Shadows of Secrets: The Hidden 24th Candle in Iryna Zarutska’s Tribute

In the dim glow of a Kyiv apartment, where the weight of war and loss presses like an unending night, Stanislav Zarutskyi lit a solitary flame on September 5, 2025. It was the 14th anniversary of his daughter Iryna’s birth—May 22, 2002, a day that once bloomed with promise but now echoes with absence. Far from Charlotte’s bustling streets, where Iryna had chased her American dream only to have it severed by a box cutter’s slash, her father gathered with distant kin. Twenty-three candles flickered on a modest table, each wick a testament to the years she lived: her first steps in Kyiv’s parks, her sketches of cats and birds at Synergy College, her radiant smile walking neighbors’ pets in North Carolina. But as the family bowed in prayer, Zarutskyi’s hand trembled over a 24th candle—unlit, tucked away in a drawer, its secret sealed by grief and something deeper, a mystery only he guards. “It was for the year she should have had,” he whispered in a voice-cracked interview with Ukrinform, his eyes distant. “But some truths… they burn too hot to share now.”

This revelation, shared haltingly by Zarutskyi from Ukraine’s shadowed heart, has cast a new veil over Iryna’s story, transforming a simple tribute into a labyrinth of unspoken longing. On that September evening—two weeks after her August 22 murder on a Charlotte subway platform—the 23 candles symbolized a life fully lived, if cruelly curtailed. Friends and family worldwide lit virtual flames on social media, posts flooding X with hashtags like #LightForIryna, where users shared photos of glowing tapers against black backdrops, captions pleading, “One flame for each laugh we lost.” In Charlotte, her pizzeria coworkers at Zepeddie’s kept a perpetual candle burning, a “small reminder of the warmth she brought,” as their Facebook tribute read, hearts heavy with the void left by her unprovoked stabbing. Yet Zarutskyi’s hidden candle hints at futures imagined and denied: perhaps for the 24th year Iryna dreamed of, walking down the aisle at 25 in her sunflower-embroidered gown, or the child she and fiancé Stas Nikulytsia whispered about over late-night pierogies.

Iryna Zarutska’s journey was one of defiant bloom amid thorns. Born in Kyiv to Anna (Olena) and Stanislav, she was the artistic soul of her family—a restorer of faded canvases, a caregiver whose touch soothed the elderly at a Charlotte retirement home. Fleeing Russia’s 2022 invasion with her mother, sister Valeriia, and brother Bohdan, she arrived in the U.S. at 20, her portfolio clutched like a shield. “She left Ukraine to make her life better,” a family friend told WCNC, echoing the optimism that propelled her to Rowan-Cabarrus Community College, where she eyed a veterinary assistant career. In Charlotte, she thrived: Instagram reels of barbecues and beach dreams, a romance with Stas that dissolved them into “unbridled joy,” as his mother posted in a viral plea urging him from his grief-stricken shell. July brought wedding fever; she twirled in a lace dress, inscribing Stas’s name on the tag with two enigmatic Ukrainian words—”The One” and “Forever”—a riddle that now torments him as he combs her untouched closet.

Zarutskyi’s separation from his daughter compounded the exile’s ache. Wartime conscription laws initially barred his travel, forcing him to watch her August 27 funeral via FaceTime, tears streaming as her casket lowered into Charlotte soil—the family insisting on burial “where she loved America.” Early reports painted him as a war’s double victim, denied a final embrace; neighbors told the New York Post he “had to stay back” under Ukraine’s rules. But on September 17, Ukraine’s State Border Guard Service clarified the fog: no denial, no prior application—humanitarian papers processed post-funeral, allowing his belated U.S. arrival “to say goodbye.” The debunking quelled “Russian propaganda” whispers but amplified his isolation, leaving him in Kyiv to mourn alone, piecing rituals from afar.

September 5’s tribute was his anchor. In a candlelit room, the 23 flames danced to Ukrainian hymns streamed from the funeral recording—over 100 mourners in Charlotte had sung them, sunflowers framing her open casket, her obituary lauding her “creativity that lit up every room.” Olena, her mother, had collapsed at the graveside, soil crumbling beneath her wail: “I don’t want flowers, I want my daughter back!” Relatives hauled her from the earth, a surreal echo of the family’s sinking grief. Zarutskyi, viewing remotely then, now lit his candles in solidarity, each one a bridge across oceans and absences. But the 24th? He drew it from hiding—a slender beeswax taper, wrapped in a faded ribbon from Iryna’s childhood babushka doll. “She was my light,” he told Ukrinform, voice faltering. “This one… it’s for what we planned, what war and that monster stole. I can’t light it yet. Not while justice sleeps.”

Speculation swirls like smoke. On X, threads dissect the secrecy: “The 24th—for the baby she never held? Or Stas’s future without her?” one user pondered, their post threading through vigils planned for September 22 at the East/West Boulevard station, where 1,000 candles await thousands in her name. Another invoked Slavic lore: “Hidden flames for unspoken wishes—maybe her father’s vow to avenge her, or a prophecy from her dress tag.” Friends share montages of Iryna’s joy—shuffleboard shuffles, pool jumps, cocktail mixes—captioned “23 years of light, endless in memory,” viewed millions on Newsweek. DaBaby even wove her into a music video homage, rapping against urban shadows.

The attack’s specter looms. DeCarlos Brown Jr., 34, with 14 arrests and untreated schizophrenia, lunged on August 22, ranting of “demons” before slashing Iryna’s throat mid-scroll. Video’s 135 seconds of her bleeding out—eyes pleading, bystanders averted—ignited fury, U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi vowing federal murder charges against the “repeat offender” freed on cashless bail. Brown’s jail call boast—”I got that white girl”—leaked, fueling Stas’s online rage at Magistrate Judge Teresa Stokes. Petitions surge for bystander laws, memorials at the station (renaming bids whisper “Iryna Zarutska Station”), and funds for immigrant artists.

Zarutskyi’s candle embodies the unspoken: Iryna’s dreams of 25—an aisle, a family, oceans with Stas—snuffed at 23. Now, he walks Kyiv’s bombed streets daily, rose in hand like Stas’s graveside pilgrimages, petals wilting by dusk. “When I light the 23, I see her smile,” he confided. “The 24th waits for when I can bear the what-ifs.” Online poets echo: “Evil tried to harm you, but God holds your soul… Your face is seen,” a verse for her eternal youth. Czech youth in Prague even built a memorial blending her with other lost lights, sunflowers amid candles.

Iryna’s legacy pierces: a refugee’s hope betrayed by systemic cracks—mental health voids, lax security, bystander chill. Over 100,000 Ukrainians resettled here since 2022, chasing sanctuary, only to find blades in subways. Her father’s hidden flame urges reform: light the dark corners where demons lurk. As vigils multiply—Marshall Park gatherings, platform shrines of flowers and notes (“We failed you”)—the 24th candle beckons truth.

In Kyiv’s twilight, Zarutskyi holds it close, unlit. A father’s secret, for now—a promise of revelation when grief softens to resolve. Iryna, vibrant spirit, your 23 years illuminated worlds; may the 24th, when revealed, spark justice’s blaze. Rest in the peace your name evokes, as we carry your light forward, one flame at a time.