It's not the yellow farm house you always imagined, but an apartment in in Washington D.C., with a décor that's more sleek and modern than anything in rural Kansas.
Martha Kent's warm affection has been replaced with cool distance, reminding you of all the worst parts of your own mother instead of all the best.
There is no Jonathan Kent at all, his place taken by a dark-haired young man who is more Luthor in physical appearance than Kent.
Clark isn't that innocent teenage boy you fell in love with any more, but a grown man with eyes that have seen far more than anyone should have to.
But the kitchen is still as homey as the one you remember. And Martha still blushes prettily when you compliment her cooking. And Conner regards you with an enthusiastic acceptance that Jonathan never would have. And Clark's hand rests gently on your leg, something that you never genuinely hoped for even in your most extravagant of fantasies.
It's taken too long by far and the road has been almost too hard to bear at times, but as you look around the room you think you've finally found the place where you belong.