A Ukrainian soldier from the 53rd Separate Mechanized Brigade, Valerii Zelenskyy, was returned to Ukraine by Russia on May 25, 2025. Less than a month later, on June 16, his heart stopped — the 57-year-old man's body could not withstand the torture, his daughter said. Her name is also Valeriia.
Valerii Zelenskyy spent 39 months in Russian prisons. He was captured in the first days of Russia’s full-scale invasion. After his return, he spoke of daily torture.
He lived with thoughts of his family, believing for three years that they were under occupation. In captivity, he dreamed of seeing the eyes of his beloved wife — and he lived to do so.
His daughter, who shared his story, told it in her own words — we publish the text she wrote herself.
This story is a testament to the price of freedom — a price we pay every day for every breath we take. A tax paid in blood by the best of us — through their suffering, the silent screams they kept inside, and their boundless love for their homeland.
It is a story of a nation that once called itself “brotherly,” but became the most ruthless of tormentors. They tortured not only the body — they sought to break the soul. But the spirit of Ukraine — unbreakable, sacred, and searing — burns in hearts even as they pass through hell.
This is a story of love carried through hundreds of past lives — the kind of love that holds you at the edge of death, that gives you the strength to survive the unsurvivable. To return, just once more, and dissolve into the gaze of the beloved. To touch the hands softer than any comfort, to reach a soul more precious than all treasures.
He came back because he promised. Because God granted him one last look into her eyes — his final wish before death.
The grayness and cold of the Soviet empire, the cruelty of modern Russia — desperately trying to resurrect a corpse — their people reduced to a soulless machine, built to break and erase.
And yet, in contrast — there is Ukraine: tender and fierce, emotional and sincere. A country you want to live for, held in her honest embrace.
My father’s story is unique. He was an extraordinary man.
But for you, this may be just one story. Just one life.
The second part of this testimony is the voice of thousands who remained in the shadows.
And this story — is their unsung song.
Eternal honor. We have no right to forget. The cost is far too high.
He always said shyly, “Am I a soldier? No, no, I’m just a father, I’d rather say an employer.” And my father was a great businessman. When the war has started, my father went simply because he wanted to. There was a long argument between mother and father, but he had a strong motivation to protect us — their beloved family, our future, and our country, Ukraine. Just so you know — he never complained, never moaned; he always kept a positive attitude about every challenge in his life. Even those 3.3 years my father called with a smile “a holiday in Russia,” and he confessed to my mom, “You have to understand — this is a man’s life.”
"He was so strong"
In early 2014, when the whole country was divided, my father told us: “Kids, we will never, ever go to Russia. Especially not to live there. You don’t know these people, and you’d better never know them. If they capture our city, I’ll burn all our apartments so they’ll never get a chance to use them for themselves.”
Youth is a unique period that shapes exactly who we are. It’s when our tastes are formed, our life vision develops, and our core beliefs become the foundation of our personality. Interestingly, he decided never to return to Russian territory.
It turned out my father was an internally displaced person during his childhood, moving all over the former Soviet Union territory. He was born in Ukraine to a family of an outstanding engineer, so they moved quite often. Eventually, they were so busy no one had time for him, and he was left alone. Maybe that is why he loved us, his own family, boundlessly. Once, when dad had the chance to work with a pen at school in modern Ukraine, moving to modern Russia he had to switch to feather writing, which affected his progress. (And I mean it — he was always a highly educated person with an unlimited thirst for knowledge.) So he was the most bullied student in primary school, fighting every single day. Even in his graduation photo, he had a bruise on his eye — funny and charming? (don’t ask me about protection from teachers — it didn’t exist) it was really sad. But you always make decisions that change your entire life, though you don’t immediately realize their impact. Instead of being a whipping boy, my dad learned to protect himself. His leadership eventually grew; he took up sports, which over time turned into great athletic discipline. This was the foundation of the discipline that strengthened throughout his life. He became unbreakable since childhood — that’s what you need to know.
Discipline and early maturity made him who he was. It gave him a lifelong rhythm and kept him together, something no modern psychologist could do.
He was so strong! My father was an unbreakable wall on the outside, but also strong spiritually and mentally. No doubt, he was a superhero. But like everyone, he had a vulnerable part — his Achilles’ heel — and it was his beloved family: a beautiful wife and two daughters, so different and so fun. We were his orangery, personal garden. Father came home to breathe us in, to fill his lungs with our scent like blooming flowers, and then went back out into the world already inspired. That was his only vulnerable part, nothing else.
How it started
He enrolled in medical university in St. Petersburg, and just after his first year, he was drafted into the army. Then dad moved to Sievierodonetsk. He told me it was sensational! So cool, so brand new — the city was just beginning to develop, holding its original greenest parts. My father went to the former Institute of Engineering and Chemical Technology, and that was exactly where he met my mother. Curiously, she was a student in the same specialty, with the difference that he studied inorganic chemistry while she studied organic chemistry. He told her once, “I remember you, I recognised you from the past lives”, the only thing it took two years for making my mom took attention to him - she was that beautiful smart girl who know that.
The whole life together they had spent was very romantic. It was the life of two pieces met exactly right other one’s and it inspires all our families. I’d say they lived with each other — truly together — since their early twenties. They spent evenings reading favorite novels, raising flowers and vineyards, running together. When he was captured, they had both been reading the same book without even knowing it! He usually told her, “Your voice is music for my life.” I told you, it was so romantic. Seeing her eyes once again was the only reason he held on to life.
My father got a chance to find himself as a detective — just like his favorite childhood hero, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but in real life. He was the best intelligence officer, so every criminal feared and respected him. It was a long, dangerous period of six years, and when it became too dangerous, he admitted it was too risky for us, so he moved to the police. As an economist by his second degree, dad clearly saw promising opportunities and successfully managed his own business in the construction industry. His life was so intense you could count one year as five. My father was a very decent person; he would never fool anyone, and you must understand what happens to such people… He had three bankruptcies. And these were purely political — he was supposed to help and engage many people but was fooled. That didn’t break him either — my dad remained human and always helped whenever asked. He was awarded regional awards three times; the medal for renovating the temple roof was the last one.
Being the wisest
He barely stepped on the ground as a flower appears in that place - that was the way he lived, he moved and interacted with others. My father left positive energy in the hearts of everyone who knew him. He was the one who sowed seeds of goodness and happiness. Right after they bloomed, they warmed you even when he was no longer around, cuddling the memory of how he supported you and what he said. Dad was so wise that none of his advice should ever be forgotten — he always said exactly the right thing. He inspired many people.
It was a really difficult time at the beginning of the war. He couldn’t join the army yet sitting idle was not his choice either. He worked as a debt collector for a bank, but you should know the kind of person he was — an extraordinary specialist! While his task was to make lenders cry, he tried to help instead by collecting all necessary information and looking for job opportunities, especially for each of them. Isn’t that unique?
Our cat Sonia was so crazy about him! She woke up with him only sleeping just in front of his beard, she waited once he open at least one eye and then started purring! Every time he had a chance to be at home - she already occupied him! It was pure cat love. The only day he drove her crazy was the last day before my father’s departure- she bit him, growled, attacked, blocked the door - it seemed like she felt something. It was so dramatic.
Service in the 53rd Brigade
My father went to the army as a simple soldier, with time he became senior sergeant - and this was just the beginning, he had a potential and respect among colleagues. He was respected by absolutely everyone, and he was so resourceful, so fluent - once, he decided to create a bed just because his back was hurting from sleeping on the floor for a long time, and it became an attractive example for others. So he started to teach and build, again and again, so that the last one modification made it even more comfortable.
Once the 53th Brigade made an advertisement, so they were looking for the most charismatic man and my father was chosen. We were so proud of him! Everyone in our family took photos with those posters placed all over the city; they were done so good — he was just exactly who he was - so handsome, restrained and so courageous. Just exactly who he really was!
At the beginning of the full-scale invasion his subdivision located at Volnovakha. They saw a lot of weapons going through, but they were unarmed. Literally.
When the offensive began, they were told those willing to go were needed for pushing forward mission. Out of forty men, eight stepped forward and said, “We’re going.” My father was one of those eight. Since he was a sapper, his task was to mine the road connecting Volnovakha and Mariupol. They told him, “Don’t worry at all — you’ll be awaited there, everything will be fine.”
He arrived. And indeed, he was awaited — but not by his own. On the surface, everything seemed fine — everyone was speaking Russian. But it turned out they were no longer speaking with their own.
Let me say this right away — at that time, not everyone had real combat experience, and high-stress situations push a person into a critical “fight or flight” state. It’s not a cinema, not everyone is ready to face the enemy eye to eye, with nothing behind their back. Not everyone is ready to stare death in the face right then and there. That’s why it was a true test for everyone who served.
That day, my father called my husband. He understood what was coming. He told him, “Turn back.” But my husband replied, “We will not retreat.” The 53rd Brigade took a massive hit.
So many men fell.
My father was prepared for anything.
In fact, it’s almost unbelievable that they were taken prisoner — and not shot on the spot. He told me, “You see, my last name made them started trying to intimidate me, pointing a rifle at me.”
But knowing exactly what that could lead to, he said to them, “I’m not a kid. So either you kill me or process me.” They “processed” him.
39 months of captivity
By the time dad was already in captivity, my husband told me a few days later. At that point, we were hiding in a basement. We didn’t even have stable communication. And hearing that — it felt like a punch to the gut. My mother and I managed to get out, but we only had two bags. One of them held our cat. The other — our documents. Everything else was just what we had on. It was an incredibly stressful moment — when you have to tear yourself away from your grief and start building a new life. You have to find a place to live, rebuild some kind of daily routine, even though you don’t want anything at all. You hate the whole world just because they’re still alive.
For three years, we searched for any information at all. One day, we received a message on social media: “Your father is in captivity. He was with me, and he made me promise to tell you that he’s okay.”
That was it. No other news. No details. Some time later, we received a letter from him. When my mother read it, she said, “They’ve turned him — he sounds pro-Russian.” I said, “Mom, you’re forgetting — he’s a subtle psychologist. You have to read between the lines.” He understood that his letter would never reach us unless it sounded pro-Russian. And it wasn’t sincere — just in the way they like to write: “Thanks to my captors, I’m doing well. We’re being fed. Kiss everyone for me.” The thing is, the letter had been censored — it even had an official stamp on it. A letter that was supposed to be entirely private went through censorship. And he knew that. He was always prepared for everything. At the time, he believed we were still in Sievierodonetsk. My dad wrote whenever he could — but we never received anything else. And he, in turn, never got a single one of the letters we sent to him.
One of the men who returned told us, “We memorized your birthdays — because your father repeated them every single day. We always knew whose birthday it was.” He understood exactly what it took to survive in such conditions — he could’ve written a manual on it, if he hadn’t died.
He prayed three times a day. Dad would start his day at 4 a.m. to pray. At 6, he washed with freezing water, did push-ups and squats — just to get his dopamine flowing. He memorized poetry, despite having terrible eyesight. He made up riddles for the men in his cell, just to keep their minds working.
He gave healing massages, answered spiritualquestions. He never lost faith in God.
They kept saying my father was on the exchange lists. But somehow, he kept getting crossed out — they simply refused to trade him.
Several other prisoners named Zelenskyy were exchanged instead. To them, “Zelenskyy” was like a voodoo doll. You can search to see if they’re still alive. I’ll tell you this — one of the men died right on the bus home. When other prisoners say the torture happened in phases, at certain times — for my father, the torture never stopped. It was every single day.
He was unbreakable — and it drove those sadists mad. He could endure absolutely everything. And he did. Breaking him was their only goal — and they failed. People like my father — unbreakable — are what make empires rot at their core. It hisses, like their favorite image of a demon during an exorcism, poisoned by the Ukrainian spirit.
The night before, his wife came to him in a dream and said, “My love, don’t miss the bus at 11:20.”
They ended up leaving at 11:28. And the other men asked him, “Did your wife say anything else?”. Because it was remarkable. While he was in captivity, he was reading Doctor Zhivago. And my mother — far away, unaware — was reading the very same book. That wasn’t coincidence. It was a bond beyond space, beyond war — a connection of souls that no prison could break.
23 days of freedom, love of his life and family
He was released on May 25, 2025. At first, we got a message via the coordination center’s SMS. Then we received a notification through the “Diia” app.
I even took screenshots because I couldn’t believe it. The message said: “Expect a call.”
We were all so anxious. We burst into tears of happiness because finally, the worst nightmare of our lives was over.
There was so much we wanted to tell him — to reassure him, because we knew he was very worried about us. My husband and I took a firm stand: we decided not to speak Russian — the language of my father’s tormentors. When my father called me and heard me speaking Ukrainian, he said, “God, daughter, it warmed my heart to hear you speak the language of the nightingale. I really want to learn it.”
The very first thing he said was: “I didn’t betray anyone.” For him, honor was above all else.
My dad didn’t betray anyone. He didn’t expose anyone. He told them nothing. He was ready to endure absolutely everything — but he would never betray anyone. He would never sell Ukraine.
He was overjoyed to have a grandson. Dad had dreamed of having a grandson his whole life. From his eldest daughter, he has two granddaughters — dolls and dresses. He said, “When will I get to play with a toy train? I want to have that chance. When?”
And finally, he got that chance. It inspired us deeply. We understood that none of this was in vain. We kept telling him, “Everything will be fine. Please, just hold on. Just get better.”
Dad tried very hard. He underwent all the medical check-ups, reported, “I tell everything to the doctors.” They asked him about any suicidal thoughts, and he said, “I have three grandchildren, two granddaughters and one grandson. I have reasons to live. The children are waiting for me, the world is waiting for me, I have a whole life to live.”
He was open to giving testimonies — he knew who the criminals were, and from experience, he knew how to deal with them. He just didn’t have time…
When prisoners return from captivity, they’re told:
“Wait two weeks. In the first week, the adrenaline will carry you — and then the illnesses begin to surface.” But people have to understand what three years of captivity really means. Mt father was held by DPR forces. There were Wagner mercenaries. It was a blend of the most jackass, broken men. And the torture wasn’t just cruel — it was inhuman.
He was in Olenivka. In Taganrog. He was in Borisohlebsk. He was in the worst possible places for a prisoner to be held.
But he endured, survived all three years.
And father told me: “daughter, I made it because I had Kyokushinkai. I had discipline. And I was trained — I was built. My muscles protected me.” But when he came back, he no longer had muscles. Too much time had passed. You have to understand — these men live on the edge of death.
He told me: “Three of us died under torture.” And he said, “When I felt like I couldn’t go on, I knew anything could happen… So I asked God, please, just let me see the eyes of the woman I love.” It sounds terrifying — because father did return just to see the eyes of the woman he loved.
From the very beginning of his life, it was as if he was being tempered for the cruelty of this so-called “peaceful Slavic people.” And like déjà vu, he had to go through it all over again — only this time, that children were grown, and the methods of torture had taken on grotesque, perverse forms.
He lived through the “glorious Russian childhood,”
and it forged him in ways that would break most people — but not him. Ukraine, on the other hand, gave him a taste for life. It gave him love. It gave him opportunity. And that life — that real life — is what kept him going.
We had one day — just one day when we saw each other again. He was released from quarantine until evening. And for that one happy day, it felt like our family was whole again.
"He no longer feels pain. The torture is finally over."
The medical report listed how many different methods of torture had been used on him. Almost all of them were. My dad had multiple injuries: his shoulder no longer functioned, his arm didn’t move, his fingers were crushed, he limped. The result of all that torture was this: his body had been so utterly depleted, that it simply burned out — in a matter of days.
After we left — his condition began to deteriorate. As soon as the body’s “survival-mode” adrenaline wore off, he started to collapse. My dad was transferred to intensive care. He was in very serious condition. My mother stayed with him until the very end.
We clung to every small sign of hope, every tiny improvement.
He came back so hungry, and said: «When will I be able to drink pomegranate juice? I really want some shashlik. Please bring me everything — especially chocolate, meat, and cheese.” But none of it was allowed. Still, he kept asking. So I made him some syrnyky — but he couldn’t even taste them. And my mother said, “Give them to someone else, or they’ll spoil.” And he answered, “I can’t. These are my syrnyky. I wanted them so much.” But dad never ate anything. Not a single proper meal since he came back.
At first we thought it was just the pancreas. Doctors started treating the pancreas, he underwent dialysis, they did everything they could.
But after a week in intensive care, his appearance changed completely. My father had become so exhausted, he was just a shadow of himself.
During the surgery, the doctors said: “We thought the problem was in the pancreas — but in reality, all of his organs were already falling apart.”
The necrosis wasn’t limited to the pancreas.
That’s just the part you could see. He was holding on through sheer willpower. He loved life so deeply and knew how to cherish it. He wanted to live — so badly.
And you’re torn between two unbearable feelings. First — the bottomless grief that your beloved person is gone. That they were tortured to death. No one should die like that.
And second — a quiet, aching kind of relief that he no longer feels pain.That the torture is finally over.
The world has changed, the real face of modern defenders - former businessmen, architects, office workers, restaurateurs, fathers - whoever their job, they are just brave patriots, real leaders and blessed sons of Ukraine.
Do not normalise loss of our best, our heroes who fell in the struggle so that we could just live. Time cannot treat our hearts and wound will never be fixed, you just used to living with this slow, nagging pain nestled under ribs like a sleeping beast. Forever.
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