Lost
Somewhere along the way, she lost her hope. It might have disappeared in a single moment, like a heavy stone falling into a lake. More likely, though, it fell away in pieces, like crumbs falling from her pocket as she walked, leaving behind a trail that leads all the way back to the day when she believed. The day when the light at the end of the tunnel was not a train hurtling towards you, when sunrises were full of promise, when laughter didn't sound like the echo of a hollow ache. The day when she thought that redemption was possible, that forgiveness was inevitable, that truth equalled happiness and both were achievable.
She remembers that time, but with less and less clarity every day. She's stepping further away from it with each waking moment, and stepping further towards something else. She isn't sure what that is – who that person is – but she knows one thing. The Gillian Foster of past will not recognise her at all.