The walls of Major Carl Zwingli's office seemed to close in on themselves as Tony and Carmella sat stiffly across from the imposing desk. A.J. slouched in the chair next to them, his face a mix of anger and dread. The sterile scent of the military academy, the sharp edges of the major's office, and the cold, silent air between them made the moment feel even heavier. Major Zwingli, a stern man in his late fifties with military precision etched into every movement, sat with his hands folded in front of him, his gaze fixed on A.J.

"I'm sure you both know why we're here," Zwingli began, his voice measured and firm. He looked briefly at Tony and Carmella before settling his gaze back on A.J., whose jaw was clenched tight.

Carmella shifted uneasily, her heart racing with a mixture of dread and confusion. She had felt her breath leave her lungs the moment she and Tony were called in to the academy. Tony sat beside her, his hands balled into fists, his eyes darting between the major and A.J., waiting for someone to speak.

Zwingli continued;

"Anthony was involved in an altercation in the weight room this afternoon with another cadet named Dominic Bianchi. He was seriously injured, as I'm sure you've heard."

A.J. shot a glare at the major, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.

"I didn't start it!" He snapped. "That prick Dominic was running his mouth, talking shit about my dad, saying all kinds of crap my family. He hit me with a weight, he threw it right at my chest! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it?"

Tony's brow furrowed, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

"You stand up to him," Tony growled, his voice low and controlled before he looked over at his son. "You don't put him in the hospital!"

"You don't get it!" A.J. shook his head, his frustration spilling over. "He kept pushing and pushing, what was I supposed to do? Just let him walk all over me?"

Zwingli held up a hand, stopping the argument before it could escalate. His expression remained unreadable. "We have an eyewitness who confirmed that Dominic provoked Anthony and hit him with a weight plate. No one is denying that Dominic started the altercation."

For a brief moment, A.J.'s shoulders relaxed, as if hoping this might work out in his favor. But then Zwingli continued, his voice grave.

"However, Anthony, your response went far beyond self-defense. Shoving Dominic out of a second-story window…that's not something we can just overlook."

Carmella gasped quietly, her hand coming up to her mouth. The weight of what A.J. had done was starting to fully settle in as she had a bad feeling to where this was heading.

"Look, I wasn't thinking!" A.J. protested, the anger in his voice rising. "He threw the weight at me, I couldn't breathe, and then…then I just lost it. I didn't mean to hurt him that bad."

Major Zwingli's gaze never wavered.

"Intent or not, the fact remains that Dominic is in the hospital with multiple injuries, and you are responsible. We've consulted with his family, and fortunately for you, they've decided not to press charges."

Carmella let out a small, relieved breath, but it was short-lived when Zwingli looked to her and Tony before adding; "As long as Dominic's medical expenses are covered." Tony bit his bottom lip to keep himself from yelling out obscenities right then and there. "As far as consequences here go, this kind of behavior is not tolerated."

Tony's face hardened. Much like his wife, he knew how this was going to end. "So, what now?" he asked, his voice strained.

Zwingli leaned back in his chair, his tone firm but not unkind.

"We're left with no choice but to expel Anthony from HMI. Effective immediately. This is not a decision we take lightly, but given the severity of the incident, it's one we have to make."

A.J. felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

Expelled. Again.

He had never cared much for school, never taken it seriously, never put in the effort, but something about being kicked out of military school felt different. This place, for all its rules and restrictions, had given him a chance to turn things around. Now it was gone.

"This is bullshit!" A.J. finally exploded, standing up from his chair. "I didn't ask for this! That asshole Dominic had it coming, and you're just gonna toss me out like it was my fault! He hit me first! What was I supposed to do, politely ask him not to hit me again!?"

Carmella's eyes filled with tears, but she stayed silent, her heart aching for her son. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but she knew nothing she could say would change what was happening. A.J.'s outburst had only deepened her sense of helplessness. Major Zwingli's expression softened slightly as he addressed A.J. directly.

"Look, Anthony. I understand that things got out of hand. You seemed to be making great strides, I'm sorry it has to end like this. You have to learn to control your anger, to deal with situations in a way that doesn't put you, or anyone else in danger. I believe you can do better, but we can't be the place for you anymore."

A.J. slumped back into his chair, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. For the first time since the incident, the weight of what had happened hit him all at once. This second expulsion felt like a slap in the face, a mark that would follow him wherever he went. He had failed again, and deep down, it hurt him more than he would ever admit.

XXXXXXX

The ride home was uncomfortable to say the least as no one was saying a word. A.J. sat in the back seat, staring blankly out the window, waiting for the inevitable explosion. He had been through this before, he knew what was coming. His father never handled any of A.J's screw-ups quietly. Whether it was school, trouble with friends, or anything else, Tony Soprano had a temper, and A.J. had felt its full force more times than he could count.

But this time was different.

This wasn't a slap upside the head or getting grounded for bad grades. This was his second expulsion, and this time, it was from military school, Tony's last-ditch effort to straighten him out. A.J. knew that in his father's eyes, this was a failure that ran deep. He expected shouting, swearing, maybe even something thrown across the room when they got home.

All he heard now was his father's breathing—deep, steady, and unsettlingly calm.

Carmella sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the tension between her and Tony palpable. She had already said what she needed to say at the academy, and now, she was waiting for Tony to take the reins, to say what she couldn't. But the silence stretched on, becoming heavier with every passing minute.

A.J. shifted in his seat, feeling the knot in his stomach twist tighter. He glanced up at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Tony's face. His father's expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his jaw tight but unmoving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tony spoke. His voice was low, but it cut through the silence like a knife.

"You disappoint me, A.J."

That was it. No yelling, no angry tirade. Just those four words, spoken quietly but the weight of it might as well been a physical slap to the face. A lump formed in A.J's throat.

He had been prepared for the shouting. He had been ready for the anger, for his dad to blow up and let it all out. That's how it always was, right? His dad would yell, get in A.J's face, and then, eventually, things would settle. But this? This quiet, restrained disappointment? It was so much worse.

He wanted to defend himself, to explain, to tell his dad that Dominic had provoked him, that he had been pushed too far. But none of that seemed to matter now. The truth was, deep down, A.J. knew he had messed up. And hearing those words from his father, it was like a punch to the gut.

The rest of the car ride passed in silence. No one said another word, but the tension, the disappointment, was heavy enough to crush them all. For the first time in his life, A.J. didn't know how to make things right.

XXXXXXX

Later that evening, after the awkward silence of the drive home and the tension that had filled the house ever since, A.J. retreated to his room. The door was closed, but the weight of the day still hung heavy over him. His father's words echoed in his mind;

'You disappoint me, A.J.'

It repeated itself over and over again. Each repetition twisted further in his gut like a knife.

Carmella lingered in the hallway outside A.J.'s room, her heart aching with worry. She could hear the quiet pacing from behind the door, the telltale sign that A.J. was wound tight, barely holding it together. She knocked softly, and when there was no response, she slowly opened the door and stepped inside. He saw her son sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his fists balled up in his lap. He didn't even look up when she came in.

"A.J.," Carmella began softly, sitting down on the chair near his desk, "how are you holding up?"

For a moment, A.J. didn't respond. His face was hard, his jaw clenched. Then, suddenly, he snapped. "I wish that kid had died," he spat out, his voice harsh and full of venom. The words hung in the air like poison.

Carmella froze, stunned by the rawness of his words. She had known A.J. was angry, frustrated, but this? This was something much uglier, something she hadn't expected. Her mind raced as she tried to process what he had just said.

"Really?" She asked, her voice steady but laced with disbelief as he walked over to stand in front of him. "If he had died, A.J., you'd be in jail right now. Do you understand that? You might have been locked up for the rest of your life."

A.J. snapped his head up, meeting her gaze for the first time. His eyes were red, his face flushed with anger and something else—something closer to shame.

"I don't care," he muttered, but the words sounded hollow, even to him.

Carmella shook her head, her expression softening, though her voice remained firm.

"Yes, you do care. You're mad, A.J. I understand that. But wishing someone dead? That's not who you are. You wouldn't survive a life like that, and neither would I."

"He started it, mom." A.J. looked away, swallowing hard. "I was doing anything, and then he walked in and started talking all this crap about dad, about me. I—I just lost it."

Carmella leaned forward, her voice gentle but unwavering.

"I get that you were pushed, but look at what happened, A.J. Look at what you did. You could've killed him. You can't take that back once it's done."

A.J. rubbed his face with his hands, the weight of her words settling in. Part of him still wanted to push back, to keep justifying what he'd done, but a deeper part of him, the part that had felt sick the moment Dominic hit the ground, knew she was right.

"If that kid Dominic had died, we wouldn't be sitting here in this house, A.J," Carmella continued, her voice soft but intense. "I'd be visiting you in a prison cell. Your life would be over. I know you don't want that, and neither would we."

Closing his eyes, A.J. could feel the anger draining out of him, leaving only the shame and regret. He didn't say anything, but Carmella could see the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged as if the weight of it all was finally getting to him.

"What's going to happen now?" He finally asked.

"Your father and I will figure that out." She got up and stood beside him, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. "You made a mistake, A.J, a big one. But it's not the end of everything."

A.J didn't say anything more as for the first time today he didn't feel the need to push back. The anger that had been driving him felt distant now, replaced by something else, something more fragile.

He nodded slightly, though he still couldn't bring himself to look at his mother.

Carmella stood there for a moment longer, her hand still on his shoulder. She knew this wasn't over, not by a long shot. But for now, at least, there was a glimmer of hope that her son could still pull himself out of whatever it was he was dealing with.