🇨🇦🇱🇹🇺🇦 Our family has been through hell and is still fighting to survive. We lost everything—our home, our loved ones, our stability, the future we once dreamed of. War took not just the roof over our heads but the very sense of security. We know what it means to flee for our lives. We know what it’s like to lose family members without even having the chance to bury them properly. My husband fought for his country, for his children, for the simple right to live. He went through war, through betrayal, through indifference, through injustice. He became disabled not on the battlefield but in what was supposed to be a peaceful country—hit by a drunk driver and left to struggle with unbearable pain for the rest of his life. He will never walk the same way again. Every movement is a battle. We are alone. No relatives, no friends, no home, no past to return to. Everything we had is burned to the ground, erased from existence. Our children have seen things no child should ever witness. They heard explosions, felt terror, ran under fire, hid in basements. They grew up too fast because their childhood was stolen by war. We left to save our children, to give them a chance at life. We started from nothing in a foreign country where we knew no one, didn’t speak the language, didn’t know how to survive. Every day is a struggle. Every day we fear we won’t have the strength to keep going, that we won’t be able to provide for our kids. We work. We try. We hold on to every opportunity. But no one truly understands what it means to be broken, exhausted, stripped of everything. No one knows what it’s like to wake up in the morning when every movement is pain. To fear the future because you have no guarantees. We have lost everything. But we are not asking for pity. We just want someone to understand how hard it is to live when your life has already been shattered once, and now you are trying to rebuild it—knowing that you can never get back what was taken from you.