough seats in the compartments.

Olesya: Eventually, my mom and daughter made it to Poland, to my sister’s place. But Dasha couldn’t stay there long. After three months, she came back and said: "I’ll never go abroad again. If a missile hits, I want to die at home, with my family."

Sergіy: Her patriotism is impressive.

Olesya: I returned home. Sergey met me at the station, and we went straight to the store. The shelves were empty, everything had been bought. The panic was overwhelming. I said: "And then what? You bought the pasta, the grains—what next?"

Sergіy: Eventually, people got used to it.

Olesya: But the hardest part is the explosions, the missile strikes. When the children aren’t home, it’s the scariest thing for me. One time, there was a strike while I was at work. A rocket hit a house. A little girl died. That’s something you never forget.

Sergіy: The alarms often come after the explosions. By now, we’ve learned to expect the third strike.

Olesya: When there was a strike on Pidhorodne, Sergey and I stood and watched the missiles fly. Houses destroyed, many casualties, including soldiers. It’s incredibly hard to cope with.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Olesya: Many people ask us: "Don’t you want to leave?" I say: "No. What’s the point? Here, we have our own, maybe not perfect, but it’s ours."

Sergіy: I was born here, and this year I’ll turn 45. Our family house stood here: my father’s house, my mother’s house. My childhood passed in this room from the age of two to nine. A lot of memories are connected with this place.

Sergіy: We have five dogs, seven cats, 300 dollars in pension, and Olesya’s salary is the same. The budget is small, but we manage.

Olesya: Before February 24, 2022, we always gathered with comrades and their wives. I remember one of Sergіy’s friends came up to me and said: "Olesya, you’re amazing. Many wives have left their husbands, but you’re staying." I replied that I couldn’t leave a person who sacrificed himself for me and our country.

Olesya: My grandfather was a military man, and he instilled respect and love for the family in me. How can I leave Sergey? He has never done anything bad to me.

Sergіy: Everything has settled down: our routines, household, responsibilities.

Olesya: If people think we don’t argue, they’re wrong. We argue over small things, out of nowhere. But half an hour later, we’re laughing together. That’s normal.

Olesya:  When the tragedy happened with Sergiy, I understood one thing very clearly—even when he was still in intensive care—I already knew that I had to help him adapt to life. I couldn't be with him 24/7, so I needed to create the conditions in which he could live independently. For example, even something as basic as going to the bathroom—sorry for being blunt—he would need to clean himself afterward. That meant installing a toilet and a bidet. He had lived his whole life in a rural home where there was no indoor bathroom—only an outdoor toilet. So we had to adapt. This became my immediate priority when we came back home. If I hadn’t focused on these things, he might have fallen into a deep depression. Who knows—maybe he wouldn’t even be here today. So my task was clear, and we didn’t dwell on sorrow.

Sergіy: We had a goal, and we built everything together.

Olesya:  No one let themselves despair over the fact that he had lost his arms. Well, no arms—what now? Life goes on. Maybe he won’t be able to hold a grandchild in his hands, but if he wants to, he’ll figure it out. God willing, there will be grandchildren. He can hug a child, he can hug me—he does it when he wants to. It’s not about what’s missing; it’s about making sure he doesn’t lose hope. The hardest part was helping him overcome dependency. That was truly the most difficult thing. He resisted in every way, and we went through so much during that time. But in the end, I succeeded. I think that was my greatest goal—to pull him out of that state of medical and narcotic dependency. It was unbearable—not only emotionally but financially as well. It was incredibly difficult.

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