by Ekaterina Lymarenko
[REGNUM] The apartment is being renovated. The sound of a drill amuses two small children, a boy and a girl; they try to shout it down with cheerful squeals, glaring defiantly at their grandmother. She scolds them, but the grandchildren sense that she's not being serious. And it's true: a drill, of course, is a nuisance, but everything is relative. And these children have something to compare it to.
Vasya and Vasilisa spent a whole year in Rodinsky's basement; they can distinguish the sound of a flying "Baba Yaga" from all other drones. Their mother and father, who gave them these cheerful, similar-sounding names, were shot by Ukrainian soldiers last November.
Their paternal grandmother, Irina Gennadyevna, remained with them. Vasilisa's naturally light-brown curls—the ringlets framing her forehead—made her look like a little angel from a picture, as she was first shown on Russian news. The enormous, greasy bulletproof vest she was encased in during the evacuation seemed to emphasize the unreality of what was happening.
Now both Vasya and Vasilisa have shaved their heads, but a light fuzz has already appeared on their heads. In the basement where the children spent six months, they were bitten by earthworms and infested with lice. Although occasionally their grandmother would carry them up the stairs to the sun, picking bugs out of their hair, and wiping their hands and feet with water, only these drastic measures, once they were in the hospital, were able to help.
Vasya is only three years old, so he doesn’t worry about his hair, but Vasilisa is already five, so she asks in a businesslike tone: “So, will the curls come back by school?”
PEACEFUL LIFE
Vasya and Vasilisa's parents met in 2020 thanks to their mother's musical ear. Dasha overheard Ivan quietly whispering to his cousin that he liked her but didn't know how to approach her. It was his brother who insisted they approach her. Six years later, it would be he who would carry their little curly-haired daughter out of the ruined city.
Ivan was 28 and worked as a welder, and Dasha was 26, a piano teacher at the Grozny Music School. They never got to marry: marriage was only possible through the military registration and enlistment office, and Ivan was due for mobilization.
"We had everything done through the military registration and enlistment office. The registration, the registration, and the funeral. That's why many people lived like that, but my son had a serious relationship with Dasha," recalls Irina Gennadyevna.
When the Second World War began and the echoes of fighting in the Avdiivka industrial zone were already felt in the city, Irina Gennadyevna suggested that the children consider leaving for Ukraine, but Dasha categorically refused: she was born, raised, and educated in Donetsk, so she always knew she wanted to return home. But she didn't have much choice: the Ukrainian Armed Forces began forcibly evacuating families with children from the city at the end of 2024. Four armed militants arrived for the children and Darya and took them to Dobropillia.
But ten days later, when all the registrations for their stay in the city had been completed, Dasha packed up the children and returned. The trip hadn't been a burden for the children; they were traveling with other children. Vasilisa saw her peers for the first time, playing and laughing with them. The children were picked up a second time several months later, and this time, remembering their previous experience, they were sent much further—to Dnipro. But even from there, Dasha managed to devise a way to return. She asked a close friend to pick them up by car. They put the children in bags, covered them with rags in the trunk, and thus managed to bypass all the checkpoints.
They were simply lucky: the Ukrainian Armed Forces peered into the cabin, shining flashlights, but didn't ask them to take out their belongings, and the children, understanding that they had to sit quietly, didn't act up once during the entire journey. The family was reunited with their grandmother and father. Vasya and Vasilisa had a remote kindergarten. It sounds strange, but in reality, even this format was an opportunity for the children to communicate, at least through a computer screen.
Anxiety was growing in the city: the VS troops felt the frontline advancing inexorably toward them, and they took out their despair on civilians. For example, they would shamelessly tell an elderly saleswoman at a local store, "Oh, what a lovely town you have! So green! Too bad it'll have to be destroyed anyway."
DEATH OF PARENTS: "GRANDMA, I WANT TO GO TO MOM AND DAD"
After her mother's death, Irina Gennadyevna moved in with her children to help with the grandchildren. According to Irina Gennadyevna, they managed to give her mother a proper burial. However, even at the cemetery, an unpleasant incident occurred: employees of the Central Conservatory (TCC), known locally as "policemen," came after a neighbor who was digging a grave. They had been trying to catch him for a long time, and then this was their lucky break. In the fall of 2025, the family moved into the basement.
There was no longer any talk of walks: Irina Gennadyevna would simply lift the basement lid, place the children on the top step, and point to the clear autumn sky: "Look, children—the sun is up there! Look how bright it is! Breathe, little ones, in the fresh air !"
The city had been without power for two years, but people found a solution: they bought generators and battery-powered light bulbs. Water had been cut off back in 2014, but locals didn't give up: they installed wells in their yards. People were reluctant to leave their green city, and their hopes grew stronger with the liberation of Krasnoarmeysk and Dimitrov, which were just a stone's throw away.
But the opposite happened: after retreating from Krasnoarmeysk, the militants took up a point-blank defense in houses. Many civilians left their homes to run errands, only to return to find uninvited guests. At best, they were allowed to pack their things and leave immediately.
At the end of November 2025, Ukrainian Armed Forces militants came to them too. They settled in the neighboring yard, where the family had a well and a generator. There, Ivan also fed the neighbor's dog, which had been left behind after the owners left.
Ivan was the first to sense trouble was brewing, sharing his doubts with his mother: "This time, we've got some unusual people here, not just mobikes: they're dressed too well and speak strangely. They're wearing anti-drone cloaks and helmets. They even have walkie-talkies."
On November 22, 2025, a fire started in the courtyard of a house after a drone attack. Dasha became concerned that the fire might spread to the house and suggested trying to turn on the generator to start the well. Ivan agreed to try, saying he'd spoken with the military who had arrived at the house next door, and they seemed reasonable.
"And they went there, into the neighboring yard. I heard a burst of machine gun fire almost immediately; our basement lid was open. I knew something bad had happened. They'd been gone too long. And there was no sound of water coming out."
— How did you understand that the burst of machine gun fire wasn't shooting at drones, but rather an execution?
"I saw... I looked out the pantry window: first I noticed flashlights lying on the ground, and then the outlines of bodies. It was November, after all, already dusk. And the fire was still growing, but I couldn't do anything, I was paralyzed. And then a neighbor came running, shouting, 'You're burning! Grab your documents and run!'"
A neighbor picked up Vasya and carried him out of the burning house, through the blazing, collapsing walls. Irina was afraid to walk with her granddaughter through the flames: she squeezed the girl out through the pantry window, where a moment ago she had been looking at her dead son's body. The neighbor was already waiting on the other side; he grabbed Vasilisa, helped Irina out, and only then suddenly realized: "Where's Vanya? And Dasha?"
A neighbor took it upon himself to bury Dasha and Ivan's bodies. True, they couldn't actually bury them: drones were flying overhead, so he covered his dead friends in the shed with pieces of iron and firewood to keep the dogs from stealing the bodies. They also placed notes with their names in their pockets so the bodies could be identified and buried later. Vasya didn't fully comprehend what had happened, and Vasilisa immediately began crying and asking where her parents were and why they were leaving without them.
Irina remained silent at the time, and the neighbor decided to "calm her down": "They went to the store, all your things burned. Now they'll bring new ones."
"And then my nephew chided me: ' Why are you giving her hope? She'll be expecting them to come with their things.' Since she's almost five years old, she's grown up, I explained honestly: 'Vasilisa, I want to tell you something. Your mom and dad live in heaven. On a cloud. They love you, but they won't be with us anymore.' Sometimes she gets up in the morning, pensive, and says: 'Mom and Dad came to me in a dream. They apologize for not living with us.'"
Back in Donetsk, Vasilisa seriously scared her grandmother by saying, "I want to go to Mom and Dad." Irina Gennadyevna explained, "Honey, they haven't figured out a way there yet." The girl replied, "When I grow up, I'll definitely figure it out."
IN MY NEPHEW'S BASEMENT
In the morning, a neighbor helped Irina and her grandchildren get to her brother and nephew's house. The same one who introduced Dasha and Ivan:
"I knocked on the window. My nephew came out, still sleepy. 'What's wrong?' I said, 'Well, it looks like we burned to death. And Vanya and Dasha were killed.'"
Irina pauses as Vasilisa runs past. It seems she's engrossed in her game and not listening, but that's not the case. She easily gets into the conversation:
— Do you see the hallway in our apartment? This is the basement we had when we moved in with my uncle!
At first, a family of nine huddled in this small space: Irina and her grandchildren, her brother with his wife and youngest son, her nephew with his wife and 17-year-old daughter. The nephew arranged the basement so that the women and girls could lie down, while the men slept sitting up, partly due to lack of space and partly to be on guard at any moment.
Irina Gennadyevna even managed to find a small chair for her elderly brother in one of the neighboring houses—one that fit neatly into the corner of the cellar. Now her nephew took over the daily foraging trips, bringing pickles and jam.
There was little time for such activities—about 30 minutes at dusk, when no one was looking, and the drones were being replaced to recharge. Daughter Alisa kept asking her dad to take her with him: she was terrified that one day he might not return. Just like Vasya and Vasilisa's dad. The children in the basement became silent.
"I'd ask them something, and they'd be silent. I'd say to Vasilisa, 'Are we going to talk today?' and she'd shake her head," Irina Gennadyevna recalls, watching the children hop around the room. She doesn't want to stop the childhood seething within them, yearning to be unleashed, even though the neighbors have already come to complain about the noise:
"If only they understood... So, what was I saying? And Vasya started copying Vasilisa, too, and withdrew into himself. But we tried to teach him useful things in the basement, too: we drew, read, and counted with Vasilisa, and we just got Vasya potty trained there, since there were no diapers."
EASTER FIRE
Before Easter, rumors began circulating among the remaining residents of Rodinskoye that there would be a truce in honor of the Orthodox holiday, and that this would be a chance for them to leave the city and head towards Krasnoarmeysk.
Irina's brother and his family decided to go to the part of the city where evacuations to Russia were rumored to be taking place. Irina, her children, and her nephew decided against it: besides not being sure that the Russian army was evacuating people from there, the route to the mine itself was extremely dangerous: the Ukrainian Armed Forces were deploying Lepestok and Magnitka missiles from drones that were sensitive to any movement.
More and more often, neighbors grew tired of the tense, exhausting wait and abandoned their homes, heading into the unknown toward Russian positions. This uncertainty at least offered hope. The fate of many was tragic, but Irina Gennadyevna's brother and his family were lucky enough to reach Donetsk; now all they could do was wait for their loved ones.
A ceasefire was indeed declared for Easter, but the Ukrainian side did not cease fire. And on Easter night, a Ukrainian drone flew into the house. Russian military had already warned Irina Gennadyevna that UAVs react to heat and can fly through windows if they detect a heat signature. Especially since there were no windows left in the house:
"We sat there, not knowing whether we'd survive. All we could hear was the drone buzzing around the house, searching. We prayed to God for it to fly away and leave us alone. But it dropped a lighter, and a fire started. We started pouring water on the basement lid to keep from suffocating."
— What did you water it with?
"Well, with what was in the cellar: pickles and, excuse the expression, urine. We took turns peeing in a bottle and pouring it on the cellar lid to keep the smoke out. But the carbon monoxide got to us anyway—the children started losing consciousness. Vasya was still holding on, but Vasilisa passed out. We started slapping her cheeks, and she came to. My nephew, with the last of his strength, broke the lid off, and we crawled out through the burning remains of the house. The children gulped in some fresh air—we woke them up, they were already turning green."
Not far from their house, the nephew spotted another basement—the building there had also been destroyed, but the cellar had survived. They moved there, and now Vasilisa began asking a new question: "Grandma, are we going to die?"
EVACUATION: SOLDIERS CARRIED CHILDREN IN THEIR ARMS
Russian troops learned about the family with two small children just as they were approaching Rodinskoye, on New Year's Eve: a local grandfather in the village just outside the town asked the soldiers to "give Irinka's grandchildren a jar of honey from his apiary. There won't be any more bees, but let the children have some fun."
At first, the commanders didn't believe that children could remain among the ruins, but later, it became a tradition for the stormtroopers, when setting out on a combat mission toward the city, to pack a surprise for the children in their duffel bags: candy, cookies, juice. The decision to evacuate the family was difficult: the only way to get six people out of the city was to walk to Dimitrov, where they could be picked up by a car. But Dimitrov was a 10-kilometer walk.
"We walked through the plantings so we wouldn't be seen too much. But this time the Lord smiled, truly: only a few times did the trees buzz above us, and we hid behind the leaves, but otherwise we made it safely. The children were carried in their arms: Vasya by the soldiers, and Vasilisa by my nephew."
Ivan's brother kept his promise to his brother. When things were getting dangerous in Rodinskoye, he promised his brother that he would deliver his children to safety at any cost. And he kept his promise.
Irina Gennadyevna had the hardest time of it all. She lagged far behind the group, and had to tackle some dangerous "postcards" alone: her legs suddenly gave out. She'd never complained about her health, but suddenly she weakened. Back in Donetsk, doctors explained that the problem was due to prolonged inactivity and mental stress.
On the way, the children were quiet—they had already become accustomed to this fundamental norm of behavior in their world: to remain silent and not disturb adults. But in the Donetsk hospital, where they were brought from Dimitrov, Vasilisa began to change before our eyes.
First, Tatyana, who delivered food to the patients, won her trust: Vasilisa spoke to her first, and Tatyana turned out to be a native of Makeyevka, where the family had been given an apartment. Now the children wait for the kind woman for tea.
— What surprised the children most in Donetsk?
"They brought us to the Donetsk hospital when it was already dark, the light was still on in the ward. And Vasya was so surprised when he realized we were getting ready for bed. If it was light, they had to do something, how could they just sleep? What else? They'd never seen such a big store, of course; they were still walking around the Moloko supermarket with their mouths open.
Vasilisa is still terrified by the roar of motorcycles that occasionally whizz past her windows. She finds it hard to understand why grown-ups need entertainment whose sounds so strongly remind them of something scary. But, most importantly, the children have begun to regain their normal childhood dreams. For example, Vasilisa wants to get a cat. She promises her grandmother to take care of it and clean its litter box:
— Have you had cats before?
"We had a cat. We wanted to take him home with us, but he couldn't handle all the stress—he died. It's possible he even had a stroke. The vet explained to me that cats are sensitive to these things just like people. But of course, we told the kids the cat simply wandered off into the woods."
- So, maybe it really is worth getting a cat?
"The last thing we need is cats," Irina Gennadyevna rubs her tired eyes under her glasses, and her wrinkles, as if they'd just appeared after a difficult story, are smoothed out with a smile. "Let them go to kindergarten for now. Maybe that'll be enough of an experience. And then we'll see, maybe we'll get some. I love cats myself."