My son Sasha and I are migrants from Lugansk. We drove out with white flags, there was still a “live” bridge on Stanitsa. We had neither bread nor water. 

A year after the outburst of hostilities, my husband died of cancer. When it was required to maintain his health, we had no finances. My husband was gone on Easter. They buried him on the other side, thus we could not come to his grave on his death anniversary.

It was impossible to escape from the war. We live in an apartment that belongs to others, it is broken by shells. 

I don’t have enough money even for a shared apartment, so I take up any job, just to survive. I learned on the Internet to knit crafts. 

I collect money from the sale of crafts for the purchase of lenses for my son. Sasha needs them to replace glasses in dance classes. When performing on the stage, he orients himself on it from memory.