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Attention! Translation was done using AI, mistakes are possible
I met Stas over three years ago in Kharkiv, though we’re both originally from Kramatorsk. We met through messaging — he wrote to me on Instagram.
When the war started in 2014, Stas wasn’t yet of legal age. But the thought never left him that he needed to defend his homeland. He waited until he was of age, and in 2020 decided to join the Azov Regiment. He completed basic training and became a soldier.
In 2021, I moved to Mariupol. I decided I’d be with this person to the end.
February 20, 2022 — we had the same day off, it was a Sunday. We had so many plans: buy some things, clean, cook — we wanted to make the most of it. But we woke up… I had some kind of intuition, I didn’t want to get up. We just lay there, held each other a lot, watched movies. We only went out in the evening — for a tattoo session.
Stas chose a design — the word “AMOR,” meaning “love.” That’s exactly what I wanted.
When they started inking my tattoo, Stas got a call telling him to report to base immediately. We didn’t even have time to hug. He said then that it was just a drill. From that moment, we called each other but never saw each other again.
From the day he left, the fiancée of Stas’s friend and I started spending nights at each other’s places. The guys decided it would be easier for us that way.
February 24 — first she got a call, then I did: “Grab your bags and leave the city immediately.” We tried, but on the 24th neither buses nor trains were running. We didn’t leave until the next morning. I went to Kramatorsk, to my parents.
When I’d just left Mariupol, I had contact with Stas almost every day until February 28. Then he only got in touch on March 9. In March — a call once every 10 days, for a minute, for two. In April, there was no contact at all. All I could do was write to some of his brothers-in-arms or paramedics. They’d reply: “+” (meaning “alive” — SP).
On May 11, he was wounded in the leg, but he didn’t tell me. His brothers-in-arms wrote to me about his military achievements. He himself never talked about it. He only wrote: “Can you believe it — you’ve seen the rallies in our honor in America, Poland?” I say: “Of course, you’re heroes.”
On May 16, one of Stas’s brothers-in-arms sent me a photo of Stas leaving the plant (on May 16, by order of the Armed Forces of Ukraine command, the fighters at Azovstal ceased resistance — SP). He wrote: “Stas says he loves you very much and that you should watch the news.” At that moment, all the channels were reporting that an evacuation from Azovstal was underway. They reported that the main group would be held in Olenivka.
Then Stas managed to call from captivity — just a couple of calls. The last time I heard his voice was June 20. It was his mom’s birthday, he passed along his congratulations and said: “Everything will be fine, I promise I’ll come back.”
He said he’d come back and we’d definitely get married. That there’d be a wedding — he’d already invited several brothers-in-arms. But apparently, it wasn’t meant to be.
On the night of July 28–29, when the explosion at Olenivka happened, I had a dream in which Stas said: “You’ll be okay. I’ll watch over you and protect you.” I woke up in a cold sweat and read the news. I started watching all the videos and photos posted from there. In some footage, I noticed a guy who looked very much like Stas. An unburned body.
His mom called me. I said: “There’s no way our Stasik was there. He’s fine, I’m sure of it.” The next day they send me the lists. Number 29 — his last name.
Life stopped. I keep going back to those lists — I feel like it’s a mistake, something’s written wrong there.
I don’t know what happened to him in his last days. I’m waiting for his brothers-in-arms to return from captivity. They’ll tell me about the last days of his life. That matters to me. I want to know.
Stas prepared me. He often said: “Don’t cry over me for too long if I’m killed — live on, build a future.” I think the guys understood that not everyone would come back from the war. So I simply accepted it all. I waited. I prayed.
I still have our photos, videos, his things. Some people throw away their things, some sell them. I decided to keep them for now. It’s his scent, a part of him — I need it. I took only some of his belongings: our apartment in Mariupol burned down completely.
I think it would be easier for me if I had a child from him. But on the other hand, I understand that the child would constantly remind me of Stas. It would be even worse.
They say time heals, new relationships, something else. Nothing heals. But I try to enjoy life: I’m alive, I’m healthy, there’s food. My parents are beside me. But it’s a shame he’s not here.
