They stand in a small crowd outside the large metal gate, tense and waiting in the dark. Most look weighed down, both by stress and by overstuffed plastic bags — all for men who may soon be heading off to war.
"Where’s my father? Where’s my father?” a boy in a camouflage coat asks, leaning on the gray gate. As his mother tells him to be patient, two women comfort each other nearby.
Svitlana Vakar hovers at the back of the group, crying and sniffling as she holds the dimpled hand of Maksym, her 2-year-old grandson. Wiping her eyes, she adjusts Maksym’s red "Paw Patrol” puffer jacket to protect him from the winter cold, then plants a long kiss on top of his head.
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