Lars always imagined coming home as an accomplished businessman thriving on his millions. He saw himself sitting at his parents' table, telling everyone about his exploits abroad.

He would have told them about his rare barista and how her coffee would change the world.

Yes, he would have done all that in another story. There, he arrived in Stockholm on a rainy day. The flight offered no rest. Neither the movies nor the concerts of the airline channel managed to appease the man.

Nor did the champagne or wine; Lars was alone with his angst. He had left one situation for another, filled with the shame of his fast-running mouth.

The scenes replayed as he prepared to go through customs.

Do you think I can't make it without you? I ran this place. I made money while you enjoyed parenthood, and everyone else just sat waiting for profit. You all owe me. My decisions are what made you all extremely wealthy people.

Words.

Lars had spilt so many in total and utter carelessness.

Now he choked on his pride while he envisioned seeing his family. In the meantime, he faced a customs officer.

"Valkommen hem herr Potsmann, [well come home Mr. Potsmann]."

The word home made Lars want to break down and cry. His heart throbbed with confused emotions. The man didn't know if he was miserable, happy, or relieved about being there. He tried to convince himself there was no regret to have. It wasn't like he had left something behind.

Lars grabbed his luggage and exited the airport, only to return inside. He had prepared himself for everything except the weather. The temperatures weren't low, but they were freezing for the man from Johannesburg. The thought of the South African heat flew him back to the country; images began to emerge. The effervescence of the streets, the smell of food, the music, andㅡ. He stopped before she came to mind to reign supreme. Lars gathered his courage and stepped out again.

He ran to grab a taxi.

"Vart är du på väg? [where are you going?] the taxi driver asked.

"Ostermalm."

Lars was a privileged man who loved to show off his status. The area he lived in left no doubt about his wealth. Any person Lars gave his address to immediately knew he was not a man needing a penny. Lars and his siblings had grown up eating the same food and having the same education, but of the Potsmann children, he was the only one who loved to flaunt. Humility and patience though verified Swedish personality traits, weren't his forte. Lars always looked for shortcuts in everything he did. His plan had always been to reach the heights in the shortest time. Stuck in his present timeline, his future held no significant meaning for him to think of it.

Thirty minutes later, Lars opened the door to his apartment-turned-loft. He had knocked down the walls of three of the four bedrooms to win more space for the parties he threw. No, he no longer planned to have kids or his family over for the night. His walls were bare, and the decor was sober Moder Yoder style.

Lars didn't take time to look about; he headed straight to the shower, where the smell of the water surprised him. Stockholm and Johannesburg had hard water, but somehow it felt so different. Lars didn't know how long he stayed under the showerhead, but his skin was all wrinkled when he came out.

He immediately grabbed his phone and dialed the number of a few friends to say he was back. It was only a short time before people began to ask him if he was going to throw a party to celebrate his return. Of course, the answer was yes.

The man didn't think about the eventual questions people would ask. Nor did he think about how he emptied his bank account. He ordered the best wine and rented a chef for the party.

He was about to sleep when he suddenly remembered something. He grabbed his phone and dialed, "ㅡFariha, it's Mr Potsmann. ㅡYes, I'm back. Are you free this afternoon? ㅡI'm organizing a party, and the apartment needs a little dusting. Yes, I put my clothes in the basket before you arrive."

Lars hung up, feeling lighter. He didn't see himself washing his clothes and cleaning the apartment. Fariha was the cheapest cleaning service he could have. The Syrian woman only took cash and worked without a contract. Many people in his neighborhood hired immigrants like Fariha for punctual missions. Everything was organized for the evening; he had nothing to worry about. The man acted as though his stay in Africa was a mirage and focused on resuming his life in Sweden. He was about to take a nap when his phone rang with an Amapiano beat. He made a mental note to change the ringtone and answered.

"Hello."

"Hallå...Var är du? [Hi, where are you?]"

"I'm good, and you, Joshua?"

"Lars, don't play the fool. Where are you?"

"I'mㅡhold on, Joshua, someone is ringing at the doorㅡ," Lars got up and went to open it, only to have Joshua storm into his apartment.

"Why call if you're at my doorstep?" Lars said as he closed the door behind his brother.

"I needed to see for myself," Joshua said before placing his hands on his hips and asking, "Can you please tell me why Dieter is aware of your return before your family?"

Lars scratched his head, passed his brother and went to fall back on his sofa, "did he call you?"

"No, he didn't. He just posted the time and location of your party on Facebook. What is this supposed to mean, Lars? "

Lars shrugged, "why does there have to be a meaning? I'm here safe and sound. Aren't you happy to see me?"

Joshua observed his brother from head to toe. Except for the predominant tan, his brother seemed in good health.

"Go on, spit it out. What happened out there? Do you owe someone money? Is someone out to get you?" Joshua asked. He knew his brother too well to accept the homesick excuse for Lars's return.

Lars sat up, "Wow, Joshua, it's not because I served eighteen months in prison that it makes me some felon. Nothing happened, Joshua. Why are you so in a defensive mode?"

Joshua shrugged and drooped his lips to say, "I don't know, maybe because someone attempted to kill my sister-in-law and kidnap my nephew. Or that my baby brother got locked up before getting scammed by someone in South Africa.

So many things have happened in the last few years. Lars tried to escape the memories, but here Joshua stood doing a recap he could not skip. No one could blame Joshua for his prudence. Things tended to blow out of proportion when Lars was around.

"I swear, nothing happened," Lars said, raising his hand to pledge. Lars almost fooled himself with his act. "Come on, Joshua, relax. Have a seat. Tell me how Sweden has been without me?" Lars said, patting the spot next to him to prompt his brother to sit.

Joshua sighed and took the seat across from Lars," we've been good. There isn't much to say. The kids are growing. You'd be so surprised when you see themㅡ," Joshua stopped as he noticed how his brother's expression changed. "What is it?"

"Listen, Josh, I think it would be better if I stay away from everyone."

"Don't be foolish, Lars, everyone would be happy to see you."

"Are you sure, Josh?" Lars shook his head, "I said a lot of things."

"Everyone said a lot of things; we're all," Joshua tried to find his words; it was another time and place. I doubt anyone still holds a grudge. I don't," Joshua said, pointing at himself.

Lars smiled to himself. He recognized his brother's peacemaker trait. Joshua had always been the neutral one who strived to make everyone get along, but it wasn't possible this time.

It wasn't just about Jonas' and Ulrich's wrath but his parents. Lars knew he profoundly hurt them and didn't see how he could appear on their doorstep and say he was back.

"Lars, we're a family."

"If you say so. ㅡListen, Josh, I'm throwing a party tonight. I'd like to get some beauty sleep."

"Are you throwing me out?"

The silence in the room said it all.

"Okay, if that's what you want," Joshua placed his hands on his knees and got up, "for all it's worth, Sierra always asks about you. She had triplets, two boys, and a little girl; I'm sure Jonas and she would be happy to know you're here."

"Josh, pleaseㅡ."

"Guilt is a plague that stops us from advancing," with these words, Joshua left.

Why did Joshua have to evoke them?

Lars got up and went to take a few pills. His return wasn't even twenty-four hours old when he grazed an anxiety attack. He noted that Joshua said it was Sierra that asked and not Jonas.

Lars was about to close his eyes when his door rang once more. The man began to wonder what he had to do to get some sleep before jumping out of bed to open to Fariha.

"Herr Potsmann."

"Hej Fariha, thank you for coming."

"There's no problem. You can call me anytime." The woman was used to cleaning Lars' apartment. She immediately went to load his washing machine before beginning to dust and hoovering.

Lars realized sleep was a utopia with the noise, which didn't end with Fariha. The man had barely closed the door behind her when the chef and the wine he ordered arrived. He just had time to pop out for a trip at the barber that his soiree had begun.

"Fritz, Megan, how good to see you," Lars said before turning to hug one of his best pals, "Dieter, my man."

The guest kept arriving, making the servers slalom with their trays. Lars didn't invite everyone; the add-ons were Dieters doing.

"So, Lars, tell us a little about South Africa."

"I'd like to hear about Brazil first," Megan asked.

"Wellㅡ," Lars began to tell his adventures. His guests were all ears, making Lars feel like a star. Of course, he embellished a few details. He was finally the icon of the story. Lars felt incredible.

"I can't wait to drink coffee in your shops," Carolina said.

"Will you be serving bubble tea? I'm a die-hard addict. Günter has had enough of me and my cravings," Eden said, nudging her partner.

"Who's your barista?" Fritz finally asked.

Thulile.

The unexpected question freed her image. All Lars saw were her eyes.

"Lars?"

"Eh, umm, she'sㅡ," he cleared his throat, "I'm currently looking for someone here. The one I had got another job offer."

His friends nodded while others whispered. Lars had no coffee shop openings scheduled, but it didn't matter as long as the show continued.

They drank and took pictures. Lars was the king of the Swedish socialites and Nepobabies social app. Snap, Insta, Facebook, he was everywhere, and it wasn't long before his brothers and sisters' phones buzzed with notifications.

Jonas sat at the edge of his bed and sighed. It didn't look like Lars had learned anything while away from the photos he saw.

"Jonasㅡ," Sierra moved to the edge of the bed and placed an arm around her husband's shoulders," ㅡwhat's wrong?"

"It's Larsㅡ," Jonas held his phone up for her to see, "he's back."