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On an afternoon in early April, while New York City was in the throes of what would be the deadliest days of the coronavirus pandemic, Dr. Lorna M. Breen found herself alone in the still of her apartment in Manhattan. She picked up her phone and dialed her younger sister, Jennifer Feist. The two were just 22 months apart and had the kind of bond that comes from growing up sharing a bedroom and wearing matching outfits. Ms. Feist, a lawyer in Charlottesville, Va., was accustomed to hearing from her sister nearly every day. Lately, their conversations had been bleak. (Knoll, Watkins and Rothfeld, 7/11)

For months, California hospitals avoided the dreaded surge in coronavirus patients that threatened to overwhelm wards and stretch thin staff and supplies. But now, with coronavirus hospitalizations in the state at an all-time high, doctors and nurses at some hospitals say the nightmare has arrived. (Karlamangla, 7/13)

On day 45 of our illness, my husband, Marc, and I woke up and looked at each other. Our symptoms had always been eerily in sync. Now the constriction in our chests was unmistakable. It was back. It was worse. (Noel Vinson, 7/13)

One night last week I looked up from my phone, turned to my husband in bed and said, “Why do I feel like I miss you even though you’re in my face 24/7?” In our 15 years as a couple, we have never spent so much time in the same space as we have the last four months, but we have a hard time actually connecting — there are no dates, no involved conversations, no adventures. (Grose, 7/8)

Hour after hour in the dark, Chander Shekhar’s mind raced ahead to morning. More than three months had dragged by since the coronavirus forced Shekhar to shut down his business — a narrow, second-floor shop racked with vibrantly colored saris, on a block in New York’s Jackson Heights neighborhood once thronged with South Asian immigrant shoppers. Today, finally, he and other merchants were allowed to reopen their doors. (Geller, 7/14)

Ikuko, the “big sister” of Tokyo’s Akasaka geisha district, came to the capital to seek her fortune in 1964, the year Tokyo first hosted the Olympics. But the novel coronavirus pandemic has made her fear for her centuries-old profession as never before. Though the number of geisha - famed for their witty conversation, beauty and skill at traditional arts - has been falling for years, Ikuko and her colleagues were without work for months due to Japan’s state of emergency and now operate under awkward social distancing rules. (Lies, 7/16)

In September 2015, Jessica learned that she had stage 2B breast cancer, and six months later Dan was told that he had treatable stage 4 colon cancer. They are both now cancer free. Here are some reflections on their capacities and strategies for resilience. (St. Clair and O'Brien, 7/13)

Lois and Milt Michaels hosted a dinner party for 15 friends last year at their home in Pittsburgh. Women outnumbered men in the group, which ranged in age from 84 to 99. Since the dinner party, two of the friends have died, both of them men. That saddened but didn’t surprise Dr. Michaels, a 93-year-old retired physician. “Women live longer than men,” he said. It has long been known that women tend to outlive men, and their longevity streak will likely continue. Life expectancy for women is expected to reach 87.3 years, and 83.9 years for men, by 2060, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. (Ansberry, 7/14)

Kim Lucasti recently made a parenting decision she never would have permitted before the coronavirus pandemic: She let her 14-year-old daughter ride a bike into town without an adult alongside her. In the past couple of months, Ms. Lucasti, who lives in Longport, N.J., has given more freedom to her teenage daughter and 12-year-old son. It’s partly because the kids are restless without their usual scheduled activities, and also because she needs space to handle her own tasks. “I have never left my kids alone in the house so much,” she says. Gone are the days of helicopter parenting: “I have let the helicopter down,” she jokes. (Chaker, 7/14)

How will children make sense of the times we are living through? How can parents help them form — and understand — the narrative, even when they themselves feel worried, overwhelmed and unsure? I went back to several of the pediatricians I’ve consulted about different aspects of the coronavirus and asked: How are you telling your children the story of the pandemic? (Klass, 7/14)

One afternoon in mid-June, Charisse* drove up to the checkpoint at the Children’s Village juvenile detention center in suburban Detroit, desperate to be near her daughter. It had been a month since she had last seen her, when a judge found the girl had violated probation and sent her to the facility during the pandemic. The girl, Grace, hadn’t broken the law again. The 15-year-old wasn’t in trouble for fighting with her mother or stealing, the issues that had gotten her placed on probation in the first place. She was incarcerated in May for violating her probation by not completing her online coursework when her school in Beverly Hills switched to remote learning. Because of the confidentiality of juvenile court cases, it’s impossible to determine how unusual Grace’s situation is. (Cohen, 7/14)

The Facebook post started like lots of others in the Brooklyn parents’ group: “Looking for some part time child care, a few mornings a week, for a 3-year-old.” Then, “Ideally, we’re looking for someone who has lots and lots of energy, and has already had Covid-19.” Anna Garcia, 28, responded. She’s a nanny with 10 years of experience and is looking for work after she had the virus this spring. While she fit the criteria, she said it felt strange to answer questions related to having the coronavirus. (Hughes, 7/13)

When she was a young child, Ashley Austrew’s father would hold her down and tickle her so hard she felt momentarily paralyzed. He thought they were having fun — the tickling made her laugh, after all — but she dreaded it. More than once, she rolled off the couch and hit her head on the coffee table. (Marder, 7/13)