Nearly two months after the brutal stabbing of 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska on a Charlotte light rail train, her elderly parents remain tormented by endless questions: “Why did my daughter have to die? Why did no one help her?” These words echo the profound grief of Anna and Stanislav Zarutskyi, who fled war-torn Ukraine seeking safety in America, only to lose their beloved child in a random act of violence that exposed deep failures in public safety and mental health systems.

Born in Kyiv on May 22, 2002, Iryna grew up amid creativity and family warmth. A talented artist with a diploma in art restoration, she dreamed big—painting, sculpting, and aspiring to become a veterinary assistant due to her deep love for animals. When Russia’s invasion forced her family into bomb shelters in 2022, Iryna, her mother, sister Valeriia, and brother Bohdan immigrated to the U.S., settling in Huntersville, North Carolina, with relatives. Her father stayed behind under Ukraine’s martial law restricting men of fighting age from leaving.

In America, Iryna blossomed. She worked odd jobs, learned English at community college, babysat neighbors’ kids, and walked dogs with her radiant smile. She moved to Charlotte’s NoDa neighborhood with boyfriend Stas Nikulytsia, landing a job at Zepeddie’s Pizzeria. “She fell in love with the American dream,” her uncle recalled, noting her ambition and kindness. The family even declined offers to repatriate her remains, burying her in the U.S. as a symbol of her new life.

Tragedy struck on August 22, 2025. After her shift, Iryna boarded the Lynx Blue Line train home. Surveillance video captured the horror: Seated innocently scrolling her phone, she was ambushed from behind by Decarlos Brown Jr., a 34-year-old with schizophrenia, a lengthy criminal record including armed robbery, and over a dozen arrests. Released on cashless bail despite warnings from his own mother that he “shouldn’t roam the streets,” Brown unfolded a knife and stabbed Iryna three times in the neck without provocation.

As she clutched her wounds in terror, collapsing and bleeding profusely, passengers froze. Some averted eyes; others filmed or stared. It took over a minute for anyone to approach—one man eventually used his shirt to stem the bleeding, but it was too late. Iryna died at the scene, alone among strangers. “She came here for peace and safety, but her life was stolen in the most horrific way,” her family lamented.

The attack sparked outrage, inspiring murals across the U.S., a DaBaby song “Save Me,” and even a butterfly species named Celastrina iryna. North Carolina pushed “Iryna’s Law” to close justice system loopholes. Federal charges seek the death penalty for Brown.

Yet for her parents, now elderly and shattered, the pain endures. Stanislav watched her funeral via livestream, unable to attend initially due to travel restrictions (later clarified he arrived on humanitarian grounds). They never saw Iryna in a wedding dress or cared for grandchildren. Thousands of “whys” haunt them—why release a dangerous man? Why no intervention? Why her? In a nation that promised refuge, Iryna’s story is a heartbreaking reminder of fragility, leaving a void no justice can fill.