LITERARY FICTION WEEK #5: End with an epiphany, no matter what

She sat down on the train toilet, feeling the crinkled sheen of the cheap toilet paper she had placed carefully on the seat. She knew that when she returned to Graeme, something would be different. Something would have changed forever. She shuffled her feet on the tacky plastic floor. Nothing stayed the same, she thought. She reached for the roll of paper by her shoulder and tore off three sheets, folded them back on each other and held them ready in her hand. She could never recapture what had gone before, what had fallen from her and been lost. Holding her breath, she strained. The train rumbled. She hardened the muscles in her abdomen and, after a few seconds, was rewarded with a muffled splash. There we go, she thought. There we go. Beyond the frosted glass of the small window above, she could just make out the shadows of trees flashing past. The journey went on.