I married the love of my life in a Mariupol bunker. He was killed two days later

Mariupol was doomed. Ruthless Russian bombing has turned streets into rubble and courtyards into graveyards.

But a few meters beneath the city in southeastern Ukraine, romance is blooming.

Valeria Subotina, 33, has been holed up at the vast Azovstal steel plant, the city’s last stronghold since it was seized by Russians in the spring of 2022 The army surrounded.

She hid deep beneath the factory in one of the dozens of Soviet-era bomb shelters built to withstand nuclear war.

“You go down half-collapsed stairs, through passages and tunnels, and further and further. Finally, you arrive at this concrete cube, a room,” Valeria said.

In the bunker, Valeria worked with soldiers and civilians as a press officer with the Army’s Azov Brigade, conveying the horrors of Russia’s months-long siege to global media.

Also present was her fiancé Andriy Subotin, a 34-year-old Ukrainian military officer who guards the factory.

The two met each other while working at the Mariupol border office about three years ago.

When Andre met Valeria, it was love at first sight.

“He was special and it felt warm to be around him,” Valeria said. “He was always friendly and never refused to help anyone.”

Andre was an optimist, she said. He knew how to be happy and found joy in the little things: sunny weather, a smile, the company of friends.

“The first day we met, I realized that Andre was very different from everyone else.”

Within three months, they moved together, renting a small one-story house with a garden in Mariupol. The couple began to build a life together.

“We went to a lot of places, to the mountains, and made friends,” Valeria said.

“We fished together and spent a lot of time outdoors. We visited theatres, concerts and exhibitions. Life was full.

They decided to get married and dreamed of a big wedding in a church with family and friends. They picked out wedding rings.

Valeria quit her job and began to cultivate her creativity, writing and publishing poems about the fierce fighting with the Russians in Mariupol during her early years.

“In the years leading up to the full invasion, I was really happy,” she recalls.

In February 2022, everything changed.

Spring brings sunshine to Valeria and Andrei’s garden, and the first flowers are blooming.

“I’m starting to enjoy spring,” Valeria said.

On February 24, days before the full-scale invasion began, Andrei urged Valeria to leave the city. She refused.

“I knew that no matter what happened, I had to stay in Mariupol and I had to defend my city.”

A few weeks later, they were all underground in the Azovian bunker.

They only met occasionally, but when they did they were moments of “pure happiness”.

At this time, Mariupol was on the verge of a humanitarian disaster.

Attacks on infrastructure knocked out water and electricity supplies in parts of the city, and there were food shortages. Civilian homes and buildings were also destroyed.

On April 15, a large bomb was dropped on the factory. Valeria nearly died.

“I was found among the bodies, the only one alive. On the one hand, this is a miracle, but on the other hand, it is also a terrible tragedy.

She had to stay in the factory’s underground hospital for eight days due to a severe concussion.

“Everywhere smells of blood and rot,” she said.

“It was a very scary place, our injured comrades had their limbs amputated everywhere. With very few medical supplies, they could not get proper help.

Andrei is deeply concerned after Valeria’s injury and begins planning a wedding in the bunker.

“It felt like he was in a hurry, like we didn’t have any more time,” Valeria said.

“He made a pair of wedding rings out of tinfoil and proposed to me. Of course, I said yes.

“He was the love of my life. Our rings were made of tinfoil – they were perfect.

On May 5, the couple held a wedding ceremony under the auspices of the commander stationed at the factory. They held the ceremony in the bunker, wearing their uniforms as wedding attire.

Andre promised his wife that when they returned home they would have a formal wedding, with real rings and white dresses.

Two days later, on May 7, he was killed by Russian shelling during fighting at a steel plant.

Valeria did not discover this immediately.

“People often say that when a loved one dies, you feel a certain way inside. But I, on the other hand, was in a good mood. I was married and in a relationship.

One of the most difficult things was having to hold back her “sorrow” because she was defending her city with “her children” (comrades) in Azovstar.

“I was a bride, I was a wife, now I’m a widow. The scariest word,” she said.

“I couldn’t react the way I wanted to in that moment.

“My children are always around. They sit next to me, sleep next to me, bring me food and support me,” she said. “I only cry when they don’t look.”

At one point, she felt her sadness dilute the fear of being in a war zone.

“I don’t care anymore… You just understand that there are more people waiting for you in the next world (if it exists) than you have here.”

Ukrainian soldiers in Yazovstar finally surrendered on May 20. Valeria found herself among 900 prisoners of war forcibly taken away from Mariupol by Russian troops.

“We stared through the car windows at the buildings we loved, the streets we knew. They destroyed and killed everything I loved – my city, my friends, my husband.

Valeria survived 11 months in Russian captivity and spoke of torture and abuse. Andre often appeared in her dreams.

She was released as part of a prisoner exchange last April and has returned to Ukraine.

It is difficult to say exactly how many people were killed as a result of Russian shelling of Mariupol, but local authorities put the death toll at more than 20,000.

According to the United Nations, 90% of residential buildings have been damaged or destroyed, with bodies still among the rubble.

As far as Valeria knows, her husband’s body remains at the Azovstal Steel Plant in the now-occupied city.

Sometimes, she said, she would look at the sky and talk to him.