In mid-August, I moved out of the home I shared with my husband. My new temporary home is my parents’ converted single-car garage, a roughly 150-square-foot casita.
I have asked for a divorce, although we haven’t filed anything yet, so I’m still getting used to saying that word. My marriage had reached a point where I knew I needed to leave.
Friends offered me places to stay, but my parents are both in their early 70s, and I wanted to spend time with them. However, the idea of living together still scared me. Our relationship was especially rocky around the time I left home as a teenager, when I vowed I would never live with them again.
We’ve…
