A mother buried her 19-year-old son and joined the Ukrainian Armed Forces. Then she found a woman’s number in his phone — a woman he had never told her about, right up until his final breath.
Yaroslav’s call sign was “Archangel.” He was killed in the Kharkiv region three months after the start of the full-scale invasion.
He was only nineteen.
His mother, Tetiana, could not simply go on living as before. She put on a military uniform and enlisted. She wanted to avenge the death of her Yarik.
But an even deeper pain was waiting for her.
After the funeral, she looked through her son’s phone.
There was an unsaved number. Tetiana called it. And that was when she learned what Yaroslav had never had the chance to tell her: he had fallen in love with a woman.
Her name was Nastia.
He had kept her a secret until his final breath.
They had met in the Kharkiv metro, where Nastia was sheltering from Russian shelling with her children.
Yaroslav was a soldier, but to her children, he suddenly became something more. Her little girl would ask her mother for permission, and Yaroslav would smile and say, “Dad said you can.”
He called himself a father to children who were not his own. Yet he never told his mother that he had already chosen the woman he wanted to marry.
Nastia was older than him — old enough that her eldest child was sixteen. But Yaroslav told her with complete certainty:
“If I come back, you will be my wife.”
He did not hesitate for a second.
They had known each other for only a week.
But that one week was enough for him to feel happy. And enough for her to remember his words for the rest of her life.
Before his final mission, Yaroslav took off his military patches and left them with Nastia.
“This is for you to remember me by,” he said.
As if he somehow knew he would not return.
His mother learned about all of this only after his death.
And she asked Nastia for just one thing — to meet her. To hug her. To see the woman her son had loved. The woman she might one day have called her daughter-in-law.
Nastia came.
She gave Tetiana those same patches — the most precious things she had.
She simply handed them to his mother because she understood: for a mother, they were a piece of her son.
Tetiana said only:
“Forgive me, my son.”
She still looks for him among other soldiers. She studies their faces, searching for familiar eyes, a familiar beard.
Every evening, she looks up at the sky and wonders how her Yarik is doing.
Her commander tells her, “Petrivna, you have to let your child go.”
But how do you let go of someone who was everything to you?
Love can last a year, a decade, a lifetime.
Or it can last only a week.
But even in a single week, you can give someone enough happiness to last a lifetime — if they opened their heart to you.
The memory of Yaroslav is now carried by two women: his mother and the woman he loved.
And now, he will remain in our memories too.
Source: translated from the original text by Oleh Bairak.