In the mid-90s, I fled to Donetsk from Nagorno-Karabakh. This is the second war in my life.

We remember the last winter with horror – when Donetsk Oblast where we live came under heavy fire, many people were killed and injured.

When the attacks begin, my two daughters and I go down to the safest place in the dormitory. It used to be a shower room, but now it's a bomb shelter. We waited out the attacks here for several times.

The three of us live in a 12-square-meter room.

The father of the eldest daughter died, and recently I had to bury my second husband. We adhere to a strict economy mode.