Simple...

Home. My new home. That's what she called it. I'm not really sure I knew the meaning of 'home'. I mean, I know the dictionary definition... but I don't know how a home should feel. How it should look and sound like and smell. This 'home' felt... warm, comfortable. It looked spacious and new... and well, very lived-in. A shoe over there, a couple of bags chucked in that corner and plenty of pictures and posters tacked on the wall. It smelt faintly of the cookies that 'my new mum' had been baking before we arrived, and in a couple of the rooms boys deodorant, in another... a comforting old book smell. The sound of the wind blowing the swing outside and the quiet murmuring from downstairs that I forced myself not to understand - I didn't want to know which of my 'secrets' the social worker was spilling to my 'new family'. Was this what a home was? What my home would be?
Home. Family. Mum. All words I wasn't sure of or completely comfortable with either.
I sighed as I stared out the window. I hoped I could finally be happy here, but I had began to doubt a long time ago that hope and happiness really existed. I thought that maybe those people from the reality show I saw on the hospital tv were just faking their cheerfulness so the world could pretend it was real as well. Maybe it never even was.
Only one more year, then I could get out of here and go solo for good. I've been through much worse. If I stick to my code I'll be fine.
Don't trust anyone. Don't accept anyone's help. Don't owe anyone. Don't let my guard down.
Simple.

Trying out a new story... description in first chapter (prologue).

Let me know what you think about this? Should I continue?