Exclusive | Inside one Ukrainian family’s daring escape from Russian occupation after 2.5 years in captivity

ZVYAGHEL, Ukraine — Ukrainian mom Yulia Khrapatova lived in fear for months that her quiet patriotism would be found out by Russian occupiers — and her kids ripped from her for the crime of speaking their native language.

Just three days after the Kremlin’s Feb. 24, 2022, full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Moscow’s troops took over the family’s southeastern Ukraine hometown of Berdiansk, where Russian soldiers attempted to re-program Khrapatova’s children, Anastasia, 14 and Kyrylo, 5, including by making them pledge their allegiance to Russia in school.

The little family held strong for more than two and a half years before finding the courage, and financial capacity, to escape their occupiers.

In September, they embarked on a nearly 2,000-mile bus and train trip around battle lines and closed checkpoints to begin anew in Zvyaghel in free western Ukraine about 450 miles away.

The Post met the Khrapatova family at Kyrylo’s new kindergarten here, where he is safe to speak Ukrainian freely and play with other children without fear of his family’s patriotism being found out.

Initial invasion

As with the majority of Ukrainians, Khrapatova did not expect Russian President Vladimir Putin to follow through on rumors he would order his troops to invade and take over Ukraine.

The mom, who grew up in Ukraine when it was part of the Soviet Union, was accustomed to hearing Russia’s threats and posturing over the past 30 years.

Then Feb. 22, 2022, initial reports of Russia’s move on Ukraine began to fill her social-media feeds.

“On Telegram, there was information about people seeing all the [Russian] equipment coming in,” she said. “People began to hide in basements [in Berdiansk].”

By Feb. 27, 2022, the first Russian troops entered the town. The Khrapatovas lived on the outskirts near Berdiansk’s entrance, so the mother was among the first there to see the invasion.

“I saw these columns of tanks because I live alone near the road, and I lowered the children into the basement,” she said.

“There were people in Berdiansk who went and asked the [Russian troops] to, ‘Go back home, we do not need you,’ ” she recalled.

She then went to her last day of work as the manager of a local factory, where two security guards were shot — one fatally — by Russian troops who thought the guards were Ukrainian soldiers.

She and the kids wanted to immediately leave but did not have enough money to pay for the trip before the Russians ultimately closed the crossings into free areas of Ukraine.

So they were forced to stay and play a game of pretend until they could safely escape.

Under occupation

For the first six months under Russia’s thumb, Yulia refused to accept donated food from her invaders.

“I will say that February through July, the children did not see me. I thought I would run through all possible humanitarian avenues — where you can get some products for free — and stood constantly in some queues to buy some products at the beginning at any grocery store,” she said.

During that time, Anastasia and Kyrylo stayed indoors constantly for fear of being forced to attend Russian schools tailored to strip them of their Ukrainian identity, they said.

Anastasia attended Ukrainian school online from their basement, continuing her studies the way she had during the coronavirus pandemic.

“I read books, listened to music,” she said. “I could not leave the house and was afraid I would die from a sniper’s bullet.”

Eventually, Khrapatova faced a harsh reality: She needed to accept Russia’s help feeding her family. But to do so meant admitting to the occupiers that she had two children at home — who would be required to attend Russian schools.

“I remembered how we stood in front of a [Russian assistance] worker. My children were starving, they already had begun to forget about their [Ukrainian] principles,” she said. “And I just thought that I need to feed my children, and I just took those products, and in my soul, I cursed the Russians.”

Now registered with Russian authorities, Anastasia and Kyrylo began attending school, where each subject was infused with Russian propaganda. Their classes included ” ‘Russia: My Horizons,’ where they taught us to love Russia,” as well as junior military training “to become a future combat type,” Anastasia said.

“My classes were Russian language, Russian history, literature —there was foreign and Russian literature, but in fact it was all Russian.”

For two years, Anastasia kept up a hushed resistance in her Russian classes, wearing ear plugs and headphones whenever possible to block out the propaganda.

“I did not want to hear them. I understood that my psyche was not yet formed enough to listen to it, to filter it. Therefore, I tried to isolate myself as much as possible and consume only Ukrainian content,” she said. “I wanted to make sure that what I heard was not changing my vision of the world to the wrong one.”

Most of her classmates were not Ukrainian but had been shipped in from Russia as the sons and daughters of Moscow’s forces.

“I did not know those people, and I hardly communicated with them,” she said. “I do not even remember their names now.

“The military encouraged [us] to enroll in training, and we had a lot of guys who when they graduated from school, they immediately went to serve in pro-Russian forces.”

Meanwhile, Kyrylo’s education was a relative mystery, as parents were not allowed to visit any schools, Khrapatova said.

At home, the older family members spoke only in Russian and never discussed their distaste for the occupation in front of the surprisingly talkative little boy, who they feared could innocently let it slip that they wanted to remain Ukrainian.

The long road to freedom

Khrapatova said Anastasia served as her “rock” throughout the occupation — and ultimately was the one who led the family to freedom.

“It is this child who has given the most support because it was, let’s say, more her decision to leave than mine,” Khrapatova said. “That is, she really wanted to return here, to her homeland. And I just wanted her to feel calmer.”

As Anastasia’s brother grew from a toddler to a young child, the teen felt insistent that he not grow up to become like her classmates who dreamt of one day becoming Russian soldiers.

“I wanted him to grow up — I emphasize that he grew up — as a Ukrainian,” she said. “I was very afraid that when he grew up, he would love Russia and go to fight against Ukraine. Therefore, I preferred to leave Berdiansk before he goes to school.”

The 14-year-old connected with volunteer organizations online who helped her family plan out and finance their escape. They had to leave everything behind, except for two small suitcases of clothing and a handful of family photos.

“At the end of the summer, we decided to leave, and at the end of September, we were able to leave with volunteers,” the teen said. “They formed the route, prepared and bought tickets while we gathered our things.”

It took the family a full week to travel through occupied Ukraine, through Russia and Belarus, and finally back to free Ukrainian territory in Zvyaghel.

Six months later, Anastasia is back to studying at her online Ukrainian school while Kyrylo enjoys school at a local kindergarten, where his mom has found a new job as a custodian.

“It’s much calmer here. We can calmly walk, explore the city and talk on the street in Ukrainian,” Anastasia said of her new life. “I just want to finally live calmly and not defend ourselves constantly.

“We are also trying to think now about how we can find an option to help. We want to get involved and help our fellow Ukrainians.”