Sophiia’s father, 60-year-old Serhiy Lushchay, is by her side – a robust figure who shares her loss and her sorrow. “We visit the graveyard often,” Yuliia says, “and we will as long as we live, because it truly makes it a little easy for us”.
Every time they come, there are more graves stretching out into the distance. The cemetery is expanding “at a staggering pace,” Yuliia says. Rows of blue and yellow flags, marking the graves of fallen soldiers, pierce the sombre grey sky.
Zaporizhzhia, where the family lived, is a regular target for Russian forces. It is a strategically important industrial city, near front-line fighting. Europe’s largest nuclear power plant – about 55km (34 miles) from the city – is held by the Russians.
On the day of the attack that killed Sophiia, Tetiana and Adam, Yuliia called her daughter from western Ukraine, where she was on a work trip.
“I told her to be careful. Bombs had been falling over the city since the morning. She said: ‘Thank you mum, don’t worry. Everything will be fine with us.'”
Serhiy was at work when he heard something had happened. He too called his daughter, but there was no reply.
Then, on his local residents’ WhatsApp group he saw a message saying: “Friends, who else is still left under the rubble?”
“I rushed home praying all the way,” he says, “but my prayers were already in vain”.
“When I arrived, all I saw was ruins. I wandered around looking for my balcony. I don’t know how much time passed – two or three hours – and I realised there was nothing left, and no hope of rescue.”
