Are There Any Covers Of 'Now That The Love Is Gone'?

She never chose him. Her family chose for her. An arranged marriage. A life she never wanted. But she tried… she truly tried. She loved. She hoped. She forgave far too much. Until the day she discovered two betrayals at once her husband’s… and her best friend’s. That was the day her heart shattered completely. But something else was born inside her, too. She will learn to rise. To become a woman who says no. A woman who stands on her own. A woman who never looks back. And when another man enters her life simple, gentle, patient. she discovers that real love exists. The kind of love that doesn’t hurt. Her husband will understand… too late. Because she won’t return. This time, it’s over. This time, it’s too late to love her.

By the fifth year of my marriage to Noah Lester, everyone insisted that I, Emma Newman, was his eternal muse. But I knew the truth. Behind my back, Noah cycled through a parade of fresh-faced, eager lovers. He even flaunted them at social gatherings, swapping one for another with shameless ease. When friends teased him—"Didn’t you swear Emma was the love of your life? Why the revolving door of mistresses?"—he’d just laugh, arms slung around his latest conquests. "Once you’ve caught your muse the glow fades. Give me someone new and tender any day—at least they keep things exciting." So I began plotting my escape. What Noah never realized was that I had grown tired of him, too. Tired of this life, of these performances. I was done.

Three years after my parents got divorced, I ran into my mom at a restaurant. She was having dinner with her daughter. When she saw me, her expression looked a little uncomfortable. Right before she left, she pulled up her phone and opened Venmo. "Here, let me send you some money. You and your dad can get yourselves something nice to eat." I pushed her phone back. "No thanks, Sarah. It's not like you ever cared much about me or Dad before." Her face tightened, and she frowned hard. "Why do you have to be as stubborn as your father? If you had stayed with me, you wouldn't be working as a server right now. Tell your dad this—if he admits he was wrong, I'll take you back and give you a good life." I just stared at her coldly and said nothing. Did she not know? My dad had already been dead for three years.

During a company retreat to Colmar, I found out my boyfriend was going to propose at sunset, surrounded by colleagues. Instead, in the golden light, he dropped to one knee with a ring in hand in front of someone else. “Lana, I’m ready to be the father of your child. Will you marry me?” Lana, the woman Mark had loved for ten years, his unforgettable first love. I stared at the two, watching them embrace. Then I quietly turned away, booked myself a trip three days out, and went home for an arranged date. A year later, I ran into him again when I returned to the country. Mark’s eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my wrist. “Rosie, you’re finally back. Don’t leave me again…”

Brian Stanton was the definition of a textbook husband in everyone's eyes. He left work on time every single day, rain or shine, and whenever he traveled for business, his video calls arrived like clockwork to report his whereabouts. If a dinner involved even a single female colleague, he would call me first to ask for my explicit permission. Even the honey-ginger tea he prepared for me during my periods had never skipped a single month in half a decade. Yet, the better he treated me, the more it felt like I was serving a life sentence. Five years ago, his assistant had shown up at our wedding, her heavily pregnant belly protruding as she begged me to let them be together. Brian had violently dragged her away. When he finally returned, he was covered in blood, collapsing before me and trembling. "Honey, I was wrong. I've taken care of her. She won't ever show up again." He hadn't slipped up once since then. In fact, he had been so flawless and so completely beyond reproach that I thought it was finally time to forgive him. I went to his company, hoping to ask him out for lunch. But a child's voice drifted out from inside his office. "Dad, it's Mom's birthday today. Let's go home and celebrate with her." "Okay." In the next instant, my phone screen lit up with an incoming message. [Honey, I'm working late tonight. Will be home later.] Peering through the narrow crack in the door, I looked at the father and son, who looked as if they had been cast from the same mold. All at once, I flashed back to the moment when his assistant begged me, her belly so massive she was on the absolute verge of giving birth. The pregnancy test result I had been clutching so tightly in my hand slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

Imagine my shock when I found out that my husband, a professor who had proudly embraced a childless life for half of his years, had an affair with one of his own students. She even had his six-year-old son. The day I planned to report him to the university, Zia Thompson came to my door with the child and knelt in front of me. "Maybe you and Zeke were in love once," she said. "But he's over forty now. Who doesn't want to have a child? A legacy?" "I don't need a title," she went on. "I can give up the child too. I just beg you, don't tear our family apart." I looked at my husband, who stood protectively in front of them. I felt terrifyingly calm. "Cut ties with them," I said, my voice flat, "or prepare to be reported to the university. You choose." Without a moment's hesitation, he tore the report letter into shreds. I thought that was his answer. But on the fifty-second night of a bed grown cold and a home echoing with silence, he still hadn't returned. Instead, I received news that Zia was pregnant again. She had graduated by then. The report I never sent no longer posed any threat to them. Zeke didn't bother to hide his fatigue and irritation anymore. "Treat Zia and the kids well," he said, "or keep living alone in that empty house. It's your choice." My heart was already a wasteland. "I have one more option," I said. "I choose divorce."