An Italian woman found herself in the middle of a quiet scandal when she became pregnant during an affair with a wealthy married man. When she broke the news, his face went pale with panic. Concerned about his marriage and reputation, he immediately offered her a large sum of money and asked her to move to Italy to have the baby in secrecy. In exchange, he promised to pay child support until the child turned eighteen—so long as she kept everything quiet.
Worried about how he’d know when the baby was born, she asked how she should contact him. He told her to send a postcard with just one word: Spaghetti. It was code. No names, no dates—just that word. Upon receiving it, he’d arrange for the support to begin discreetly.
Months passed. Then one afternoon, the man arrived home to find his wife holding a postcard. She looked puzzled. “This came from Italy. It’s… strange,” she said.
He reached for it quickly, his heart pounding. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain later.”
But the moment his eyes scanned the message, all the color drained from his face. He swayed, then collapsed.
On the back of the card were these words: Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. One without meatballs. Two with. Please send extra sauce.
The silence that followed was more deafening than any confession could’ve been.
Meanwhile, in a different tale of ironic justice, a woman was preparing for a two-week business trip to Italy. As her husband drove her to the airport, he joked, “Bring me back an Italian girl, will you?”
She didn’t respond—just gave a quiet smile and waved goodbye.
When she returned, he greeted her with open arms at the airport. “So, how was the trip?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” she replied.
“And what about my gift?” he teased.
She blinked, smiled sweetly, and said, “Oh, that. I did my best. But we’ll have to wait about nine months to see if it’s a girl.”
The husband stood there, jaw hanging, as her luggage rolled by on the carousel behind them.
