The war had left no choice. Fatherhood and patriotism, at this historical moment, were no longer two separate duties; they had become one and the same: fighting so that childhood could live.
By: Abdel Latif Moubarak
The first rays of dawn filtered through the cracked window glass of Andriy’s small apartment on the outskirts of Kyiv. Waking up was not easy these days; the air in the room carried a strange heaviness, a mixture of the biting Ukrainian winter chill and the scent of emptiness.
Andriy, 34, turned in his bed, instinctively reaching out his hand to the other side, but found only cold sheets and an empty pillow. It had been only five days since his wife, Olenya, had passed away. She hadn’t been taken by an airstrike, but by an incurable illness that had worn down her body for months before she drew her last breath, leaving behind a broken heart and a five-year-old girl.
Andriy looked at his military uniform hanging on the chair next to the bed. The camouflage, the blue and yellow patch, the tactical vest with magazines. He was not just a grieving father; he was a sergeant in the Ukrainian Territorial Defense Forces, and the country was fighting a fierce war for survival.
He rubbed his rough hands over his face, trying to clear the fog of grief from his eyes. There was no time to stay in bed. There was a little girl in the next room who needed a stable world, while the world outside was collapsing.
Andriy quietly opened the door to his daughter Yana’s bedroom. The little one was sleeping like an angel, clutching an old woolen teddy bear that her mother had given her for her last birthday. Her blonde hair was scattered across the pillow, and her features bore an innocence not yet tainted by the sound of cannons rumbling in the distance.
”Yana… sweetheart, it’s time to wake up,” Andriy whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently stroking her head.
Yana opened her large, blue eyes, looking at him with a moment of confusion, as if searching for another face. But she soon smiled and said in a sleepy voice, “Papa… are you going to the barracks today too?”
”Yes, my little one, but first we will have breakfast together,” Andriy said, trying to hide the note of anxiety in his voice.
Standing in front of the mirror, Andriy tried to comb his daughter’s hair. His hands, capable of stripping and reassembling a Kalashnikov rifle in seconds, trembled clumsily as they tried to weave a simple braid. Yana giggled at his failed attempts and said, “Mama used to do it much better, Papa!”
Andriy’s heart stopped for a second. The words caught in his throat, but he smiled and said, “I know, my love, but Papa is learning… I will become an expert soon.”
In the kitchen, the small radio was broadcasting the war bulletin at a low volume: “…Russian forces are attempting to advance on the eastern axis; our air defense has shot down several kamikaze drones…”
Andriy quickly turned off the radio before Yana could notice. He prepared oatmeal and some hot tea. While Yana ate with childhood appetite, Andriy looked at his watch. In two hours, he had to be at the checkpoint at the entrance to the neighborhood.
How could he balance being a shield for his homeland and the sole refuge for this little girl? Her grandmother had fled to the west of the country at the beginning of the war, and his friends were all at the front. He could only rely on their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Maria, who had promised to watch Yana during his daytime shift hours.
”Yana, listen to me carefully,” Andriy said, lowering himself to her height. “Today you will stay with Mrs. Maria. If you hear the sound of the sirens, what do you do?”
Yana looked at him with a seriousness beyond her years and said, “I take my teddy bear, hold Mrs. Maria’s hand, and we go straight down to the basement. And I won’t cry, so I don’t scare the bear.”
Tears stung Andriy’s eyes. He hugged her so tightly that he could feel the beating of her tiny heart. “You are the bravest girl in all of Ukraine.”
By eight o’clock in the morning, Andriy was standing at the checkpoint, surrounded by sandbags and concrete blocks. The snow fell lightly, and the wind was as cold as a knife’s blade. He gripped his rifle, his eyes fixed on the road stretching into the unknown.
”How is little Yana doing?” asked his station partner, Ivan, a young soldier who had left his university to enlist.
”She’s trying to be strong,” Andriy replied without taking his eyes off the horizon. “But Olenya’s absence left a void I cannot fill. And I am here, in constant fear that something will happen to the city while I am away.”
Ivan patted his shoulder. “You are protecting her here, Andriy. If we weren’t here, the tanks would be in our streets. Defending this block means defending Yana’s little bed and her doll.”
Ivan’s words were the naked truth. The war had left no choice. Fatherhood and patriotism, at this historical moment, were no longer two separate duties; they had become one and the same: fighting so that childhood could live.
At midday, air raid sirens echoed throughout the area. It was a terrifying sound.
Read: Echo of Silken Wraps – Short Story
____________________
The author was born in Suez and writes poetry using classical Arabic and Egyptian vernacular. He received a Bachelor of Law from Ain Shams University. He was one of the most important poets of the 1980s and his poems were published in several literary magazines in Egypt and the Arab world, including the Arab magazine, Kuwait magazine, News Literature, Republic newspaper, Al-Ahram, the new publishing culture (magazine).[1] Received the Excellence and Creativity Shield from the Arab Media Union in 2014 and Won the shield of excellence and creativity from the East Academy 2021.He won the Sergio Camellini International Award in Italy in 2025. He won first place in the “Divinamente Donna” competition in Italy 2026.
