Iryna Zarutska’s boyfriend shares his heartbreak, lashes out at ‘unqualified’ judge who let suspect walk before Ukraine refugee was butchered on Charlotte train
Stanislav “Stas” Nikulytsia, 21, shared a sweet picture of himself and Zarutska together in bathing suits on his Instagram account on Wednesday, accompanied by a simple broken heart emoji — his first public statement since Zarutska’s murder.
In his Instagram stories, Nikulytsia reposted clips slamming Magistrate Judge Teresa Stokes, who freed Zarutska’s alleged killer, Decarlos Brown, on cashless bail seven months before the horrific knife attack onboard a Charlotte train on Aug. 22.
Stanislav “Stas” Nikulytsia, the boyfriend of slain Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska, took to social media to blast the “unqualified” judge responsible for her killers release. Instagram/@nstanilsav
Iryna Zarutska was fatally stabbed by Decarlos Brown on a Charlotte train while returning home from work. CATS
One of the stories claimed Stokes was not even a qualified lawyer.
Stokes released Brown, a career criminal with more than a dozen previous arrests, in January on a “written promise” to appear at a future court date.
Nikulytsia, who was living with his love in Charlotte for the past year and was described as Zarutska’s “life partner” in her obituary, also changed his Instagram bio to a mushroom emoji, a favorite symbol of Iryna’s, and a broken heart.
Zarutska’s family revealed that they first feared something was wrong when she didn’t arrive home on time, and her phone location “alerted them that she was still at the station,” according to a statement shared with WSOC.
Decarlos Brown Jr. has 14 prior arrests and was out on cashless bail at the time of the murder. AP
Nikulytsia had been living in Charlotte with Zarutska for the past year. Instagram/@nstanilsav
“That night, she texted her boyfriend that she would be home soon,” the statement read. “Upon arriving at the station, they were devastated to learn that Iryna had died at the scene.”
Zarutska fled the war in Ukraine in Aug. 2022 along with her mother and two younger siblings, but in just three years she built strong foundations in the US, touching the lives of everyone she met, her family said.
More than 100 people came from an assisted living facility where she used to work in one of her first jobs in the US to pay their respects, with buses arranged to bring residents to her services, an uncle told PEOPLE.
Zarutska looking up at Brown before the stabbing.
“What motivated us to get them out of Ukraine was seeing a picture of them huddled up in a bomb shelter near their apartment there in Kyiv,” said the uncle, who asked to remain anonymous.
She felt so at home in the US that her family has asked for her to be buried in America, despite the State Department offering to foot the bill of flying her remains back to Ukraine.
“They didn’t want to come to this country and be a burden. They wanted to come to this country to build a new life,” Zarutska’s uncle said.
In the family’s emotional statement, they said they were “heartbroken beyond words. Iryna came here to find peace and safety, and instead her life was stolen from her in the most horrific way. No family should have to go through this.”
They also called on city officials and the Charlotte Area Transit System to bring in reforms to improve safety.
“This could have been anyone riding the light rail that night. We are committed to making sure this never happens again,” the statement said.
A Summer of Smiles, Ended by a Silent Note: Iryna Zarutska’s Photo Album and Its Final Page
In a quiet Huntersville living room, where sunflowers now wilt in vases, the Zarutska family gathered last week to share a cherished relic: a photo album capturing Iryna Zarutska’s first summer in Charlotte, 2023. The 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee, whose life was brutally cut short on August 22, 2025, on Charlotte’s Lynx Blue Line, had filled its pages with radiant moments—barbecues with new friends, her first driving lesson with boyfriend Stas Nikulytsia, sunlit walks sketching stray cats she dreamed of healing as a veterinary assistant. Each snapshot, pasted with care and captioned in her looping mix of English and Ukrainian, glowed with the promise of a new life after fleeing Russia’s invasion. But the album’s final page, revealed in an exclusive September 18 interview with People magazine, stopped the family’s hearts: a blank sheet, uncharacteristically empty, save for a single note taped at its center, scrawled in Iryna’s hand: “Not tomorrow.” This haunting phrase, discovered days after her funeral, joins a string of unfinished relics—a diary ending with “Tomorrow,” an unused August 23 train ticket, a teddy bear hiding “Wait,” an unsent text from Stas—each a fragment of a life interrupted, now a global cry for justice.
The album, a dollar-store find Iryna decorated with pressed flowers and paint swirls, was her “American story,” her mother Anna told People, tears staining the pages as she traced her daughter’s captions. “She said, ‘Mama, this is my new beginning.’ Every photo was her laughing, learning, loving.” Born May 22, 2002, in Kyiv, Iryna was an artist with a Synergy College degree in restoration, her soul poured into sculptures and embroidered designs that married her homeland’s motifs with Charlotte’s casual vibe. When bombs fell in 2022, she clutched her teddy bear Mishka in a shelter, her father Stanislav left behind under martial law. Arriving in Charlotte in August 2022, Iryna dove into her new world: English classes at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College, shifts at Zepeddie’s Pizzeria, pet-sitting gigs that fueled her veterinary dreams. The album chronicled it all—her first Fourth of July, arms around Stas at a lake, a selfie with a coworker’s dog, captioned “Future patient!” in wobbly English. Friends recall her showing it off, saying, “This is my proof: I’m home.”
The final page’s stark emptiness, found by younger sister Oksana while preparing for the memorial, felt like a betrayal of that joy. The note—“Not tomorrow,” in black ink on a torn diary scrap—was undated, but its shaky script, as Anna noted, matched Iryna’s hurried entries from August 2025. “She was tired, working so hard,” Anna said, voice breaking. “Maybe she meant she couldn’t plan tomorrow yet. Or maybe she felt something wrong.” The phrase, cryptic yet piercing, echoes the diary’s mid-sentence “Tomorrow,” the unused train ticket tucked in Wuthering Heights for August 23, the “Wait” sewn into Mishka, and Stas’s unsent text drafted at 8:50 p.m. on her final night. Together, they weave a tapestry of premonition and promise, as if Iryna sensed the fragility of her new dawn. Stas, in the interview, clutched the album, whispering, “She taped this before her shift. I should’ve made her stay home.”
That night, Iryna’s routine unraveled into horror. After texting Stas at 9:15 p.m.—“On my way home soon, love you”—she boarded the Lynx Blue Line at Scaleybark at 9:46 p.m., her khaki uniform rumpled from pizza grease. Decarlos Dejuan Brown Jr., 34, sat behind her, unmedicated, ticketless, his 14 prior arrests for assaults and robberies a grim prelude. At 9:50 p.m., his folding knife struck her neck three times, surveillance capturing her minute-long struggle, eyes wide, as passengers froze—one scrolling, another hesitating before offering a shirt. Brown’s slur, “I got that white girl,” fuels hate crime probes, his history exposing Mecklenburg County’s revolving-door justice. “We begged for his treatment,” his brother told CNN, a plea ignored by courts.
The album’s note, shared at a September 17 vigil, electrified mourners. Olena Kovalenko, Iryna’s friend, held it aloft beside Mishka and Wuthering Heights, sobbing: “She filled every page with life, but ‘Not tomorrow’—it’s like she knew.” The vigil, at East/West Boulevard station, drew 400, sunflowers arching over sketches and pizza boxes painted with her art. Ukrainian hymns mingled with English prayers, Stas placing a photo of their lake day beside the note. Anna, who’d ironed Iryna’s floral dress that night, said, “She wasn’t coming home to that dress, or to tomorrow. But we’ll carry her light.” Stanislav, present after border clearance, added, “Her album is Ukraine’s heart—unbroken, even now.”
On X, #NotTomorrow exploded, trending with #IrynaZarutska. @KyivHearts posted: “From Kyiv shelters to Charlotte’s trains, she fought for tomorrow. ‘Not tomorrow’ is her call to fix this.” It hit 20,000 likes, inspiring Prague vigils with blank album pages. @Carolinas4Iryna wrote: “Her smiles filled pages, then silence. Bystanders, courts, all failed her.” Poems cast her as Brontë’s Cathy, denied her moorland reunion. Ukrainian media, like Al Jazeera’s Kyiv bureau, framed it as “a refugee’s album, ended by America’s neglect,” while Moscow’s bizarre embassy tributes twisted her story for propaganda. Locally, DaBaby’s “Save Me” remix, sampling Iryna’s captions, raised $10,000 for transit safety.
Politically, the note is a lightning rod. President Trump, at a September 19 Charlotte rally, held a sunflower and blank page: “Iryna’s ‘Not tomorrow’ indicts soft-on-crime failures. We’ll secure every train.” AG Pam Bondi, updating the federal case, said: “Her album’s last page screams for justice. Brown faces death in November.” Elon Musk, boosting his $2 million CATS pledge, tweeted: “Blank pages shouldn’t be legacies. AI cams now, for Iryna.” Mayor Vi Lyles unveiled real-time alert apps: “Her note says act now, not tomorrow.” Zelenskyy, in a virtual address, lit a candle: “Iryna’s album holds our dreams. We honor her fight.”
Brown’s trial looms, his schizophrenia no defense after repeated releases—Judge Teresa Stokes’s bond decisions under fire. Bystander lawsuits grow; one passenger’s inaction, caught scrolling, sparked #NoMoreNotTomorrows. The Zarutskas, with Stas, plan a “Not Tomorrow” exhibit: the album, diary, ticket, Mishka, Stas’s unsent text, raising funds for refugee scholarships. Anna, in People, said: “Her smiles were our sun. ‘Not tomorrow’ means we fight today.”
Iryna’s album, radiant until its blank end, joins her relics as a cry from the edge. “Not tomorrow” isn’t surrender—it’s a challenge. From Kyiv’s bombs to Charlotte’s tracks, she filled pages with hope. Now, her silence demands we fill tomorrow with change.
