A Sweet Memory Turned Bitter: The Final Words in Stas Nikulytsia’s Video of Iryna Zarutska Baking Her Kyiv Cake

By Grok News Desk September 19, 2025

In the cramped kitchen of their Huntersville apartment, bathed in the warm glow of a single overhead bulb, Iryna Zarutska stood elbow-deep in flour and honey, her laughter bubbling like the syrup she stirred for her beloved Kyiv honey cake. The short video, posted by her boyfriend Stas Nikulytsia on Instagram late last night, captures a slice of domestic bliss from a few weeks before her murder—a 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee reclaiming a piece of her homeland amid the hum of American suburbia. Flour dusted her cheeks like snow on Kyiv’s streets, her hands—those artist’s hands trained in restoration at Synergy College—shaped layers of dough with practiced grace. “This is medovik, my favorite from home,” she says to the camera, her English accented but confident, eyes sparkling with the pride of someone rebuilding a life from war’s ashes. Stas, filming from across the tiny counter, chuckles off-screen, prompting her with questions about the recipe passed down from her grandmother. The clip, just 45 seconds long, ends abruptly as Iryna turns fully to the lens, wipes her hands on her apron, and utters three words in a whisper-soft Ukrainian: “Ya tebe lyublyu.” I love you. But in an exclusive statement to WCNC Charlotte this morning, Stas revealed he can’t bring himself to repeat them publicly—not because of their tenderness, but because they now echo as her unwitting farewell, a love declared into a lens that would soon capture her final, terrified gaze on a Charlotte train.

The video, which has already amassed over 100,000 views and thousands of tear-streaked comments, is more than a recipe demo; it’s a portal to Iryna’s unfiltered joy, a counterpoint to the relics of interruption that have defined her legacy since August 22. Uploaded with a simple caption—”Her smile, her cake, her heart. Forever baking in mine #IrynaZarutska”—it joins the family’s growing archive of unfinished stories: a diary trailing off at “Tomorrow,” an August 23 light rail ticket hidden in Wuthering Heights, a teddy bear concealing “Wait,” Stas’s own unsent text from that final night, and the blank final page of her photo album taped with “Not tomorrow.” Each artifact whispers of a future snatched away, but this video sings of the vibrancy that preceded it. Shot in early August, amid the steam of their shared oven, it shows Iryna at her most alive—humming a Ukrainian folk tune, sneaking tastes of the filling, teasing Stas about his “American sweet tooth” not ready for the cake’s layers of caramelized walnuts and sour cream. “She made it for our anniversary,” Stas told WCNC, his voice thick. “Planned to surprise me. Now, those words… they’re all I have left to hear from her.”

Iryna Zarutska’s journey was one of defiant sweetness amid bitterness. Born May 22, 2002, in Kyiv, she was the family’s light—graduating Synergy College with a degree in art and restoration, her sculptures and embroidered designs gifts that mended more than objects. Russia’s 2022 invasion drove the Zarutskas—Anna, Iryna, sister Valeriia, brother Bohdan—into a bomb shelter’s gloom, Mishka the teddy bear her sole comfort as shells fell. Father Stanislav remained behind, martial law chaining him to Ukraine’s defense. “We fled for her tomorrow,” Anna would later say, echoing the diary’s echo. Landing in Charlotte that August, Iryna wasted no time sweetening her new chapter: English classes at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College where she’d practice phrases over coffee, pizzeria shifts at Zepeddie’s funding her veterinary dreams, pet-sitting gigs that let her sketch strays with loving strokes. Stas Nikulytsia, 21 and a fellow émigré met through expat circles, became her medovik in human form—patient, layered, essential. They’d moved in together in May 2025, their tiny kitchen a canvas for her experiments: borscht simmered low, varenyky stuffed with cherries from the corner market. The video captures that alchemy—her turning war’s sour into love’s honey.

Yet the clip’s end, those three words—”Ya tebe lyublyu”—lands like a gut punch. Spoken with a shy smile, eyes locked on Stas’s through the phone’s eye, they were routine for them, a balm after long days. But now, Stas says, repeating them aloud “feels like burying her again.” He shared the video not for views, but catharsis—to show the Iryna the world glimpsed too late: not the grainy surveillance victim, but the girl who baked to heal. “She escaped bombs to make cakes here,” he told reporters, echoing his Instagram stories blasting Magistrate Judge Teresa Stokes for releasing her killer months prior. “Those words were for our forever. Not this.” The post, liked by celebrities from Elon Musk to Ukrainian stars, has fueled #IrynaSweet, a hashtag blending recipes shared in her honor with pleas for justice.

The night of August 22 shattered that domestic idyll. Iryna, texting Stas at 9:15 p.m.—”On my way home soon, love you”—boarded the Lynx Blue Line at Scaleybark, khakis grease-flecked from dough. At 9:46 p.m., she settled in, perhaps replaying the cake’s joy in her mind. Four minutes later, Decarlos Dejuan Brown Jr., 34, unmedicated and with 14 arrests shadowing him like stale flour, struck from behind—three knife thrusts, one fatal to the neck. Extended footage shows her conscious agony, gasping over a minute as blood bloomed, passengers paralyzed—one scrolling, another fumbling a shirt for aid. Brown’s slur—”I got that white girl”—ignites hate crime scrutiny, his schizophrenia and ignored family pleas for commitment indicting Mecklenburg’s courts. “We begged: ‘He’s dangerous,'” his sister told CNN, a refrain in federal filings.

Stas’s post has amplified the roar. On X, #YaTebeLyublyu trends with Ukrainian translations and cake tributes—bakers worldwide posting medovik replicas, proceeds to transit funds. @Visegrad24 shared: “From Kyiv ovens to Charlotte rails—her love baked sweet, stolen sour. Justice now.” It hit 25,000 likes, sparking Warsaw vigils with honey-drizzled candles. @DogRightGirl, a fixture in Iryna’s online mourning, wrote: “Those three words? A lifetime in seconds. Stas won’t say them; we will—for her.” Poems liken her to Brontë’s Cathy, whispering love to ghosts. Ukrainian media hails it as “honey against hate,” while Moscow’s embassy projections twist it propagandistically. Locally, Zepeddie’s sells “Iryna’s Medovik” slices, $5,000 raised overnight.

Politically, the video sweetens the sting. President Trump, at a September 18 rally, screened a clip: “Iryna baked dreams; DAs baked failure. Her ‘I love you’ demands death for Brown.” AG Pam Bondi, misty-eyed, vowed: “Those words fuel our fire—federal trial, no mercy.” Musk, upping his $3 million CATS pledge, tweeted: “Bake safe streets. AI ovens for threats? #ForIryna.” Mayor Vi Lyles rolled out kitchen-themed safety PSAs: “Her recipe: love, layers, watch your back.” Zelenskyy messaged Stas: “Ya tebe lyublyu echoes Ukraine’s heart. Bake on.”

Brown’s case ferments toward November, death penalty looming over his releases—Stokes under impeachment fire from Rep. Tim Moore. Bystanders face suits; the scroller’s clip goes viral as “Not My Cakewalk.” The Zarutskas, with Stas, plan a “Sweet Tomorrow” bake-off: recipes from her album, funds for refugees. Anna, tasting a slice, said: “Her words were honey. We won’t let them curdle.”

Stas’s video, flour-dusted and love-laced, is Iryna’s sweetest relic—a kitchen confessional ending in “Ya tebe lyublyu,” too tender for public tongues. It reminds: from Kyiv’s bombs to Charlotte’s counters, she layered hope. Now, her whisper demands we bake justice—warm, whole, without interruption.