In the heart of Kyiv, Ukraine — Oksana Leontieva, a dedicated 36-year-old physician, was rushing to her job at the nation’s leading children’s hospital. She specialized in treating young patients battling cancer and other severe ailments. However, before heading to the hospital, her priority was ensuring her son reached kindergarten safely.

Amidst the chaos, an air raid siren blared throughout Kyiv, triggering school protocols that prevented Oksana, a widow and single mother, from dropping off her son. It was October 10, and although air raid alerts had become commonplace over the preceding months, the Ukrainian capital had been relatively quiet since the early days of the invasion. Many residents continued their daily routines, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. “I might be late for the morning meeting,” Oksana texted her colleagues at 7:25 a.m. “Issues with accepting children.”

Eventually, after some negotiation, the school staff relented. Oksana bid farewell to Hrysha, her bright-eyed, dark-haired son, and quickly got into her car, eager to get to work.

By October, more than seven months after the Russian invasion, a deceptive calm had settled over Kyiv. Businesses began to reopen, and many displaced families returned from abroad, hoping to resume their lives after the turmoil. However, the shadow of war loomed large, and uncertainty lingered in the air.

On that fateful morning, as the city buzzed with activity, a barrage of Russian missiles streaked low across the clear sky, targeting various locations in Ukraine from the Caspian Sea and other launch sites. The people of Kyiv were blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

Shortly after 8 a.m., two missiles descended upon Kyiv’s vibrant Shevchenkivskyi district. One struck a bustling intersection, creating a massive crater in the concrete and erupting into a fireball. Tragically, the explosion obliterated Oksana Leontieva’s vehicle, just a mile away from her workplace.

The missile strike at the intersection of Volodymyrska Street and Tarasa Shevchenko Boulevard was part of a larger assault involving over 80 missiles and drones that targeted the entire nation. The attack resulted in at least 19 fatalities and marked the beginning of a relentless campaign of Russian strikes aimed at crippling electricity, heat, and water supplies as winter approached.

In Kyiv, these strikes did not primarily target military installations; civilian areas were hit, including playgrounds, pedestrian bridges, and office buildings. Following the explosions, thousands sought refuge in subway stations, desperate for safety from the chaos above.

In a grim announcement, Putin, appearing somber in Moscow, claimed the strikes were retaliatory actions for an explosion that had damaged a strategic bridge connecting Russia to Crimea, a region illegally annexed in 2014. He warned that Russia would respond harshly to any perceived threats, stating, “No one should have any doubt about that.”

This brutal assault underscored Ukraine’s dire need for advanced air defense systems that could have potentially saved Oksana and numerous other civilians, including Vira Hyrych, a journalist killed when a missile struck her apartment building in Kyiv in April 2022.

The tragic incident highlighted the profound human cost of the conflict, affecting lives far removed from the front lines. Oksana’s death deprived her 5-year-old son, Hrysha, of his only parent and robbed Ukraine of a talented pediatric hematologist who provided life-saving treatments to children.

Olha Daschakovska, a colleague of Oksana’s at Okhmatdyt Children’s Hospital, described her death as nothing short of “murder.” She expressed that, “Russia took childhood not just from her son but from many other patients she could have helped.”

As Russian troops advanced towards Kyiv in February 2022, Oksana and her colleagues at Okhmatdyt hospital prepared for the worst. Many staff members chose to sleep in their offices for weeks, determined to provide care amidst the chaos.

During air raid alerts, while most patients were moved to the basement for safety, Oksana and her team remained on the treatment floor, caring for critically ill children with severe immunodeficiencies. Exiting the sterile rooms where children were recovering from bone marrow transplants and other intensive treatments posed a significant risk, as they faced potential airstrikes.

The Kremlin’s invasion marked a catastrophic turning point for Oksana, who had already faced personal tragedy less than a year earlier with the sudden death of her husband, Artem, due to an aneurysm at the age of 37.

Following Artem’s death, Oksana balanced her responsibilities as a single mother caring for Hrysha with demanding shifts at the hospital. Colleagues noted that while she smiled and joked less, she was still managing the challenges thrown her way.

Hryhorii Leontiev, Oksana’s father, recounted that she considered fleeing Ukraine when the invasion began. However, she realized that starting her career anew — possibly as a nurse rather than a doctor — would be a significant challenge, along with the reality of being a foreigner and a single parent far from her family.

Hryhorii remarked that staying in Ukraine was a practical decision for her. “She wasn’t a hero,” he said. “She was just assessing the situation.”

Meanwhile, Oksana worried about how Hrysha was coping with the loss of his father. She displayed photos of her husband around their home to help Hrysha remember. Daschakovska mentioned that Hrysha was fearful of his mother leaving for work after his father’s passing, expressing concern that she might not return.

In the aftermath of the devastating missile strikes in Kyiv on October 10, Hryhorii Leontiev attempted to reach his daughter by phone, but she did not answer. He rationalized that the mobile network might be down.

Then he came across images on social media depicting a vehicle resembling Oksana’s that had been struck on a route he knew she frequently took. Hurrying to one of the blast sites, he found several charred vehicles behind a police cordon. An investigator confirmed the license plate of one vehicle.

“What can I say?” the investigator said. “There were human remains in the front seat. Could it have been your daughter driving?”

Hryhorii knew deep down it couldn’t be anyone else. Yet, he remained anxious about Hrysha. He demanded to know, “Were there any remains in the child’s car seat in the back?”

The investigator replied that the vehicle was too severely burned to ascertain anything.

Hryhorii then called the kindergarten. No one answered. The staff was likely sheltering in the basement with the children.

It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that he could confirm Hrysha was safe at school. “If he had died, my wife and I probably wouldn’t have survived,” he said. “That was the hardest part.”

On a cold winter day, four months after the October 10 strikes, Hrysha excitedly dumped a jumble of small plastic soldiers onto a play table in his kitchen.

Following Oksana’s death, Hryhorii and his wife, Ninel, moved into Oksana’s cozy, well-kept apartment in a Kyiv high-rise. They believed that remaining in familiar surroundings would help Hrysha adjust during this challenging time.