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Ukrainian family in US stays close to relatives amid fears

Hanna Tverdokhlib prays with her 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, after placing candles around a Ukrainian genocide memorial to honor children who were killed in the Russian invasion of Ukraine, in Los Angeles, Tuesday, March 1, 2022. "We try to pray. I don't know what can — what can else we do?" Tverdokhlib said. She said the toughest part of all is hearing what her cousin's children ask: "Mom, would they kill us?" (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib, a 37-year-old Ukrainian immigrant, shows a photo of her aunt hunkering down in a basement of her apartment building in Kyiv, Ukraine, Thursday, March 3, 2022, in Long Beach, Calif. Tverdokhlib has held her phone as if it were glued to her hand since the Russian invasion of Ukraine last week. When she isn't watching news on it, she is texting her cousins and close friends back home or checking their Facebook posts, hoping her cousins are still safe in the bunker underneath their Kyiv apartment building where they run when the sirens go off. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) A Ukrainian flag made with strips of blue and yellow tape adorns the door of Hanna Tverdokhlib's apartment in Long Beach, Calif., Tuesday, March 1, 2022. From halfway around the world, though, Tverdokhlib feels helpless -- and guilty for being safe in the United States -- as she watches the war unfold, and angry at what she calls Ukraine's "monster neighbor" Russia. She tries to stay calm when her texts aren't immediately returned. But the psychological toll and tears that follow are bearing on her. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Embracing her 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, Hanna Tverdokhlib video chats with her sister after placing signs and drawings around a Ukrainian genocide memorial to honor children who were killed in the Russian invasion of Ukraine in Los Angeles, Tuesday, March 1, 2022. Tverdokhlib has held her phone as if it were glued to her hand since the Russian invasion of Ukraine last week. When she isn't watching news on it, she is texting her cousins and close friends back home or checking their Facebook posts, hoping her cousins are still safe in the bunker underneath their Kiev apartment building where they run when the sirens go off. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib's 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, draws a Ukrainian flag in a living room of their apartment in Long Beach, Calif., Tuesday, March 1, 2022. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib, right, a 37-year-old Ukrainian immigrant, is embraced by her neighbor in their apartment building Tuesday, March 1, 2022, in Long Beach, Calif. Tverdokhlib has held her phone as if it were glued to her hand since the Russian invasion of Ukraine last week. When she isn't watching news on it, she is texting her cousins and close friends back home or checking their Facebook posts, hoping her cousins are still safe in the bunker underneath their Kiev apartment building where they run when the sirens go off. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib sheds tears while holding her 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, after placing candles around a Ukrainian genocide memorial to honor children who were killed in the Russian invasion of Ukraine in Los Angeles, Tuesday, March 1, 2022. From halfway around the world, though, Tverdokhlib feels helpless -- and guilty for being safe in the United States -- as she watches the war unfold, and angry at what she calls Ukraine's "monster neighbor" Russia. She tries to stay calm when her texts aren't immediately returned. But the psychological toll and tears that follow are bearing on her. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Signs and drawings made by Hanna Tverdokhlib and her 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, are placed around a Ukrainian genocide memorial to honor children who were killed in the Russian invasion of Ukraine in Los Angeles, Tuesday, March 1, 2022. From halfway around the world, though, Tverdokhlib feels helpless -- and guilty for being safe in the United States -- as she watches the war unfold, and angry at what she calls Ukraine's "monster neighbor" Russia. She tries to stay calm when her texts aren't immediately returned. But the psychological toll and tears that follow are bearing on her. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) With son, Volodymyr, holding a Ukrainian flag he made, Hanna Tverdokhlib, a 37-year-old Ukrainian immigrant, flashes a three-finger salute to her sister on a video chat in her apartment Tuesday, March 1, 2022, in Long Beach, Calif. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib, top, a 37-year-old Ukrainian immigrant, and her 7-year-old son, Volodymyr, walk up the stairs to their apartment in Long Beach, Calif., Tuesday, March 1, 2022. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong) Hanna Tverdokhlib, a 37-year-old Ukrainian immigrant, breaks down in tears after talking on the phone with her friend in Ukraine Tuesday, March 1, 2022, in Long Beach, Calif. Tverdokhlib has held her phone as if it were glued to her hand since the Russian invasion of Ukraine last week. When she isn't watching news on it, she is texting her cousins and close friends back home or checking their Facebook posts, hoping her cousins are still safe in the bunker underneath their Kiev apartment building where they run when the sirens go off. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)