The Ghostwriter Takes Back Her Voice
Language: en
At my husband's sold-out arena concert, I sat in the very last row. The giant LED screen was scrolling through the setlist, and every single song credit—lyrics and music—read "Cynthia." Eighty-seven songs. Every single one of them. Cynthia was his ex-girlfriend. Three years ago, I gave up my own chance to debut, locking myself away in a cramped apartment to write songs for him. Now, standing on stage with tears in his eyes, he choked out his gratitude: "Without Cynthia, there would be no Gilbert today." Cynthia, sitting in the center of the front row of the VIP section, stood up and…