Damn, the battery indicator is flashing incessantly, it can’t be long now before our little electric Nissan finally comes to a standstill. And we were so close to Moldova!

We set off on the night of the decision, the sky above Odessa lit up by the devilish fireworks of that mad tsar! We sat together in our little house, wondering what to do, what we could do.

Slava, my husband, my beloved bear, who grew up in, let’s call it difficult circumstances, wanted to grab the nearest Kalashnikov and run, but we all worked together to talk him out of it. “Slava, you have a family, you have three children, what will become of them?” Slava, who had grown up without a father himself, gave in.

We grabbed the bare essentials, each of us with only a tiny bag. Slava said goodbye to his punching bag, his little gym, our garden with its beautiful footpath to the sea, his dog Flash.

The seven of us set off: our children Ekaterina, Mikhail, and Ivan, Slava, Slava’s sister, my mother, and me, Svetlana. Seven people in our little Nissan. Our escape is like one of Slava’s boxing matches: “There is no plan B!” It is February, the temperature is just above freezing, there is no heating, so we can somehow make it to the Moldovan border!

We shiver, Slava looks grimly over the steering wheel as he reduces the speed even further to gain a last bit of range. Waiting at the last checkpoint took its toll on the battery. Every vehicle is meticulously searched for men fit for military service. The Nissan is hopelessly overloaded, the batteries almost completely drained. Two of us are in the trunk; there’s no other way to fit in.

He’s always been like that, putting all his eggs in one basket! His sport saved his ass in the neighborhood where there were almost only drunks, criminals, and, yes, the guys who went through the Athletic Odessa Sports School. My Slava was one of them.

We never had it easy, but we literally fought our way through and even built up a modest fortune. Until tonight.

Those lights up ahead, that must be the border! If it’s just another checkpoint, we’re done for! Either the batteries are dead or they’re keeping Slava there, even though we have three children. Our country is at war.

It was supposed to be the border crossing, we were saved, out of the war. The crazy fireworks were now only visible in the rearview mirror. Our journey to Germany would be a difficult one, we were divided, and while I found a place in a car with part of our family heading for Nuremberg, Slava took the other part of our group by train via Poland to Berlin.

Today, three years later, our Kate is already 15 years old, and we have not yet reached our destination. Slava would love to work as a martial arts coach again, and I dream of starting my own business as a facial massage therapist. Slava even spent a few weeks coaching in Pennsylvania, and Kate’s eyes light up when he talks about it. He always has her on his side! We’ll make it! Anyone who made it in Ukraine can make it anywhere!

In the end, we’re doing it for my little autistic boy. For Vanya, forever.