How do you tell a child that war has begun?

There are moments when language breaks, when no words feel sufficient. Yet silence is more dangerous than truth. One of the most excruciating responsibilities a parent faces is explaining to a child that the world has shifted — that safety has fractured, and normal life has suddenly paused.

Below is an unedited excerpt from Life Beyond Fear: A Ukrainian Woman’s Memoir, describing the moment I had to tell my daughters that war had begun.

The necessity to discuss the reality with our children was unavoidable. Concealing the truth was no longer an option; they deserved to be informed, not shielded from the truth under layers of deception. They sensed the gravity of the situation. We sat down and I explained things in terms they could grasp. Explaining the onset of war to your children is an agony I would not wish upon anyone—the danger lurking outside, the abrupt halt of everyday life, and the piercing realization that even home could not guarantee safety anymore.

I took a deep breath and looked at our daughters, their innocent faces filled with confusion.

"Girls," I began softly, trying to keep my voice steady, "there’s something very serious happening right now. You might hear loud noises outside, and you might see people rushing to leave, but I need you to understand that there is a war starting."

Masha, our eldest, frowned and asked, "Like the ones in the history books?"

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Yes, like that. But this time, it’s happening here, in our city, in Dnipro."

Dasha, too young to fully grasp the concept, clung to her favorite stuffed unicorn. "Will it hurt us, Mama?" she asked in a small voice.

I reached out and held her close. "We’re going to do everything we can to keep you safe. Dad and I will be here with you, no matter what." I glanced at Artur, who nodded in agreement, his eyes heavy with worry.

I had to tell them that their usual freedoms—school, playing outside, attending classes—were all suspended indefinitely. "We don’t know when things will go back to normal," I said quietly. "For now, we need to stay together and stay safe. We might not be able to go outside like we used to, but we’ll make sure you have everything you need right here at home."

Masha’s eyes filled with concern, but she didn’t protest, while Dasha simply held me tighter, sensing the weight of my words even if she didn’t fully understand them.

It’s a burden no parent should bear, realizing that our children’s sense of security would forever be altered, that our lives would now be eternally split into 'before' and 'after.'

Some memories never fade — not because of the fear inside them, but because of the love that tried to protect.
This is only one scene from many.
One moment in a very long night.
And it is through telling these stories that we make sure they are not forgotten.