In a parking lot in Ukraine, hundreds of family members gathered to greet loved ones repatriated from Russian prisons. Amid happy reunions, there was anguish, too.

In a parking lot in Ukraine, family members gathered with a mixture of joy and anxiety, eagerly waiting for the return of loved ones held captive by Russia. For many, it had been months or even years since they last saw their relatives, and the moment of reunion brought a rush of emotions.

Two sisters, Anastasiia and Inha, carried a chocolate cake with red heart-shaped candles and a neon orange “2” and “5,” marking the birthday their brother, Yurii Dobriev, had missed while imprisoned. They brought other comforts—Winston cigarettes, lighters, a bottle of Coca-Cola, and chocolates—hoping to share the things their brother hadn’t had in a long time.

But beyond the excitement was a nagging uncertainty. Would Yurii still have his sense of humor? Would he be the same after 18 months in a Russian prison?

The sisters waited alongside around 150 others at a parking lot in the Chernihiv region, two hours north of Kyiv. They knew the buses carrying 205 Ukrainian prisoners of war (P.O.W.s) were on their way. These individuals had just been exchanged with 205 Russian prisoners in one of the largest prisoner exchanges of the war.

“We are very anxious,” Anastasiia said. “We just want to see him as soon as possible. It’s incredibly emotional for us—we haven’t seen him for a year and a half.”

Each person at the parking lot shared a similar story of family members lost to the ravages of war. Some would reunite with loved ones, while others faced heartbreaking disappointment. One released prisoner would discover that his father could still bear hug him like he was a little boy. Another would be greeted by the devastating news that his mother had died while he was imprisoned.

For some, the reunions were filled with extraordinary coincidences. One recent exchange reunited a female soldier with her son—neither had known the other was also a P.O.W. in Russian captivity.

Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, over 4,550 Ukrainian prisoners have been repatriated in these exchanges. But many more still remain behind bars. Released prisoners often speak of the horrors they endured, including torture, starvation, and forced participation in propaganda, such as singing the Russian anthem daily. They were told repeatedly that Ukraine no longer existed, and that their country had forgotten them.

On this afternoon, many of the families waited with blind hope. Some held out hope that their loved one would be on one of the buses, while others carried photos in plastic sleeves—sometimes tattered and faded—hoping someone might recognize a familiar face.

“I’ve been waiting for my son for so long,” said Yuliia Kohut, holding a photograph of her missing son. “Yes, we’ve waited and waited for him.”

When the list of returning prisoners was announced, Yuliia Kohut’s son was not among them. She began to sob.

Anastasiia and Inha had been told that Yurii was on the list, but even then, they knew nothing was certain. They had heard rumors from other prisoners about his whereabouts but were still unsure until he actually walked off the bus.

Yurii, a National Guard soldier, had gone missing in late 2023 in the Luhansk region. His sisters had received a message from him saying he loved them, and then he disappeared. They had seen a video of him in subzero temperatures, bound and barely clothed, and clung to the hope that he was still alive.

Over the months, they learned more through other released prisoners who had seen Yurii. The Red Cross confirmed his captivity, and by April 17, they learned he was at the Sverdlovsk prison colony. The sisters had been anxiously awaiting news ever since.

On Monday, they were told he was on the list for exchange. They took a train from Odesa to Kyiv, then drove to the meeting point. At 3:21 p.m., they received the text: “Congratulations! Yurii Dobriev was released from captivity.”

The first ambulances arrived, carrying soldiers too weak to walk. Then, the buses pulled in, and the men poured out. Most were draped in Ukrainian flags, their bodies gaunt and their eyes hollow from months of harsh conditions. The sight of them sparked cheers of “Glory to Ukraine!” as the crowd erupted in emotion.

Among the released prisoners was Serhiy Laptiev, 23, who had spent three years in captivity. He found out his mother had passed away while he was in prison, but he had stayed alive by thinking about his daughter, born just before his capture.

“I had someone to live for,” Serhiy said. “I didn’t lose heart.”

As he walked through the crowd, people approached him with photos, asking if he recognized their missing loved ones. Most of the time, he shook his head. But when Anzhelika Yatsyna, 52, asked if he had seen her brother, Oleh Obodovskyi, his response was different: “Yes, I shared a cell with him for two years.”

Tears of relief flowed freely as Anzhelika grabbed Serhiy’s hand, overwhelmed with emotion.

Finally, Yurii stepped off the bus. His sisters rushed to him. “All right girls, I’m home,” he said, his voice hoarse but filled with relief.

He couldn’t eat the cake or the chocolates right away—he would need to be cleared by a doctor—but the sisters lit the candles anyway, and Yurii blew them out, making a wish.

“What do I feel? I have no words to explain,” Yurii said.

His sisters hugged him tightly, unwilling to let go. Amidst the joy, there was still grief for those who would never return. But for Yurii, the waiting had ended.

He called his mother first: “Yes, mom,” he said. “I’m home.” Then he lit a cigarette, smiled, and laughed.