Valentine’s Day, a holiday synonymous with romance and heartfelt gestures, transformed into a scene of unimaginable horror for one young Ukrainian refugee in the quiet suburbs of North Carolina. In the early hours of February 14, 2026, gunshots shattered the silence of a modest home on Daphne Lane in Vass, claiming the lives of 21-year-old Kateryna Tovmash and her 28-year-old boyfriend, Matthew Wade. What began as a day of potential joy ended in tragedy, with authorities swiftly pointing to Tovmash’s ex-partner, 25-year-old Caleb Hayden Fosnaugh, as the perpetrator in this chilling double homicide. As details emerge, the story unfolds not just as a personal betrayal but as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities faced by refugees fleeing war-torn homelands, only to encounter new dangers on American soil.
Kateryna Tovmash’s journey to the United States was one of desperation and hope, emblematic of the thousands who escaped the relentless onslaught of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Born in a small town amid the rolling fields of eastern Ukraine, Tovmash grew up in a close-knit family, where siblings shared dreams of a peaceful future. When Russian forces launched their full-scale assault in February 2022, her world crumbled. Bombs rained down on nearby cities, forcing evacuations and splintering families. Tovmash, then just 17, witnessed the horrors firsthand—air raid sirens blaring through the night, neighbors vanishing in the chaos, and the constant fear that tomorrow might never come. Like many young Ukrainians, she clung to stories of resilience, drawing strength from the nation’s unyielding spirit. But survival demanded sacrifice; she left behind familiar streets, cherished friends, and the graves of loved ones lost to the conflict.
Arriving in the U.S. about two years ago under humanitarian parole programs designed to aid Ukrainian refugees, Tovmash settled in North Carolina, a state that had become a haven for many fleeing the war. The Tar Heel State, with its affordable living and growing Ukrainian communities, offered a semblance of normalcy. She moved into a shared apartment with her younger siblings, piecing together a new life far from the front lines. By day, she worked entry-level jobs, perhaps in retail or hospitality, learning English and adapting to American customs. Social media glimpses—captured in Instagram posts under @m.tovmash—showed a vibrant young woman with a warm smile, posing with friends against backdrops of Southern landscapes, her eyes reflecting both the scars of trauma and the spark of optimism. “She was full of life, always laughing, always helping,” a family friend later recounted in online tributes. Tovmash dreamed of pursuing education, maybe in nursing or business, envisioning a future where she could send money back home to support those still enduring the war.
It was in this new chapter that she met Matthew Wade, a dedicated U.S. Army soldier stationed at Fort Bragg—now known as Fort Liberty—one of the largest military installations in the world. Wade, 28, hailed from a military family, enlisting straight out of high school with a sense of duty that defined him. Described by colleagues as disciplined and kind-hearted, he had served tours overseas, including stints in conflict zones that honed his resilience. Off-duty, Wade was the type to organize barbecues for his unit or volunteer at local charities. Friends remembered him as a “gentle giant,” standing tall with a reassuring presence that made others feel safe. His relationship with Tovmash blossomed quickly, built on shared values of perseverance and empathy. She found in him a protector, someone who understood the weight of global unrest from his own experiences. Together, they navigated the challenges of her refugee status—visa uncertainties, cultural adjustments, and the lingering shadows of PTSD from her wartime ordeals. Valentine’s Day 2026 was meant to be a milestone, perhaps a quiet dinner or a simple exchange of gifts, symbolizing their budding love amid her quest for stability.
But lurking in the background was Caleb Hayden Fosnaugh, Tovmash’s former partner from her time in Ohio. The two had dated briefly after her initial arrival in the U.S., when she first landed in the Midwest before relocating south. Details of their relationship remain murky, but sources close to the family suggest it was tumultuous, marked by possessiveness and arguments that escalated over time. Fosnaugh, 25, worked odd jobs—perhaps in construction or delivery—living a transient life in Ohio. Social media profiles, now scrubbed or private, once showed a young man with a brooding demeanor, posting about cars, workouts, and cryptic messages about heartbreak. What drove him to Vass that fateful day? Investigators believe jealousy festered, turning into a deadly obsession. Traveling several hours from Ohio, Fosnaugh allegedly arrived unannounced, his intentions veiled in rage.
The attack unfolded with terrifying precision, as pieced together from witness accounts and police reports. Around midnight, as the household slumbered, Fosnaugh reportedly forced entry into the apartment—a clear violation that would later add breaking and entering to his charges. One of Tovmash’s younger siblings, awakened by the intruder, was coerced at gunpoint to rouse her from sleep. The scene that followed defies comprehension: Tovmash, still groggy in her bed, faced her ex in a moment of raw confrontation. Gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the quiet night. Mykhailo Tovmash, Kateryna’s brother, provided a harrowing account: “He forced one of our siblings to wake her up and then shot her in bed, taking her life. He also shot her boyfriend, who was sleeping next to her.” Wade, roused by the chaos, had no chance to defend himself or his partner. The 28-year-old soldier, trained for battlefields abroad, met his end in the supposed safety of home.
Panic ensued as the siblings fled or hid, dialing 911 amid the echoes of shots. Neighbors, startled awake, reported hearing screams and the screech of tires as Fosnaugh sped away into the darkness. Emergency responders arrived to a gruesome scene: bloodstained sheets, shell casings scattered like macabre confetti, and two young lives extinguished. Paramedics pronounced Tovmash and Wade dead at the scene, their bodies bearing the brutal marks of close-range gunfire. The Moore County Sheriff’s Office, a department accustomed to rural disputes rather than high-profile homicides, launched an immediate manhunt. “This was a targeted act of violence,” a spokesperson later stated, emphasizing the personal nature of the crime.
Fosnaugh’s flight was short-lived. Tracked through interstate highways, he was apprehended hours later in Ohio by local authorities coordinating with North Carolina investigators. Bodycam footage, if released, might capture the moment of surrender—a disheveled suspect, perhaps defiant or remorseful, cuffed and read his rights. Charged with two counts of first-degree murder and breaking and entering, Fosnaugh now faces the possibility of life imprisonment or even the death penalty, depending on prosecutorial decisions. In a statement, the Moore County Sheriff’s Office urged compassion: “We ask the community to keep the families and loved ones of Kateryna Tovmash and Matthew Wade in their thoughts and prayers.” A GoFundMe page, quickly established by relatives, surged with donations, captions reading: “Help us bring Kateryna home to Ukraine for burial, and support her siblings through this nightmare.”
The tragedy resonates far beyond Vass, echoing the plight of Ukrainian refugees worldwide. Since Russia’s invasion, over 6 million Ukrainians have fled, with the U.S. welcoming more than 100,000 under temporary protected status. North Carolina, with its military bases and supportive networks, has absorbed thousands, offering English classes, job placement, and psychological aid. Yet, integration brings risks: language barriers, isolation, and exposure to domestic threats. Tovmash’s death marks a grim milestone, the second such killing of a Ukrainian refugee in the state within a year. Just six months prior, in August 2025, 23-year-old Iryna Zarutska was brutally stabbed in the neck while riding a Charlotte light rail train home from work.
Zarutska’s story, much like Tovmash’s, began in the rubble of war-torn Ukraine. Fleeing Mariupol’s siege, she arrived in the U.S. seeking asylum, working tirelessly to rebuild. But on that fateful train ride, she encountered DeCarlos Brown, a repeat offender with a history of arrests for assault and theft. Surveillance footage, leaked and viewed millions of times online, captured the horror: Brown approaching Zarutska, a flash of steel, and her collapsing in a pool of blood. Outrage erupted—protests in Charlotte demanded “Iryna’s Law,” a proposed bill for stricter bail reforms and enhanced penalties for violent recidivists. Brown, released on cashless bail mere months before the attack, now faces capital charges, with some advocating for execution by firing squad. Zarutska’s mother, in a tearful interview, lamented: “She escaped bombs only to die here, where safety was promised.”
Mykhailo Tovmash drew parallels in his poignant statement: “A refugee who fled the war in Ukraine seeking safety in the United States was murdered in her own home in North Carolina. This is the second time in the past year that a Ukrainian refugee hiding in North Carolina has been killed by a man. This time, a 25-year-old man with a gun.” His words ignite debates on multiple fronts: gun control in a nation where firearms outnumber people, the epidemic of domestic violence claiming over 4,000 lives annually, and the inadequacies in protecting vulnerable immigrants. Advocacy groups like the Ukrainian Congress Committee of America call for enhanced screenings for partners of refugees and better mental health resources to prevent stalking and obsession.
Domestic violence experts point to patterns in Fosnaugh’s alleged behavior—escalating control, cross-state pursuit, and lethal escalation. “Jealousy doesn’t justify murder, but it often predicts it,” says Dr. Elena Vasquez, a psychologist specializing in abusive relationships. “Refugees like Kateryna are particularly at risk; they’re rebuilding lives, forming new bonds, which can trigger ex-partners’ insecurities.” Statistics from the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence reveal that one in four women experience severe physical violence from an intimate partner, with guns involved in over half of intimate partner homicides.
The military angle adds layers; Wade’s death highlights the sacrifices of service members off the battlefield. Fort Liberty, home to elite units like the 82nd Airborne, mourns one of its own. Memorial services are planned, with flags at half-mast and tributes pouring in from fellow soldiers. “Matthew was a hero in uniform and out,” his commanding officer stated. The Army’s Family Advocacy Program, designed to support soldiers’ loved ones, now faces scrutiny for potential gaps in addressing external threats.
As investigations continue, questions linger: How did Fosnaugh obtain a weapon? Were there prior red flags, like restraining orders or police reports from Ohio? Prosecutors vow a thorough case, with evidence including ballistics, witness testimonies, and digital trails from Fosnaugh’s phone—perhaps incriminating searches or messages. Community vigils in Vass and Charlotte blend Ukrainian flags with American ones, symbolizing shared grief. Online, hashtags like #JusticeForKateryna and #ProtectRefugees trend, amplifying calls for policy changes.
This Valentine’s Day massacre serves as a wake-up call, urging society to confront the intersections of war, migration, and violence. Kateryna Tovmash sought refuge from one horror only to fall victim to another, her story a poignant testament to unfulfilled promises of safety. Matthew Wade, in loving her, shared her fate, reminding us that love can be both a beacon and a target. As families grieve and justice proceeds, the world watches, hoping this tragedy sparks reforms to shield the vulnerable. In the end, amid the pain, Tovmash’s legacy endures—not as a victim, but as a symbol of resilience, her smile forever etched in memories, urging us toward a safer tomorrow.
