I knew it was going to be a night where devastating revenge would be wrought. Yesterday morning, Russia accused Ukraine of a drone attack on Moscow, a claim that carries added bitterness given the approaching pagentry planned in Red Square to mark the anniversary of the end of World War Two.
It had been a quiet night in Kyiv; the air raid sirens had not gone off once, which was something I knew wouldn’t be repeated. The first siren sounded while we were eating dinner at around 6pm, it was still light and considerably earlier than the previous evening’s attacks.
As night fell, the bombing intensified.
I’d wearily retreated two walls back into my room – which is the advised distance to avoid the blast zone – when a huge bang shook the building.
In the darkness, it is impossible to know how close it is; you’re simply hoping it’s not followed by an even louder explosion or other kind of impact.
I felt an adrenaline kick and my heart was pounding. I was in flight or fight mode, but neither of those old instincts is particularly well-designed for a Russian drone attack.
How are you supposed to know what direction the bomb is heading to flee? And, well, you can’t exactly wrestle a rocket to Earth.
By the time it reached the morning, I’d retreated to the basement air raid shelter. The battle between anti-aircraft gunfire and Russian drones was loudly raging outside.
The lack of control in those moments can be hard to process, so I did what most of the other people in the shelter were doing and ignored it.
News slowly filtered through of the scale of the assault, four children were injured and two people had died.
I joined my team and we did what all journalists covering war attempt in that situation, we tried to figure out where the incidents took place to document what had happened.
When we arrived at the residential apartment block where people had been killed, the sight took our breath away.
There was a gaping hole in the top of the building where a drone or some type of missile had penetrated the concrete and all around it were stains from what appeared to have been a sizeable fire.
You could see bedrooms and kitchens ripped open by the blast; anyone in the vicinity wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“They must have died in their sleep,” my colleague Natalie Gryvnyak told me. I didn’t know whether to think that was a good or bad thing.
As with any missile attack, the explosion doesn’t just affect the impact zone; windows across the large residential block were all blown out.
Standing beside a playground at the back of the building, we found Yulia Boyko, 29, who was holding a large box of broken glass.
Perched among squashed dandelions and a children’s sandpit, she recalled the events of the previous night.
“When I learned there was a ballistic missile threat, I went to sleep with my five-year-old,” she said slowly.
“We felt the rocket smash into the building and huge shards of glass shattered onto the spot I normally lie down with my youngest, but, by chance, wasn’t doing so last night.
“The youngest isn’t even two years old, he cried and cried with fear. The older child was shaking, as we ran out, and he said ‘Mum, everything is on fire’.”
Whilst that night’s explosion had been harrowing in itself, worse still for Yulia were the memories it had unearthed.
“My youngest child was in intensive care because I gave birth to him prematurely,” she explained.
“It was triggered by missiles flying across our neighbourhood. It was a difficult delivery and I too was in intensive care for a month.
“While we were both there, the hospital building was bombed and windows were shattered in the ward. Last night was worse, though, the smashed glass was closer to me.
“I find myself again in this situation and I don’t know what to do.”
It’s hard not to feel that anyone who inflicts such suffering is evil. There are few people more vulnerable than a pregnant woman and their infant. These brutal attacks on Kyiv by Putin and Russia are inflicting suffering on those who can do least to fight back.
Thinking of my night-time nerves felt pretty self-indulgent in light of Yulia’s story. It is the Russian bombs chasing her to intensive care with a premature birth that we really need to think about when Russia’s war in Ukraine is discussed.
Not that the 29-year-old herself was in any way cowed by her vicious enemy. She’s staying in Kyiv come what may.
“We won’t go anywhere,” she told me. “My husband can travel abroad, but we want to stay. Both our families are here and my father is fighting.
“Why should we be forced out? It’s good here, but dangerous.”