Being in contact with the Lincoln family reminded me of the warmth of my own home, back when my parents were still alive. I hadn’t even begun to get to know them yet, but all it took was the atmosphere of the house, the family portraits on the walls and shelves, to know this was a loving home—one where family bonds were everything.
“I suppose you must be hungry,” said the twins’ mother. “Lunch is about to be served.”
Despite the mansion’s luxury, there was nothing ostentatious about it. The decorations were elegant, yes, but tasteful and restrained—never showy.
“What do you think of everything so far, beautiful?” Lean asked when he saw me standing in front of a large family portrait taken during a snowy vacation.
“It reminds me of my family,” I said. “Well, we weren’t this rich, but I
