A Father’s Last Supper: The Heart-Wrenching Final Text from Ukrainian Refugee Iryna Zarutska Before Her Murder
KYIV, Ukraine / CHARLOTTE, N.C. — In the quiet digital threads that bound a war-torn family across continents, one simple message now stands as a poignant epitaph: a photo of a humble dinner — a slice of pepperoni pizza and a steaming cup of tea — sent with the words, “Don’t worry, I’m eating well.” It was Iryna Zarutska’s final communication to her father, Oleksandr, hours before she was fatally stabbed on a Charlotte light rail train on August 22, 2025. The 23-year-old refugee, who had escaped Russian bombardment in Kyiv three years earlier, never knew that innocuous text would become the last thread connecting her to the man martial law had barred from joining his family in America.
The revelation, shared exclusively by Zarutska’s grieving family through their attorney Lauren O. Newton, adds another layer of unbearable sorrow to a case that has already exposed deep fissures in public safety, mental health support, and immigration resilience. Oleksandr, a 52-year-old engineer still trapped in Ukraine amid ongoing conflict, received the message at around 2 p.m. Eastern Time (9 p.m. Kyiv time), just as Iryna finished her shift at the pizzeria in Charlotte’s South End. Little did he know, by 8:45 p.m., his daughter would be gone — slain in a random act of violence by Decarlos Dejuan Brown Jr., a repeat offender whose delusions led him to believe she was “reading his mind.”
Family sources describe the text as emblematic of Iryna’s character: thoughtful, reassuring, and laced with the quiet optimism that defined her short life in exile. “She always sent pictures to ease his worries,” Newton told reporters in a tearful press briefing yesterday. “Oleksandr couldn’t sleep knowing the dangers back home, but Iryna’s messages were his lifeline. This one… it breaks him every time he looks at it.” The photo, now circulating in Ukrainian media outlets like Ukrainska Pravda, shows the meal on a paper plate atop a cluttered kitchen counter in her Huntersville apartment — a symbol of mundane normalcy shattered forever.
Iryna’s journey to that fateful dinner began in February 2022, when Russian missiles rained down on Kyiv. As sirens wailed, she, her mother Olena, and two younger siblings fled westward, crossing into Poland before securing humanitarian parole to the U.S. under the Uniting for Ukraine program. Oleksandr, falling within the 18-60 age bracket prohibited from leaving under President Zelenskyy’s mobilization decree, stayed behind to maintain essential infrastructure. “He begged her to go,” Olena recounted in an interview with BBC Ukraine. ” ‘Live for both of us,’ he said. She promised to build a future and bring him over when the war ended.”
In Charlotte, Iryna blossomed. She mastered English through Duolingo apps and community classes, enrolled part-time at Central Piedmont Community College for art restoration courses, and secured the pizzeria job that paid her bills. Her Instagram, @iryna_artdreams (now memorialized), brimmed with sketches of Ukrainian landscapes, photos of adopted shelter dogs she walked, and snapshots of American milestones: her first driver’s license, a beach day in Myrtle Beach, and yes, casual dinners shared with loved ones. That pizza slice wasn’t just food; it was sustenance for a dream deferred — saving tips to sponsor her father’s visa once borders reopened.
The text exchange, pieced together from phone records obtained by investigators, paints a picture of paternal anxiety and filial devotion. Oleksandr had messaged earlier that day, fretting over news of escalating drone strikes near their old neighborhood. “Are you safe? Eating enough? The winters here are brutal without you,” he wrote, according to family translations. Iryna’s reply was swift: the photo, followed by emojis of a heart and a sunflower — Ukraine’s emblem of resistance. “Papa, look! American pizza is better than borscht sometimes. Tea keeps me warm. Miss you. War will end soon.” No response came from her after that; her boyfriend later confirmed she boarded the Lynx Blue Line train at 8:30 p.m., earbuds in, scrolling recipes for future family reunions.
What followed was captured in harrowing detail by transit cameras: the unexplained head-turn at 8:41 p.m. toward the window, as if hearing a phantom call, then Brown’s frenzied attack four minutes later. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department (CMPD) reports note Brown, 35, had no prior connection to Iryna — his motive rooted in untreated schizophrenia, exacerbated by a rap sheet of 14 arrests and ignored 911 pleas for help in May 2025, where he claimed “implants” controlled him.
For Oleksandr, the tragedy compounds isolation. Unable to travel due to conscription laws and visa backlogs — the U.S. State Department reports over 100,000 Ukrainians awaiting family reunification — he watched her funeral via Zoom from a dimly lit apartment in Kyiv. Hundreds gathered in Huntersville on September 5, draping the casket in blue-and-yellow flags, but Oleksandr’s screen froze midway through his eulogy. “My girl was eating well… and then nothing,” he sobbed in a video statement released by the Ukrainian Consulate in New York. “America promised safety. Who protects the protectors left behind?”
The disclosure has fueled international outcry. Ukraine’s Foreign Ministry issued a statement condemning the “senseless violence” and urging faster visa processing for displaced families. President Zelenskyy, in a tweet, called Iryna “a daughter of Ukraine stolen twice — first by war, then by failure abroad.” In the U.S., it amplifies debates on refugee support: the Biden-era Uniting for Ukraine initiative resettled over 200,000, but critics like Sen. Thom Tillis (R-N.C.) argue inadequate follow-up mental health screenings for hosts and communities leave vulnerabilities exposed.
Domestically, Zarutska’s boyfriend, who wished to remain anonymous, shared more texts from that evening. After the dinner photo, Iryna messaged him: “Home soon, babe. Made extra tips today — thinking of sending Dad a care package.” He replied with a heart emoji, unaware it was their last exchange too. “She was the glue,” he told CNN. “Always checking in on everyone, even from afar.”
Brown’s family, meanwhile, expresses remorse amid their own turmoil. His sister, in a WBTV interview, revealed he hadn’t taken medication in years due to homelessness cycles. “He needed help, not freedom,” she said. Federal prosecutors, charging him under 18 U.S.C. § 1992 for terrorist acts on mass transit, seek the death penalty, citing the attack’s premeditated delusion.
Advocates are channeling grief into action. The Ukrainian American Coordinating Council launched a GoFundMe, raising $150,000 for Oleksandr’s legal fees to petition for emergency parole. “Iryna’s Law,” pending in North Carolina’s General Assembly, now includes provisions for transnational family notifications in victim cases. Charlotte Mayor Vi Lyles announced expanded transit security, including AI audio monitors — ironically, tools that might have detected threats like Brown’s mutterings pre-attack.
On social media, the dinner photo has gone viral under #IrynasLastMeal, with users recreating the simple meal in solidarity. One post from @ukraine_solidarity read: “A slice and tea — symbols of a life cut short. Honor her by fighting for the fathers left behind.” It garnered 500,000 likes, prompting pizza chains like Domino’s to donate proceeds to refugee aid.
Mental health experts weigh in: Dr. Elena Petrova, a Kyiv-based psychologist specializing in war trauma, notes displaced children like Iryna often over-communicate to assuage separated parents’ guilt. “That text was love wrapped in normalcy,” she said. “Its finality underscores how fragility defines refugee existence.”
As Brown’s competency hearing approaches on November 15, Oleksandr clings to the photo on his phone — a frozen moment of care. “She ate well that night,” he whispered in a voice note to Olena. “But my heart starves without her.” In a world of missed connections, Iryna’s message endures: a reminder that safety is illusory, and love’s simplest gestures can echo eternally in loss.
The family urges donations to the International Rescue Committee for Ukrainian mental health support. For Oleksandr, justice isn’t just Brown’s conviction — it’s a visa stamp, a chance to mourn at her grave. Until then, that pizza slice haunts: nourishing in life, devastating in memory.
