Letter From Kaka

Dear Zara,

If you are reading this, then I am gone. And by now, I doubt you are 18—or a ballerina.

How do I know? Because I knew you. The little girl who twirled through my study, always dancing when she should have been learning something useful. A dreamer. A stubborn, reckless dreamer. But dreams, child, are not enough.

You have always had a fire in you, Zara, but fire without direction burns out fast. And your heart—too soft, too trusting. You give too much, too fast. A fool for love.

Yet, despite all of this, I am leaving Quinn Sculpt & Style to you. Not because you earned it. Not because you are ready. But because you are a Quinn. My blood. My gender.