At the beginning of September, russian soldiers — in civilian clothes, wearing masks and balaclavas — burst into the home of 15-year-old Artur in occupied Kherson region. They conducted a search, confiscated the phones of every family member, and summoned his mother for a “conversation.” When his father asked the uninvited guests to present their documents, they silently pointed to their weapons: “Aren’t these documents enough for you?” His father tried to protect his wife, but was immediately threatened: they would take him too, and things would get even worse for both of them. Where they were taking his mother, and why — they did not explain.

“Often, almost every day, I think about where they are keeping her and what condition she is in,” says Artur.

Three months had passed since then — and his mother remained in captivity. The family turned to the local police, but were told that those authorities would not be accountable to them. After the family approached the prosecutor’s office, relatives were suddenly shown a photograph of Artur’s mother holding a sheet of paper on which was written: “I renounce my family and do not wish to disclose my whereabouts.”

Artur categorically refuses to believe this version of events: his mother would never have written such a thing — except under duress, at the hands of people with weapons. The russians also claimed that Artur’s mother was supposedly renting an apartment somewhere far from the front line and living her own life there.

“That is a lie! She was simply kidnapped and is being held in captivity,” the young man insists.

After his mother’s abduction, russian soldiers began calling Artur’s sister. They offered to release his mother in exchange for the girl feeding the occupiers information on the positions of Ukraine’s armed forces and air defense systems. His sister, of course, refused.

Artur’s father still cannot sleep properly. Artur himself is deeply distressed: he thinks of his mother constantly and does not know how to help her. His grandmother, too, is suffering — she worries endlessly about her daughter, yet is powerless to change anything.