A Russian strike hit their home on the eve of their wedding. Hours later, they were married

KYIV, Ukraine — On the night before her wedding, Liudmyla Ryzhak pressed her embroidered dress, laid out a full white tulle skirt and her fiancé’s traditionally patterned shirt on the bedroom door, and went to sleep with the ceremony only hours away.

It didn’t go as planned. Sometime before dawn, a Russian strike hit a warehouse across the street from their apartment building. The blast wave blew out the windows, scattered furniture across the rooms and left their wedding clothes buried under shattered glass and fallen debris. The couple dug them out. Liudmyla pulled her skirt from beneath the rubble and shook loose pieces of glass from the fabric.

The attack had come at the end of a long wait for Leonid Ryzhak, a Ukrainian soldier who serves with a bomber-drone crew in the Pokrovsk section of the front line in eastern Ukraine. He had finally arrived in Kyiv a week and a half earlier for leave. For six straight days, he and Liudmyla went to the registry office to file their marriage documents, but air raid sirens cut each attempt short. When they finally succeeded, the ceremony was set for Sept. 8. Nobody expected their apartment to be badly damaged the same day.

Tuesday’s strike also marked a return to violence after a brief lull. U.S. envoys had visited Kyiv on Sunday, and for a time the attacks stopped. Then, overnight, explosions echoed through the capital for almost five hours as drones and missiles resumed. Strikes continued throughout Tuesday.

For Liudmyla, it was the second time in weeks that an attack had hit close to home. On Aug. 20, a strike cut gas lines and shattered windows in her home; she was frightened and for a while avoided going back. But ordinary life pulled her in, she said: children needed to get to school, and the wedding had been arranged.

When the latest attack hit, the couple moved quickly. They went to a shelter with Liudmyla’s 6-year-old daughter and two guinea pigs, but the cat had hidden in fright and could not be found. A second explosion struck while they were underground; only when they emerged did they understand how close they had come. The apartment could not be lived in until repairs were made.

Still, the couple chose not to delay. “If God gave me a continuation of life, then why should I put it off?” Liudmyla said. “For someone, it ended. And who can guarantee this won’t happen again tomorrow? That tomorrow won’t come for us? At least for now, I have the right to be happy. Both him and me.”

Leonid tried to keep their spirits up. “It’s fine. We’ll get through it,” he said. What mattered most to him, he insisted, was seeing his bride smile.

Before they left the apartment building, they changed into clothes that carried the night’s damage. Leonid wore an embroidered vyshyvanka, the traditional Ukrainian shirt, with a pattern that matched the one on Liudmyla’s dress. His black dress pants were still buried under rubble, so he wore army trousers and black sneakers with fluorescent yellow soles and laces. Liudmyla’s white tulle skirt had small, barely visible holes from where she had pulled it free.

When they stepped outside, the courtyard looked almost apocalyptic. A column of black smoke rose behind a brightly colored children’s playground. Neighbors clearing debris stopped to congratulate the couple. “We should all be celebrated, that we survived,” Liudmyla replied.

They reached the registry office at 10:40 a.m., right on time. But shortly after they arrived, another air-raid siren sounded, and the office closed for safety. The couple waited outside, listening to explosions echo from surrounding districts as fires broke out. Almost three hours passed before the alert finally ended and they were allowed back inside.

Just before the ceremony, Leonid made a quiet joke about their ruined apartment. “I didn’t even get to finish the repairs at home,” he said. His bride replied, “I’ve never had such a spectacular day.”

An officiant told them, “Love is when two people become a team.” Moments later, they were officially married.

Afterward, Liudmyla said the word “new life” felt appropriate. “We’re gaining a new life, because we survived,” she said. “You could probably call it a new life because it could have ended today, and none of this would happen.” She paused, then added: “I wouldn’t be wearing this dress. Someone would be picking out something else for me instead, something darker.”