Olena crouched by the window, her eyes tracing the distant skyline where the city’s once-proud spires now stood jagged and broken against the pale, grey sky. The sounds of war were a constant presence now—booms in the distance, the faint crackle of gunfire, and the ever-present hum of sirens that had become as much a part of daily life as the hum of her own heartbeat.

She used to wake up to the sounds of birds outside, her children’s laughter, the chatter of neighbors exchanging morning greetings. But that was before.

Now, each day felt like a fragile thread stretched too thin, one tug away from snapping. The world had changed overnight, and the city she had loved so much was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

Yet, amid the chaos, Olena still managed to find moments of peace. A bowl of warm soup shared with her mother, the brief comfort of holding her children’s hands in the shelter as they huddled together, eyes wide with fear. They had grown used to the darkness—the blackout curtains that kept the city’s searchlights from exposing them, the hours spent in cold, damp basements, praying the bombs would pass by without hitting their building.

Her heart still fluttered when the explosions rattled the walls. But in the silence that followed, Olena always whispered to herself: “We will survive this. We have to.”

Today, there was no air raid. Just a thick, suffocating stillness hanging over the city. Olena ventured outside, hugging her coat tighter around her, the cold biting at her skin. The streets were eerily deserted, save for the occasional figure walking with hurried steps, heads down, eyes averted.

At the market, a few vendors still set up their stalls, but their smiles were thinner than the thin scraps of vegetables they sold. The few customers lingered with hurried glances, each transaction feeling like an act of defiance, of life continuing despite the ever-present threat of death.

She didn’t stop at the market, though. There were no luxuries left to buy—only essentials. She had already gathered what she needed for the week. Her focus was elsewhere.

As she walked, her mind wandered to her brother, Dmytro, who had gone to fight weeks ago. She hadn’t heard from him in days. It was almost unbearable, this silence. But then again, silence had become a sort of companion, too, in these times. Even the worst news was better than no news at all.

She approached the small park where the local shelter was located. Children ran and played there before the war, their laughter a reminder of the simplicity of life. Today, only a few older people sat on the benches, their faces drawn, empty of expression, though their eyes remained vigilant, watching the distant horizon. Olena stopped near a group of them, offering a weak smile as she sat down.

“How are you, Olena?” one of the elderly women asked, her voice cracked from disuse.

Olena sighed, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Surviving,” she said, though the word didn’t feel like enough. “What about you?”

The woman smiled faintly. “We keep going. What else can we do?”

Olena nodded, her gaze drifting to the broken remains of the fountain at the center of the park. It had once been a symbol of tranquility, of peace. Now, it was another casualty of the conflict, its waters still, its beauty lost beneath the rubble.

A small hand tugged at her sleeve. It was her son, Yevhen, his face smudged with dirt, his eyes filled with that mixture of fear and hope she had come to recognize in so many children now.

“Mom, will we be safe today?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent.

Olena knelt down, brushing a lock of hair from his face, her heart aching. “Yes, Yevhen,” she said, her voice firm despite the uncertainty. “We will always be safe as long as we have each other.”

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the war-torn streets, Olena stood, holding her son’s hand tightly. The air felt heavy, but there was a glimmer of something more—a spark of resilience that refused to be extinguished.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. The war, the destruction, the loss—it all loomed large, an uncertain future hanging over them all. But she knew this: they had survived one more day. And that, in itself, was a victory.

“Come on, Yevhen,” she said softly, her voice a whisper in the evening stillness. “Let’s go home.”

And together, they walked through the ruins of the city, their steps echoing softly in the silence.