Nobody is quite sure how Oksana Chernovoluk and her family ended up in the sleepy Moldovan village — not Oksana herself nor the retired Moldovan couple who took them in.
To both, it seemed like fate.
Weeks ago, Oksana had fled the Ukrainian port city of Odesa with her sister Natalia, her mother Tatiana, and their four children. Their husbands had remained to fight, pleading with the women to leave while they still could.
But when their car broke down over the border in Moldova, a chain of events led them to the doorstep of George and Nina Miron in Scoreni, north-west of Moldova's capital, Chişinău.
Without hesitation, the couple welcomed the seven Ukrainians into their modest home, sharing meals with them and offering them their bedrooms while they slept on a sofa bed in the living room.
"They became like mother and father to us," Oksana said.
In total, 25 homes in Scoreni, a village of a few thousand, are now hosting displaced Ukrainians, a fact that makes Mr Miron swell with pride.
"I have the biggest family now," he said.
"I don't have a big pension, but we are not complaining."
Since Russia's invasion of Ukraine in February, hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians have fled over the border into Moldova — some to use it as a stopover to elsewhere, others finding their way to temporary accommodation.
Though they live in one of Europe's poorest nations, Moldovans have made room in their homes to host refugees, acting as an unofficial support network for Ukrainians sheltering from war.
"Unexpectedly, Moldova opened their doors for us," Oksana said.
Quickly, the two unlikely families fell into a routine. Each morning, Oksana and her sister help with household chores, collecting firewood and preparing meals for the children.
In the evenings, Nina Miron shows them how to make Moldovan specialities like placinte — a kind of flat cheese-filled pastry — all the time communicating in Russian, a language both have inherited from the former Soviet Union.
Hesitant at first, Oksana's children now play with Moldovan children from the village. During the day, they attend classes at their Odesa school online.
The arrival of the Ukrainians was for Mr Miron, a 66-year-old retiree, a chance to fulfil a lifelong desire to help others in desperate need.
As he watched Russian shells rain down on Ukrainian cities, his son pleaded with him: you must help these people fleeing for their lives.
"These are regular people just like us. We get along well."
The freezing journey to find safety
For many Ukrainians, the journey to safety is long and cold.
Some spend several days on the road and almost all have to shiver in sub-zero temperatures at the border as they wait to cross.
Olga, 19, had tears in her eyes as she crossed into Moldova with her two children, aged one and two.
Her husband had to stay behind in Odesa, which is preparing for an amphibious assault from Russia.
"I just want this war to end so we can go home," she told the ABC.
She didn't know where she was going to stay.
Once Ukrainians cross the border, the first priority for many is food and warmth.
An army of volunteers from Moldova has been mobilised to make them feel at home.
They hand out hot coffee and tea, prepare meals and provide free wi-fi and charging ports so people can tell their family and friends they're OK.
One volunteer, Cristina Cornescu, who was busy slathering pate onto slices of bread, told the ABC she felt compelled to come to the border and help.
"I couldn't sit in front of the TV and watch the news all day long," she said.
"So I said, we need to do something. We need to … help these people. They are our neighbours."
She said Moldova lacked the money and resources of other destination countries like Poland, but she was "proud" of her country's response.
"Moldova is considered to be the poorest country in Europe. Still, we see that our people responded very openly to the situation," Ms Cornescu said.
'I'm not a soldier'
The vast majority of Ukrainian refugees are women and children, because men between the ages of 18 and 60 aren't supposed to leave the country.
The government says they're needed to support the military.
However, it's still possible for young men to leave.
The ABC met 24-year-old Artur, a musician and logistics specialist from Kharkiv who managed to talk his way through the border.
He said it took several attempts, but a border guard let him leave.
"I said, 'I'm glad to stay in Ukraine but all my family [has left]'."
Artur had been playing video games with friends on the morning of Russia's attack on his city.
"We [didn't] think that [Russian President Vladimir] Putin is that bad … but now we clearly understand," he said.
In the days after the war began, he volunteered to deliver food to people holed up in their apartments.
However, he said taking up arms wouldn't serve his country well.
"I'm not scared of the army … but I can be more good for the economy, to work. I can help my country with money," Artur said.
"Everybody needs to know their place. I'm not a soldier."
