By admin 
Introduction
Imagine the unique psychological horror of trying to heal from a broken heart when the man who broke it is literally the voice of the world. For most women, a divorce or breakup involves a period of distance—burning the photos, avoiding the places you used to go, and slowly letting the memory of the ex-lover fade into the background noise of life. But for Susan Deixler, the “girl back home,” forgetting was a logistical impossibility. She was trapped in a surreal, auditory cage where the man she pledged her life to was singing to her from every car radio, every department store ceiling speaker, and every television set in America.
In the 1970s, Barry Manilow wasn’t just a singer; he was an atmospheric condition. You could not buy groceries, sit in a dentist’s waiting room, or ride an elevator without hearing the soaring, romantic pleas of the man who had walked out on Susan after just one year of marriage. Every time “Mandy” played, it wasn’t just a pop song; it was a ghostly echo of the intimacy she once held and lost. While millions of women swooned over the sensitive crooner who understood the depths of love, Susan held the jarring, private knowledge of the ruthless ambition that lay beneath the velvet voice. She knew the “Barry Pincus” who was unsure and struggling, a stark contrast to the “Barry Manilow” who now commanded the adoration of the planet.
The cruelty of her position was compounded by the legal fiction of their separation. By seeking an annulment rather than a standard divorce, the narrative wasn’t just that the marriage failed—it was that it had never effectively existed. Susan had to navigate her life carrying the secret weight of a history that her famous ex-husband had legally deleted. She was the “starter wife,” a footnote in a biography written in platinum records. Yet, in a display of dignity that borders on the heroic, she never lashed out. She never sold her story to the tabloids for a quick payout. She never tried to puncture the balloon of his fame with the needles of their private reality.
Living in the shadow of a global superstar requires a spine of steel. Susan had to build a life, a family, and an identity that had nothing to do with the man on the billboard, all while the entire world was obsessed with him. It is a testament to her character that she remained a silent witness to his ascent, refusing to be defined by the “what ifs” of a life abandoned. She watched the boy she loved become a stranger owned by the world, proving that sometimes the hardest part of love isn’t saying goodbye—it’s living in a world that refuses to let you forget.