At 4 p.m. every day, the Kyiv Independent office goes dark. After hours of working without heating, the electricity disappears too. The generator shuts off for thirty minutes to cool down. Laptop screens become the only light in the room. The only sound is the tapping of fingers on keyboards. Cold hands move slowly, stopping every so often as people breathe warm air into them to regain feeling. Outside, temperatures drop to -15 degrees Celsius (4 degrees Fahrenheit). Inside, it doesn't feel mu

Pechersk is a leafy, affluent neighborhood in central Kyiv. Its prerevolutionary buildings are tucked away from the main roads, surrounded by quiet courtyards and trees. In peacetime, it's where many Ukrainians dreamed of living. Now, in the fourth winter of the war, it's 3 degrees celsius (37 degrees Fahrenheit) inside some apartments without additional heating, and the temperature continues to drop. Thick brick walls once insulated the well-off residents from the city's noise — now they make

BEREHOVE, Zakarpattia Oblast — Thin gray smoke drifts beyond the patchwork of Soviet-era apartment blocks, historical buildings, and hillside vineyards that make up Berehove — the heart of the Hungarian community in Ukraine's westernmost Zakarpattia Oblast. "That's Hungary, over there, where you see the smoke," gestures Vitalii Antipov, a member of the local council, toward the not-so-distant horizon. He stands on top of a hill adorned by a massive white cross with a makeshift inscription thank

Ukrainian children are growing up in a world entirely reshaped by Russia’s war. Sirens, blackouts, and bomb shelters are nothing extraordinary — but a part of everyday childhood. This photo story follows five families as they raise their children in the shadow of the ongoing invasion. It’s not about the battlefield, but of bedrooms with windows shattered by blasts, morning routines interrupted by air raid alerts, and games played in underground shelters. The war seeps into the smallest moments.

An abandoned bed that often remains empty until morning as its usual occupants seek shelter during Russian attacks. A backpack with essentials to take along during each air raid. A family hug during a blackout, when a flashlight brings out the invisible on a mother’s face in daylight. After almost three years in wartime Kyiv, Ukrainian documentary photographer and photojournalist Elena Kalinichenko turned her camera toward the private scenes of daily life as a way of coping with her reality. L