Viktoriia Hrytsuniak: The last information about my husband came from his released cellmate in April last year. His cellmate was exchanged. He called four days later and said that he had shared the same cell with my husband for almost a year, since May 2022. He informed me about the conditions, my husband’s state, his resilience, his encouragement of others, and his belief that the time would come for his exchange too. Since then, I haven’t received any further updates.
We, the relatives, convey official information to the Coordination Centre where my husband is held. As we receive information more quickly from released individuals about their observations, we are able to determine the colonies to which our loved ones were transferred.
In 2022, the International Committee of the Red Cross confirmed that my husband was a prisoner of the Russian Federation. I possess documents verifying this, but no one has disclosed his whereabouts or condition to me. I only learned of it from the released prisoner.
However, it has been almost a year since I last knew my husband’s location. What is his condition? Is he still alive?
Viktoriia Hrytsuniak: Three days before the full-scale invasion, my husband called and warned that the communication might be cut off soon. When I inquired about the situation, he mentioned that they were redeploying, relocating to factory territory, and holding the defensive line. He didn’t elaborate on the circumstances or the information they possessed. There was no mention of an impending full-scale invasion; I don’t believe they were fully informed themselves.
On the day of the invasion, there was no contact with my husband. He resurfaced only five days later, stating that they were alive but in dire circumstances. He described heavy shelling, airstrikes, being underground, and suffering significant losses.
Communications were extremely limited. To reach their families, they had to ascend to the sixth or seventh floor of the plant premises, which had already been heavily damaged. It was incredibly risky.
At the time, our son was only a year and two months old. Serhii was deeply concerned about us, so he attempted to contact us more frequently. Three weeks later, communication ceased. On the night of March 8, he sent his first message.
He assured us of his survival, mentioning the lack of mobile phone connection but the presence of Starlink, enabling occasional messages to inform us of his well-being and inquire about ours.
On April 12, my husband called from a different number in the morning. He informed me that they were being taken prisoners, having failed in their attempt to break through. They were divided into groups, with women separated from men. They were gradually being transported to an undisclosed destination.
He recounted that the representative from the opposing side, who seemed to be organizing them, provided little explanation. He simply instructed them to leave, contact their families, and return to their command.
Serhiy also provided a list of individuals with him. Due to heavy losses, only a small number remained. He meticulously listed everyone—subordinates, group members, and those being transferred—for me to inform.
He asked me to remain patient, expressing confidence in his return and assuring that everything would be fine. Those were the last words I heard from him. He said that he loves me.
Viktoriia Hrytsuniak: Serhii, my husband’s cellmate, also named Serhii, informed me about the information vacuum they faced. Until October, they were occasionally permitted to watch TV in the colony. However, when the offensive on the Kherson region commenced and the territory was liberated, their TV privileges were revoked. This decision was understandable to prevent them from learning about the developments.
The quality of their food slightly improved before the new year. On occasion, they were even provided with meat, although the portions were so meager that they barely sustained them. They had access to a bath once a week, where each person receives one bar of soap. Additionally, one bar of soap is supplied to the cell, where a washbasin is available.
Eight people are housed in each cell, which is exceptionally small, lacking adequate space for everyone. They are deprived of outdoor walks and fresh air but are allowed to read books.
Viktoriia Hrytsuniak: Unfortunately, my appeals to various organizations have yielded no results. The only confirmation I received was from the International Committee of the Red Cross regarding my husband’s whereabouts, dating back to May 2022. No other organization has contacted me or provided any confirmation regarding my husband’s location or condition.
I have made numerous attempts to contact both the Red Cross Committee in Geneva and Ukrainian authorities, yet none have furnished any information.
Victoria Hrytsuniak: As a soldier on maternity leave, I can scarcely recall the initial days of the full-scale invasion. Prior to my husband’s capture, it feels as though I barely existed.
My son is deeply affected by his father’s absence. From a young age, my husband has breathed for our child; he considers our son the purpose of his life. Our son keenly feels this bond, and when Serhii departed for Mariupol, our son was profoundly distressed. He clung to his father’s beret, overcome with sadness.
At home, the most cherished possession for our son isn’t toys but rather his father’s beret.
There have been instances where our son, upon spotting a soldier on the street, would rush towards them and throw himself into their arms. If the soldier had a beard, our son would embrace, kiss, and caress them.
The stress even led to our child ceasing to talk. It’s undeniably difficult, but I maintain faith that everything will eventually improve. We possess inner strength and resilience; we will overcome these challenges. Our paramount concern is for Serhii’s well-being as we anxiously await his return.
