"Explosions in Vinnytsia, the information will be updated." I dial my mother's number. The phone rings for 10, maybe 15 seconds. It feels like an eternity. I think back to the impacts I experienced weeks earlier in Kyiv. Fire, dark smoke, the stench of burning plastic and fire-fighting water, the tired faces of rescue workers. My mom finally picks up the phone. "There were explosions," she says. "All the windows are shattered. I have to take the children down to the basement now." When my brother, who is two years older, and I were teenagers, we read the German writer Erich Maria Remarque. He always wondered why I also liked those books. "Everyone drinks Calvados and, in the end, someone dies!" I wonder if the book "Arch of Triumph" is still in its place in dad's library, or if it has gone up in flames. Thoughts like that suddenly flash through my mind. When we were little, we played war at home. The big, cozy armchair in the living room was our fortress, stuffed socks were hand grenades. My brother is serving in the war now, and I'm photographing this war. This fight has long since become our purpose in life. It's not a game that can just be stopped at any time. My hometown becomes a news story the day after the shelling. We drove through Vinnytsia from early morning until late at night interviewing victims, first responders and survivors. Now, I'm sitting at home again, looking at the veneer wood panel that my father stuck in the window. The first time he tried, my mother said it wasn't good enough. "How did your medical checkup go, by the way?" – I ask him. He's 57 years old and could be drafted for military service, just like all Ukrainian men up to the age of 60. He says he was given a two-month deferral: – Because I have a weak heart. It's too sensitive. – Too sensitive for war? – I say to him, nestling against his chest. I have the same heart, my dear daddy, and it is just right for me. When War Knocks on Your Door for @spiegelmagazin, link in stories with editor @thorezurwelt photo editor @signe_heldt @foto_ink translated by Daryl Lindsey #ukraine