Lisa was staring in shock at the block of flats once filled with happy families. The two ends still stood but the middle had collapsed into rubble. Books, carpets, curtains and shoes poked out from bricks, charred wood and twisted metal.On the fourth floor, a woman’s clothes were visible hanging in a door-less wardrobe: a maroon dress, white blouses, a black belt. Neatly folded bed linen was on the shelf above. In the next-door room, a jumble of files stashed in a cupboard.This was the site of a massacre. Scores of lives snuffed out in seconds by Russian bombs — and Lisa had returned home to see where her childhood friend Olena had died alongside her husband, two young daughters, parents and grandmother.
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