We spent most of the day at Siret football club – the pitch is now covered in tents, temporary shelters to relieve pressure on the border.
The buses keep coming with more refugees, just arrived. All women and children, all looking exhausted and dazed, many in tears.
It’s hard to watch.
Ukraine latest updates: Russians take city and ‘won’t allow medics to treat people’; explosions rock Kyiv as fighting intensifies
Anya is sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m broken,” she tells me.
She’s come with her two children, one unborn – she’s eight months pregnant. Chances are she will give birth without her husband by her side – he’s stayed behind to fight. Chances are, she might never see him again.
I’ve no idea how long this can continue – every day more and more flood across the border, and this is only one border.
Surely at some point, as the conflict spreads east, the numbers might become overwhelming? But not now, not yet.
The welcome is genuinely tender. I’ve been so impressed by the way Romanian police and fireman have risen to this wave of humanity coming in.
They rush up to help mothers with heavy bags; they put arms around children and carry the very smallest.
One was a tiny baby, wrapped in blankets to keep out the biting cold – can’t have been more than a few months old. Of course, completely unaware of what was going on in his young life.
Probably best that way.
Last night, the firemen found a cake and big teddy for seven-year-old Irina, who spent her birthday fleeing war. They sang happy birthday, put a party hat on her head and gave her a big hug.
It’s no substitute for a proper party, but they’re trying their best. She says she only wants one present, though – to be with her “Papa” back home in Ukraine.
I dig my nails into my palm – it’s all I can do to stop myself being overwhelmed by what we’re seeing.