Except one. The one who lived now only as a shadow in other people's stories. The Giant.
There was no grave, and there was no book to read there. And his story wasn't a human one because in a way he hadn't lived a human life.
It was a hero's life. It ended with him being taken away into heaven, dying but not dead.
I love you, Peter, she said to him at his grave. But you must have known that I never stopped loving Bean, and longing for him, and missing him whenever I looked in our children's faces.
Then she went home, leaving both her husbands behind, the one whose life had a monument and a book, and the one whose only monument was in her heart.