“My younger daughter’s name is Mariika. She is five years old. She is our gentle dreamer. She loves drawing suns, hugging our fluffy cats George and Liusia, and always dreams of the sea,” says her mother, Iryna Sliusarchuk.

The family had to leave Kherson in May 2022. It was too dangerous to stay at home – there were explosions. Her mother’s heart sank with fear for her children. In the end, they made the decision: they had to save Mariika, Veronika and themselves. They settled in Zhytomyr.

“We had no clear plan – we were just looking for a place where it was quiet, where you couldn’t hear explosions. Here we were met by incredibly warm and sincere people. Volunteers helped with the essentials – gave us shelter, clothes and support. My elder daughter Veronika was able to go to school, and Mariika to a new kindergarten. There the little one met a girl named Vasylynka. Now they are inseparable: they play together, draw the sea, build sandcastles on warm days… And in those moments there is at least a crumb of peace,” Iryna shares, remembering their home in Kherson with its spacious yard and garden, where among the trees there was a small sandpit framed with colourful, slightly cracked boards. It was there that little Mariika built her first castles, baked “sand pies” and made up fairy tales about kitten heroes and mermaids.

So the Sliusarchuks gradually settled into their new place.

Iryna works remotely as a chief specialist in social protection on violence issues. Her husband is the chief accountant of the Skadovsk City Military Administration.

“He had to return to Kherson to continue working on site. We both try to contribute to supporting the Kherson community, despite everything,” she says.

Iryna says Mariika often remembers home. Once, seriously and with childlike trust, she asked: “Mum, is our sandpit still there? Can we go to it?”

“I hugged her tightly, trying not to let my tears betray me. Because a shell hit exactly there, that sandpit where she once built her little dreams out of sand. And our house is partly destroyed. But Mariika doesn’t know that. She still sincerely believes that we will return and that her favourite garden and sandpit will be waiting for her again, and beyond them – that big, endless blue sea. And I hold on to her faith. Because children must dream. Even when there is war all around,” the girl’s mother admits. “We all dream of something simple and most important – a peaceful future. Where there is safety, where we can plant flowers under the window again, listen to the birds singing in the morning and not flinch at every loud sound.”

Mariika’s drawing is both a memory and a hope. The sea, the sun, a bunny and a sandpit. She made it because it reminds her of happy moments.