The two sisters bring chocolate cake from a nearby grocery store, put on candles, two red hearts, two neon oranges and two and five. The brother turned 25 in April, but he was unable to properly celebrate his birthday in a Russian prison.
They brought other things too: Winston cigarettes, lighter cartons, Coca-Cola bottles, some chocolates. Something he liked, something he hadn't had in a long time. The sisters wondered: Does he still have his sense of humor? Is he still the same?
And they were waiting for their brother Yurii Dobriev. Like they've been doing for the past 18 months, with about 150 other people waiting for their loved ones in a parking lot in Ukraine's Cherniv region for a few hours north of Kyiv on Tuesday afternoon.
They were told that a bus had arrived and carried 205 Ukrainian prisoners. They had just been traded for 205 Russian prisoners. This is the exchange of prisoners of the 64th of the greatest war ever.
“We're very concerned, whether he's really there or not,” said Anastasia Doblieva, 31, one of Dobliev's sisters. “We just want to see him as soon as possible. It's incredibly emotional for us. We haven't seen him for a year and a half.”
Each person in the car park endured a hole that was torn by his family. Each reunion will only come after years of pain.
The released prisoner will know that his father can hold him like a little boy. Another already knew that his mother was not there. She had died while he was in prison. There are tears of disappointment and joy, and sometimes a grand coincidence. For example, in one of the other recent prisoner exchanges, a female soldier was reunited with her son. Neither of them knew that others were held.
Since Russia began its full-scale invasion in February 2022, a rare example of cooperation between Ukraine and Russia has already been traded with more than 4,550 Ukrainian prisoners. In interviews, the prisoners say they have been repeatedly told that Ukraine doesn't exist anymore and that their country had forgotten them.
Thousands of Ukrainian prisoners are housed in Russian prisons. The Ukrainian government has not said exactly how many people.
This Tuesday afternoon, many people in the parking lot came with blind hope alone. Maybe their loved ones were on the bus. And if not, one of the former prisoners may recognize the photo. There they took photos on wrinkled plastic sleeves often marked with names, brigades, and dates of lost. My son was injured in Kherson on the second day.
“I've been waiting for my son for a long time,” 55-year-old Yuria Kohut hugged the photo. “Yes, we've been waiting for him for a long time.”
However, when the final list of prisoners returning to the bus on Tuesday was released, Vadym Kohut was not there. His mother began to sob.
Cake's sisters Doblieva and Inha Paramartük were said to have their brothers on the list. But they knew there was nothing certain until Dobliev got off the bus.
Dobliev, a National Guard soldier, was missing in the forests of the Luhansk region of eastern Ukraine in late 2023. His sisters thought he knew that bad things were going to happen. He wrote to them and his fiancé, saying he loved them, and then he was silent. They scrutinized social media posts and watched Dobliev's video at Sub-Zero temperatures. At least they thought he was alive.
Over the course of months, the sisters spoke to other released prisoners who had seen Mr Dobliev. The International Committee of the Red Cross confirmed that he was a prisoner. They learned his place from the last prisoner exchange. The soldiers who returned home recognized him. As of April 17, he was in the colony of Sverdlovsk prison.
“In prison, the food was terrible – rotten fish, rotten cabbage was terrible,” Dobrieva said.
On Monday, the sisters learned he was on the list to be exchanged. They took a one-night train from Odesa to Kiev to the meeting point. At 3:21pm, during Ukraine time, the government office handling prisoner swaps said, “Congratulations! Yurii Dobriev has been released from confinement.”
Two ambulances arrived first, each carrying soldiers who were unable to walk. They were pulled out with a stretcher. “Glory to Ukraine,” people cried out. “Glory to heroes,” the man shook, waving horribly.
Just before 5pm, police escorted four buses carrying prisoners, allowing police sirens to hear from the distance. The bus was immediately drawn into the car park, and the man poured out. Many were covered in Ukrainian flags after meeting other government officials near the border. Most looked almost the same. They were in Russian prisons, their bodies were shaved, their eyes were shining and their heads were shaved.
Serhiy Laptiev, 23, was held captive for three years. He said he was treated properly in the last prison he was in. He learns that his mother had died from a message from the Red Cross, but he continues to live out thinking about his daughter, born just before the prisoner was taken.
“There was someone living there,” he said. “I didn't lose my heart.”
People surrounded him as he walked through the crowd. Did he see this soldier? This one? Most often, Laputiev shook his head, like when Kohut asked if he was aware of the photographs of his son.
However, her friend Anzhelika Yatsyna, 52, was looking for her older brother, but this time she had a lucky coincidence. Laputiev has shared cell with Olev Ovodovsky in the two prisons for the past two years. Her brother was alive. She was in tears, not the first time that day. She grabbed his hand.
“I didn't want to let go, because he felt like a part of me, and I was a part of him,” Yatsyna said. “It feels like he's passed me a part of me at that moment.”
Then there was Dobliev. Dobrief lets the bus fall on his sisters like his younger brother. “It's fine, I'll be at home,” he said. He could not eat cakes or chocolate – before he can eat such treats, he must be cleaned up by the doctor. But even so, the sisters lighted the candle, so he was able to chant his wish and blow it away.
“What do I feel? I don't have any words to explain,” he said.
His sisters hugged him from both sides while he held the cake. They kissed him on the cheek and didn't let go. Paramartük (38) cried and stroked his younger brother's head. “Let's call them,” she said. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
First he called his mother: “Yes, mom,” he said. “I'm home.” He then pulled out Winston's pack and lit it up and laughed.
