I escaped Ukraine after being trapped for weeks by bombs and Russian troops. I'm safe, but my mother is still there.

• Iryna (not her real name) went to Ukraine to visit her parents after two years apart.
• She was in her hometown near Kharkiv when Russia's invasion began on February 24.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Iryna, who became trapped in Ukraine after the Russian invasion. She asked to use a different name to protect her privacy. Insider has verified her identity. She has provided pictures and documentation verifying her entry into Ukraine, her escape by train, and her entry into Hungary. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

After two years of the pandemic, I desperately wanted to see my parents in Ukraine and give my mother, who looked after my sick grandmother, some respite. At that time, I didn't believe the war would happen. I spoke to my father and he said it looked Ukraine and Russia were going to come to an agreement.

So, with my husband running our catering business and our children at school, I flew from the UK on February 14 for a two-week holiday.

It felt like old times. We started each day with coffee, then went for a walk in the leafy park in our town, which is near Kharkiv in the east. But on February 24 everything changed.

My hometown was bombed for four nights in a row. Next, we were under occupation, and no one could leave. Those who tried to drive their cars out of the town were fired on by Russian tanks, which blocked every exit.

Bombs fell at night, and gunshots blanketed the town during the day.

We grabbed everything we could and took refuge in my parents' basement on the town's outskirts. We spent 23 hours each day in that 3-meter-long room, sat in our outdoor coats as the temperature could drop to -3 degrees Celsius.

We left only for an hour before sunrise, to wash our faces and visit my grandmother next door.

Every time a plane flew overhead and dropped a bomb, I thought they were going to be the last minutes of my life. Even in the basement, the force of each explosion nearby pushed me to the ground.

From my parents' basement every night, I heard dozens of powerful bombs being dropped on Kharkiv. It was harrowing.

At night, the Russian soldiers broke into houses. One night they took my neighbor's car, and then the following night they returned to take everything else in his garage, including his gun. We heard Russian voices one night as someone tried to pry open our gate, but my father had padlocked it shut, so they left empty-handed.

Every day I looked for ways to leave and dreamed of getting to the evacuation trains. When we had internet, I texted my husband and children to let them know we were safe or to scroll through Telegram to see what was happening. I prayed every minute the terror would end.

My uncle told me that people were being shot in the town if they didn't hand over their mobile phones. Three of our neighbors were killed in the next street when they went to buy food. And when they opened the bakery, it was hit by a bomb. My mother grew vegetables and bred ducks, so we had food. She also had a wood-burning stove and a well for water.

At first, I thought the situation would change, but when they bombed five villages around us, I realized it wouldn't. On the morning of March 18, I decided to leave. I was told there was one brave driver who could take me to the nearest Ukrainian-controlled village, which was 7 miles away, but I'd need to run to the edge of town to meet him.

My father agreed to go with me. I felt torn. My mother chose to stay with her brother and his family and look after my grandmother, but I needed to get back to my children.

My mother wanted to be with us until the last minute. My goal is to go back for her.

The Russian soldiers had scattered mines along the road. After saying goodbye to my mother, we panicked when Russian soldiers started firing shots from their post at the end of the road, and people started running toward us. Then a Ukrainian plane flew overhead and bombed the outpost, which gave us a chance to escape. We hurriedly picked our way along the fence line and made our way to the edge of town, where the driver was anxiously waiting for us. My father kept me behind him as we walked, and he continued to check the fence line for signs of broken wires and the road for small, unexploded bombs. I gripped my rucksack, which contained only a change of clothes. I had hidden my phone and documents in my underwear and carried a cheap phone I could hand over if I were stopped.

When we climbed into the car, I hid under a cover so I couldn't be spotted by passing vehicles. The driver took us down the backstreets to the next village. From there we were able to catch a train to Kharkiv, where we could find a train to take us over the border. But each carriage was full. My father and I ran along the platform from one carriage to the next as people kept turning us away.

When we came to the last one, my dad pushed me inside. We squeezed onto a bench with five other people. Some people ate the food they'd managed to squeeze into their bags, while tiny children cried with exhaustion and fear. We spent the next 30 hours on the train as it sped through the countryside to the Hungarian border.

When it grew dark, teenagers used their mobile phones under their coats so the lights from their screens couldn't be seen from the road. I looked out over the Carpathian Mountains, where I used to go on school trips, and I wondered if it would be the last time I'd see them.

When we arrived in Hungary, refugee stations welcomed us with food and hot drinks, and a local family gave my father their spare room. I flew to the UK to see my children, and I promised my father that I would return to collect him.

When I arrived in the UK on March 29, my husband and children were waiting for me at the airport. I hugged them tightly, and there were lots of tears. My daughter brought my favorite coffee, and my son gave me a bucket of KFC. My village was covered in Ukrainian flags, and they even placed one in the village square.

My father applied for a visa, and a week later I flew back to Budapest to collect him and take him to my home in the UK.

My father and I both worry about my mother. We hope to rescue her soon. We have experienced so much loss. We pray every day for the Ukrainian army to free our town. Some days I lose hope and think it will be Russian forever.