Lucy was a young teenager when she first heard about My Sisters’ House. At the very same kitchen table the idea of the women’s centre was formed, Lucy once poured cereal, spilled juice, and ate dinner. To Lucy, My Sisters’ House was raised alongside her, originating in her family home.

She rushes along the pavement, clasping the small, squirming hands of her young children behind her as the group hurries to school. Across her body a pair of bookbags, lunchboxes, and a plastic bag containing a papier-mâché class project have been slung.

The room is a blur of pink, piled plastic drawers, and perfume; the floral scent surrounds Jo as she settles herself at her desk. She shows me several potential photos for the blog, unsure herself of whether the Minnie Mouse ears or glitter selfie would be better.

Healthcare, holidays, and huge discounts, working as an International Category Market Optimiser (for Skincare) at The Body Shop certainly had its perks. But the free facemasks, moisturisers, oils, and body butters nourished little deeper than skin.

Soup, cereal bars, party rings, the drawer is brimming with snacks. ‘Take anything you like,’ Jayne offers. This to me is an Area 51 alien concept. Voluntarily sharing your sweet treats? As one of five I’ve learnt to hold onto my chocolate with all of my strength to prevent an older sibling from taking it.

She smiles at me from across the small table, crossing her legs as she sinks into the blue armchair. Her blonde bun, swirled on the top of her head, catches in the yellow light as she tilts her chin back to sip from a can of Coke.

I’ve passed this place a hundred times before. On route to work, trips into town, days out at Hotham Park, it’s always been here. There was even that time I walked straight past whilst entertaining a whim to make sock monkeys (stuffing from Squires required).