Since the fateful day Ted Cruz announced his now-suspended presidential campaign, his daughters Caroline Cruz, age 7, along with her sister Catherine, 5, have been trotted out regularly, always in matching outfits, in a largely ineffective bid to help their father pretend that he is not the golem of Prague.

Caroline Cruz, in particular, has made a name for herself in this election—sprinting away from her father, flinching from his embrace, staunchly refusing when her mother prompted her to say, prior to the New York primary, that her favorite state is New York. (Heidi: please.)

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In honor of the first day of Caroline Cruz’s retirement, let’s take a brief look back at her quiet, expressive rebellion, and imagine what our young heroine might have been thinking.

Caroline Cruz appears to cover her ears as her father speaks at a Des Moines, Iowa, caucus night rally in February, trapped between the rigid bodies of her smiling parents. The nearest exit is impossibly far. (AP)
Caroline Cruz would prefer to be literally anywhere but the Green County Community Center in Jefferson, Iowa, surrounded by an indistinguishable crowd of doughy men—she would rather be eating brussels sprouts, or memorizing times tables, or drowning slowly in the Arctic sea—but as she appears to have no choice, she will allow herself to be carried in. (AP)
Caroline Cruz, right, is allowed an ice cream at an April campaign stop at Zaharakos Ice Cream Parlor in Columbus, Indiana. This gesture alone cannot please her. She stares at the kindly person behind the counter, who seems like they would be a nice parent; she briefly ponders whether one can secede from a family, the way that dad says Texas will secede from the U.S. (AP)
Caroline Cruz leans into her mother at an election night watch party in Stafford, Texas, wondering, if she stares hard enough, whether she can make the TRUSTED sign beside her burst into flames. She might as well try. (AP)
Caroline Cruz stands between her mother and sister at a primary night rally at the South Carolina State Fairgrounds in Columbia, S.C. What frauds they all are. She squeezes Heidi’s hand as hard as she can, anticipating her mother’s broad smile slipping with pain. (AP)
At the same primary night rally, Caroline Cruz imagines her classmate’s birthday party, which she is missing to listen to her father say what he said earlier today and yesterday and every day before that. She heard there was cookie cake, and a piñata filled with mini tiaras. (Getty)
There is a fire alarm directly behind Caroline Cruz, which she notes as her stomach ripples with nausea before a campaign town hall meeting at the Crossing Life Church in Windham, New Hampshire. Pulling it would only offer brief respite, she decides, a feeling of despair welling up to replace the lingering carsickness. (Getty)
Caroline Cruz takes in her surroundings at an April rally at the Hoosier Gym in Knightstown, Indiana. She finds the crowd unimpressive, and resolves to never marry anyone who wears flannel. (AP)
Caroline Cruz’s father tries to kiss her goodbye as she gets back on the campaign bus in Iowa. This is repulsive and embarrassing for Caroline, who would love nothing more than to wipe that weird smile off his face. “Ow, ow, ow!” she screams, knowing that this will humiliate him. A strange feeling follows—satisfaction, she realizes. (Screenshot/Twitter)

Gif by author; footage via YouTube/Gawker.