Mariupol was in ruins: relentless Russian bombardment had reduced its streets to ruins and its courtyards to cemeteries.
But a few metres underground in this southeastern Ukrainian city, romance was blossoming.
Valeria Subotina, 33, had taken refuge in the city’s last stronghold, the giant Azovstal steelworks, when it was surrounded by Russian forces in the spring of 2022.
She had taken shelter in one of dozens of Soviet-era bunkers built deep beneath the factory’s grounds to withstand a nuclear war.
- author, Diana Krischko
- role, BBC Ukraine
“You go down a half-collapsed staircase, then through corridors and tunnels, continuing to go down and down until you reach this concrete cube, this room,” Valeria says.
From inside the bunker, Valeria worked alongside soldiers and civilians as a spokeswoman for the army’s Azov Brigade, reporting the horror of the months-long Russian siege to media around the world.
Her fiancé, 34-year-old Ukrainian army officer Andriy Subotin, was also there, guarding the factory.
The two met while working for the Mariupol Border Guard Agency about three years before the siege.
When Andriy met Valeria, it was love at first sight.
“He was a special person. It was so warm to be with him,” Valeria said. “He was always kind and never refused to help anyone.”
Andriy was an optimist, she says: he knew how to be happy and found joy in little things like sunny weather, a smile and hanging out with friends.
“From the first day we met, I realized Andree was completely different from other people.”
Within three months, they rented a small one-story house with a garden in Mariupol and began to build a life together.
“We traveled a lot, went to the mountains, saw friends,” says Valeria.
“We fished together and spent a lot of time outdoors. We went to the theatre, concerts and exhibitions. Life was full.”
They decided to get married and dreamed of a big wedding in a church with family and friends. They picked out their wedding rings.
Valeria quit her job, turned to writing and publishing poetry about the early days of the fierce fighting with the Russians in Mariupol.
“I was really happy for a few years before the real invasion started,” she recalls.
In February 2022, everything changed.
Spring has arrived, the sun has returned to Valeria and Andriy’s garden and the first flowers have begun to bloom.
“I was starting to enjoy spring,” Valeria said. “I knew about Putin’s threats and I thought there would be war, but I didn’t want to think about it.”
A few days before the full-scale invasion began on February 24, Andriy urged Valeria to leave the city. She refused.
“I knew that no matter what happened, I had to be in Mariupol and defend my city.”
A few weeks later, the two were in the Azovstal bunker.
They only got to see each other occasionally, but when they did, it was a moment of “pure happiness.”
At this point, Mariupol was close to becoming a humanitarian disaster.
Attacks on infrastructure have cut off water and electricity supplies in parts of the city, creating food shortages, and destroyed civilian homes and buildings.
On April 15, a large bomb was dropped on the factory. Valeria narrowly escaped death.
“I was found among the dead. I was the only one alive. On the one hand it was a miracle, but on the other hand it was a terrible tragedy.”
She suffered a severe concussion and had to spend eight days in the factory’s underground hospital.
“The smell of blood and decay was everywhere,” she said.
“It was a horrible place with injured comrades with amputated limbs lying all over the place. There were very few medical supplies so they couldn’t get proper help.”
Andriy was deeply concerned about Valeria’s injuries and began making wedding plans right there in the bunker.
“It seemed like he was in a hurry and that he didn’t have much time,” Valeria said.
“He made some wedding rings out of tinfoil with his own hands and proposed to me. Of course, I said yes.
“He was the love of my life, and our rings were made out of tinfoil and they were perfect.”
On May 5, the couple was married by the commanding officer stationed at the factory, wearing their uniforms as wedding attire and holding a ceremony inside the bunker.
Andriy promised his wife that they would have a proper wedding, with real rings and a white dress, when he returned home.
Two days later, on May 7, he was killed by Russian artillery fire at a steelworks.
Valeria didn’t find out right away.
“They say when a loved one dies you feel something inside. But for me it was the opposite – I felt good. I was married and in love.”
One of the most difficult parts was having to suppress a “lump of sadness” while defending his city together with his “comrades” in Azovstal.
“I’ve been a bride, a wife and now a widow. Those are the most terrifying words,” she says.
“I wasn’t able to react the way I wanted to in that moment.
“My sons were always there for me. They sat next to me, slept next to me, brought me food, supported me,” she said. “The only time I could cry was when they weren’t looking.”
At one point, it seemed as if the horror of being on the battlefield was tempered by her grief.
“I don’t care anymore… I just know that in the afterlife, if there is one, there are so many more people waiting for you than there are here with you.”
Ukrainian forces in Azovstal finally surrendered on May 20. Valeria was among 900 prisoners forcibly taken from Mariupol by Russian forces.
“We looked out the bus windows at the buildings we loved and the streets we knew so well. They destroyed and killed everything I loved, my city, my friends and my husband.”
Valeria survived 11 months in captivity in Russia and spoke of her torture and ill-treatment, with Andriy often appearing to her in dreams.
She was released last April as part of a prisoner swap and is now back in Ukraine.
It is unclear how many people have been killed in the Russian bombardment of Mariupol, but local authorities have put the figure at more than 20,000.
According to the United Nations, 90 percent of homes were damaged or destroyed, and bodies are still found in the rubble.
As far as Valeria knows, her husband’s body remains at the Azovstal steel plant in the now-occupied city.
Sometimes she would look up at the sky and talk to him.