my husband rarely called yana pogadaeva by name, more often his beloved, as she is written down in her. last message at 19:59. the wife sent two photos from the hall crocus city. i went to the concert with a friend. both disappeared, neither in the lists of victims, nor in the lists of dead, they are not. having arrived at the place, he searched, ran around, among the speedy people, looked, checked the cars, ran behind the crop where all the people were running to the bridge, ran there, looked there, asked, showed photographs, no one saw them, a year and a half ago, yana and igor became parents, it was he who showed concern and suggested that his wife, whom he idolizes, take a break from diapers, unwind with a friend, bought tickets for the ill-fated concert a month in advance, chose good seats, now he can’t find a place for himself, late in the evening they called from the ministry of emergency situations and invited him in the morning for an examination, yeah, so i was there in the morning, the girls weren’t there, they took biomaterials from us just in case, that’s it, i’m continuin