Relatives of prisoners and missing persons always arrive early at the meeting point. Some already know that their loved ones will be freed today.
“I’m waiting for you, bunny! I’m waiting for you here! Don’t worry, everything will be fine!” — Olesya Ohiyenko tells her husband Mykola over the phone. Olesya received the message about his release in the morning. On the way, from the bus, her husband called for the first time in 31 months.
Olesya had a feeling he would be freed.
“My daughter dreamed that her dad was exchanged. She came home from work yesterday and said it. I told her: let’s see if your dream comes true. And it did — exactly right. I waited,” Olesya shares.
Today’s prisoner exchange was coordinated by name for those whose captivity was fully confirmed — mostly verified by the International Committee of the Red Cross, explains Bohdan Okhrimenko, head of the Secretariat of the Coordination Headquarters for Prisoner of War Affairs.
On the first day of the exchange (it is two-stage, meaning it will last two days), 200 defenders are returning from captivity: two officers and 198 sergeants and enlisted personnel.
About fifty men have serious injuries and illnesses. They are brought first — by ambulances. Relatives of prisoners and missing persons, holding their portraits and flags, surround the vehicles and shout: “Welcome!”
Medical staff bring no more than five men out of each vehicle at a time. Some are wearing masks, while others are transported on stretchers and wheelchairs.
When the empty ambulances leave, the crowd lines the road: people greet buses carrying those freed from captivity, waving to them.
From each bus to the building entrance, a narrow corridor forms of waiting relatives. However, Coordination Headquarters staff quickly escort the freed individuals inside — “for registration.” So fast, in fact, that relatives who already have confirmation of the release barely get to see, let alone hug, their loved ones.
A tall soldier in an old camouflage uniform walks more slowly than the others. Finally, his wife recognizes him and rushes to him. This is Oleksandr, whom Olesya has been waiting for 22 months. She hugs him tightly, but moments later he has to step away, leaving Olesya barely standing aside. About ten minutes later, Oleksandr is allowed to see his wife again. “I love you!” Olesya repeats.
Vladyslav Lysenko’s mother, Halyna Volodymyrivna, didn’t see her son in the crowd, even though she had received notice of his release. She waits another hour — and then her son comes to her.
“All right, don’t cry! I’m home now! Everything’s fine,” Vladyslav says to his mother.
“I’ve been waiting for you for so long!..”
“It’s okay, everyone else is waiting too. Many are waiting, everyone is waiting,” Vladyslav says, stroking his mother’s head and wiping away her tears.
Vladyslav and his mother were surrounded by relatives of other released prisoners and missing persons, all repeating, “Thank you for defending us!” and “Welcome home!”
“I still can’t believe I’m here. What am I supposed to feel?” Vladyslav shares. He had been held in a detention center in Kostroma Region.
About his last day in captivity, he says, “You don’t believe you’re going home, and no one tells you. By the time I reached Belarus, it started to feel like I would actually make it home.”
After seeing her son, Halyna Volodymyrivna sighs: “He lost so much weight, he’s changed… He used to be so handsome, and now… My God!..”
Olesya Ohiyenko meets her husband directly from the bus. She crouches down to wrap him fully in a hug.
Mykola’s mother is less fortunate — she misses the initial reunion with her son. However, after registration, he finds her in the crowd. Olesya removes from her shoulders the flag bearing his photo, which she had brought every time to greet released prisoners.
“I’ve always come here like it’s my job. I waited for him for two years and nine months, and now he can carry this flag,” the woman says.
Another soldier’s wife, Valentyna Muravska, wraps herself in a flag with her husband’s photo for the first time. She arrived from Kherson with her two-year-old son, travelling 12 hours by bus.
“Travelling with a child is really difficult, but he held up bravely. He’s probably holding on for his dad too. And we still have to travel back the same way, but I think we’ll manage. For him, for our dad, we’ll manage, we’ll get through everything, we’ll make it,” Valentyna says.
Valentyna’s husband, Anatoliy Muravskyy, is from Kherson and joined the army after the city was deoccupied. The couple married in 2023, and the following year their son was born. However, in December 2025, Anatolii went missing on the left bank of Kherson Region.
“I want to believe that I might hear some news about him, learn something. Maybe someone will pass something along, maybe someone will say something. I still have hope that he is in captivity, that he might be alive. Unfortunately, there is no confirmation, but we believe, we come, we hope.”
Another woman approaches Valentyna:
“Was yours among those exchanged? I wanted to be happy for you…”
“No,” Valentyna replies briefly.
“Maybe tomorrow,” the woman says.
“Maybe…”
